Last Year
by Canimal
Summary: (Complete) There's nowhere to hide when a victorious Voldemort sends his best tracker to find Hermione. Draco won't give up until he finds her again. A story of the unraveling of the lies we tell ourselves. (Dark!Hermione)
1. Escape

**Disclaimer** ** _:_** Unfortunately, I own nothing and can claim nothing from the Harry Potter Universe. All characters still belong to JK Rowling.

 **Important! Please Read.**

 **1) This story is a Mature story written for adults. As such, it will have lots and lots of adult content, including but not limited to, sex, violence, infidelity, death, domestic violence, alcohol and drug abuse, potential self-harm, extremely unhealthy relationships, and manipulative arseholes. I do not and will not include trigger warnings on chapters. This is my personal choice. If that is something that bothers you, I recommend not continuing any further. You have been warned.**

 **2) Keep in mind that this story takes place after Voldemort's victory and as such, characters are not the same as they were when they were still fighting the good fight. I write my own interpretation of how I believe the characters would change based on their circumstances and experiences. If you are looking for the same characters you read in the books, you will be disappointed. Just as I am not the same person I was five years ago or when I was in school, neither are the characters. They have grown up. I always attempt to justify why characters behave in certain ways, but some of you may be tempted to accuse me of writing them 'Out of Character'. Please don't. And please don't do that to other writers too. These are our interpretations. Most of the traits will be the same, but people change and evolve as they grow older. Don't expect a person to go through a brutal war and come out unchanged. That's naïve.**

 ***Also, if you are looking for Perfect Mary Sue Hermione who makes zero mistakes and always knows the answer to everything and is supremely powerful, find another story. I write flawed characters. Sometimes** ** _very_** **flawed characters. Hermione will definitely be no exception. Some of you will even hate her. That's fine. That's your opinion and you don't have to keep reading.**

 **3) I will begin updating daily on January 1st. **

**4) Yes, there are three hundred and sixty-five chapters in this story. Expect them to be around 1000-2000 words. No more, no less. And like everyone else's life, some days will be more exciting than others. Some days will have action. Some will be quiet reflections and some will even be memories of what happened before. Each chapter will represent a single day in this year. I will try my very hardest to upload a new chapter on the corresponding date, but please be aware that life is unpredictable. Some chapters may be delayed. Thank you!**

 **As always, feel free to follow me on Tumblr at Canimallow for any story or update notices and/or announcements.**

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Escape

She had to keep moving. If she stopped for even a second, her fate would be sealed. Ignoring the screams of agony behind her and the pleas for her to stop, Hermione kept running. There was nothing left for her back there. Nothing but pain and drudgery and the uncertainty of what each minute ahead would bring. No one could be expected to endure that kind of existence without completely losing their mind.

With hot, fresh blood still running down her hands, she didn't cease her movements. The coppery smell of the life-giving liquid burned in her nostrils. There hadn't been time to clean her hands. Everything happened so quickly. She could still feel the echoes of the tight grip on her arm that had put everything in motion. How many times had she told her captor, her _jailer_ , to keep his hands to himself? Too many to count. Not that he ever listened.

Maybe she had finally killed him. One could only hope. There hadn't been time to stop and make certain that the job was complete. She had to run. Breaking off the yoke of her captivity, she was afraid that to lessen her steps even the slightest would mean her actions would catch up with her. Death would be too swift a punishment for what she had done. No, if _he_ survived, he would make certain that she _wished_ for death. Of course, the joke would be on him. She already desired to be dead. Living was harder.

Hermione was grateful that she had been planning an escape for a long time. Running without any sort of plan or preparation would only end in defeat. Hidden around the veritable cell that she had been forced to call home for longer than her weakened mind could stand to remember, she had quietly been gathering supplies, hoarding stolen money. If her _master_ noticed that anything was missing, he hadn't confronted her about it. While he lay on the floor of the kitchen cursing her name, with her wand she summoned everything she had hidden to shove down into the beaded bag that she had been saving since the war ended long ago.

He'd found it amusing to give her back the item that had saved her life and the lives of her two best friends while they were on the run hunting for Lord Voldemort's hidden horcruxes. As he handed it back to her with the patronizing request that she 'be a good girl', he'd laughed. Part of her wished that she hadn't explained the significance of the seemingly innocuous accoutrement. But, if she had remained silent, maybe he would have thrown it out on the rubbish heap thinking that it meant nothing. Always empty because she knew he periodically checked it, she felt a strange sense of serenity pass over her as she stuffed it full of the food, money, and supplies she had been nicking. Perhaps it would once again be the only thing that kept her from a painful death.

She didn't know where she was going to go next. All she knew was that she had to first get out of the Death Eater stronghold of Hogsmeade. If she couldn't get that far, it would all be for nothing. Maybe he would be merciful. Likely, he wouldn't. The village, which had been something of a fucked up home for her, was full of those loyal to the regime, loyal to the wizard writhing on the floor in his own blood. An old enemy and always a perceived threat to the empire they had begun to build, she wouldn't be able to find a sympathetic soul in its borders. No matter how many times she had traipsed inside of their homes over the years, she had never been fully accepted as one of them. She had only been seen as an extension of the wizard who gave her orders, who exerted his inexhaustible control over her life. No one would lift a finger to aid her in her escape.

Approaching the gates of the village that had long ago been erected when their Dark Lord defeated her best friend in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle, she expected to be stopped, to be interrogated by the dimwitted souls relegated to guard duty. As important as it was to ensure the village remained safe from those outside of the regime who wished it harm, finding competent guards was a never-ending task in futility. Mostly for show, to give the illusion that those who held the power were well-guarded, those deemed unable to complete _any_ other duty often took great pleasures in being as obnoxious as possible executing their puffed up role as guard. They were an unknown variable to her attempt to reach the outside world.

Very little excitement happened on Wednesday afternoons just after the midday meal. Especially not when Hogwarts was in session. There was no other traveller requesting a way out. News travelled at lightning speeds in their village. If she was detained too long, there would be ample time for knowledge of her dastardly deed to reach their ears. Slipping her blood-stained hands in her pockets and praying to whatever deity might be around to hear her cries, she hoped that the splotches of crimson in the front of her robes would be overlooked. Putting her most imperious air on, she stepped forward, daring them to bar her escape.

As much as she might not have cared to know about it, Hermione had a bit of a reputation within Hogsmeade amongst the so-called _lesser_ class that surrounded Lord Voldemort and his most trusted followers. Mudbloods had almost no worth in the society that they'd built beyond manual labor and the most arduous and distasteful of tasks. It rankled their nerves that someone with so little worth because of the accident of her birth should be afforded the respect she was simply because of the wizard who owned the house she slept in. There was severe resentment in some of them. Without the protection of her powerful _master_ , she would be less than the mangy dogs that wandered between the buildings looking for scraps.

She could hear the roar of excitement from the house she'd run from grow louder and louder with each passing moment. Perhaps it hadn't been the greatest of ideas to attack him when so many people were present in the next room. What had begun as a happy day turned in the blink of an eye. Escaping out of the back door into the garden had been all that kept her from being grabbed by one of the guests. The first scream of horror at what she'd done assaulted her ears before she'd even made it out the door. If there was the slightest delay at the gates, she would be dragged back to the scene. Possibly even thrown at the feet of their Dark Lord for her audacity to attack one of his most trusted.

Fighting the urge to bounce from one foot to the other in her nervousness, Hermione stared down the guards on duty. Neither of them cared much for her, but they also had no lasting grudges. The smartest of the idiots tasked with the village's protection understood that if they just resisted being openly hostile to her, their lives were generally easier. Fearing that their attention would be drawn to the noise, she attempted to step through the gates the second she arrived. To their credit, they seemed to have no intention of stopping her. The first hurdle to getting away appeared to be over. Relaxing her tense shoulders only slightly, she believed she had an actual chance of making it.

"Stop that witch! Don't let her get away!"

Until she heard the familiar voice she could pick out of a crowded room. A familiar voice that belonged to a wizard with a great deal more authority than she possessed. His orders roused the guards into action. Taking off at a run, moving in a zigzag pattern to keep from being hit by the powerful Stunners shot in her direction, Hermione didn't stop until she was well outside the anti-Apparition wards that would have no doubt been immediately activated the moment one of her precious _master's_ guests heard him screaming out in pain. There was a protocol that everyone who lived within the village's confines followed when there was an incident.

She felt the tingle of energy indicating the edge of the wards. Too afraid to look back in case she discovered she was about to be captured again, Hermione spun in place, her destination unknown, but her determination firm. Against all odds, her escape had been successful. That, unfortunately, was the easy part. Now, she had to figure out how she was going to keep out of the clutches of those who only meant her harm.


	2. January 1st

_Author's Note: I live in the Central Standard Time Zone. Because most of the rest of the world is ahead of me, I'll be posting the next chapter each night before I go to bed. Assuming that all goes as planned, expect chapters to be posted each night at approximately 9pm or 10pm CST. (That's around 3 or 4 am GMT.)_

 **If there is ever cause for me to have to delay chapters, I will make an announcement on my Tumblr. You can follow me there at Canimallow.**

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January 1st

The bells declaring the New Year seemed to ring for an eternity. No matter how tightly she held her pillow over her ears, Hermione couldn't find any relief from the clanging. Using magic to cast a silencing spell was too dangerous. Magical signatures could be traced. Many witches and wizards that she'd known personally already learned that fact the hard way.

She had an advantage that most of them didn't. Hiding in plain sight amongst the clueless Muggles wasn't as easy as stealing their clothes off of laundry lines or out of unattended electric dryers. Muggles carried themselves differently. It might have been subtle, but it was easy enough to pick out if one knew what to look for. And the Death Eaters most certainly did.

Her previous life as the clever, but odd daughter of a couple of well-to-do dentists served her well in the dystopia of the new world. She knew how to dress, how to speak, how to behave as a simple Muggle ignorant of the hidden world she could no longer be a part of. Most importantly, she knew how to exist without magic. Conjuring fire might have been as easy as breathing to her, but she knew how matches were lit and in a pinch, she knew how to use a flint or even a twig. For the first time, she was actually thankful her father forced her to endure two horrible years as a Brownie Guide. Casting _alohomora_ was, likewise, just as simple, but she quickly learned how to pick a lock with entirely Muggle means.

And, perhaps _second_ most importantly, she knew how to spot the members of Lord Voldemort's forces when they attempted to mingle with the Muggles. It was clear he chose his 'ambassadors' to the Muggle world very carefully from amongst his Death Eaters. Likely they were all at least Half-bloods. Blood purity might have been a topic revered by many still living within the society she ran from, but the so-called Dark Lord was too pragmatic to dispose of anyone with magical blood as long as they served some use. Even Muggle-borns had been somewhat recruited. Not necessarily into his service as a Death Eater. More as secondary servants. Still useful for performing the drudgery that those with more pristine ancestry abhorred.

It was a fate that awaited her if she was ever foolish enough to find herself caught in his web again. Perhaps her fate would be even worse the second time around. She had little doubt that Voldemort was still angry with her over the events that allowed her escape. Dolohov _might_ have recovered from his wounds, but she was certain that his disposition hadn't improved. He was the kind of man who held a grudge long past the time when everyone else would have given up and moved on. No, he would never forgive her and he was not an enemy one would like to have.

She cursed the bells and the other sounds of merrymaking assaulting her ears. There had been little reason to celebrate another year beginning anew for a long time. Part of her wanted to ignore all of her concerns about being caught and curse the oblivious Muggles for their lack of understanding. What right did they have to celebrate? Sleep was a luxury she rarely had the opportunity to enjoy. How dare they interrupt it?

Breaking into empty Muggle homes was a deceptively easy process. One simply had to know what signs to check for first. During the holidays and much of the summer, homes were often abandoned in the short-term for visits to relatives' houses or trips abroad. Hermione had to pick her targets carefully. Most houses and flats in larger cities were equipped with security systems that she couldn't disconnect without magic. She learned early on in her life as a fugitive that small villages and the countryside were the best options available for short-term stays. When it was time to choose a new place, she surveyed the inhabitants. Learned their schedules. Deciphered their movements. Estimated how long she could sleep in their beds and eat their food before they returned home to catch her where she wasn't supposed to be.

She'd been fortunate to only have been caught twice by unsuspecting homeowners. Once she was able to run away without the Muggles apprehending her. The second time she hadn't been so lucky. Even with a false name given to the officer, she feared that somehow the Death Eaters would learn her whereabouts. If it hadn't been for Kingsley's contacts within the Muggle world…

Spending precious time dwelling on 'what-ifs' was not a productive use of her time. She had a friend who saved her from a fate worse than death. That was all that was important to remember. Her former master had a score to settle with her and she knew it was only a matter of time. It wasn't _if_ she was caught. It was _when_.

Somehow, even with the raucous noise outside her stolen window, Hermione was able to fall asleep. She wasn't sure when it happened or how. But, as soon as she was awake, she knew something was wrong. The sun was hardly peeking over the horizon. All of the drunken revelers were back in their own beds leaving the streets absolutely silent.

She strained her ears to hear what was happening downstairs. Though no hint of an intruder drifted upstairs, she knew they were there. She hadn't been living on the run as long as she had without learning the ever-present dangers. There was magic in the air. Nothing malevolent, but even the presence of magic was something to be wary of. Most fugitives didn't risk it if they could help it. This was obviously someone who did not fear being caught.

With one hand on the wand she hadn't used for months, Hermione listened for any sounds and carefully got out of bed. There was never any need to change into pajamas. She had to be ready at a moment's notice to flee. Shoes, however, were always removed before she got into her stranger's bed. It might have been smarter to keep them on, but she couldn't abide the feel of slipping them under the covers. Besides, it felt rude to desecrate a bed with the filth of her soles.

The moment her shoes were secured to her feet, the robed figure entered the bedroom. Hermione scanned his frame for anything that she might recognize. She might have sighed in relief if a red flash of light hadn't come straight at her head. A shield charm easily defected the stunner. Whoever this person was, they didn't seem to be there to kill her. Small favors. Dodging Avadas was something of a pastime she wasn't looking forward to resuming.

"Don't you think it's time that you came home, Granger?"

She was startled to hear his voice again. It had been so long. Once there had been a time in her life when she heard the familiar cadence every single day. Sometimes multiple times in one day. He represented a link to the relatively halcyon days of her adolescence. Strange how one could feel nostalgic about something, or _someone_ , they loathed.

"I don't have a home anymore, Malfoy."

He made a dramatic show of dropping his wand on the foot of the bed to prove he wasn't going to use it again. As he stepped backwards with his palms held up, she snorted. Did he really expect her to just come quietly? The faintest light shining through the window lit up the wizard's pale blond hair. He'd aged since they were last in the same room together. What innocence once remained was nowhere to be found. His chrysalis was complete. The spoiled child was now an embittered, damaged man.

"I think you'll find there are a few people who would disagree with that statement."

"If you've come to try to drag me back there, I'm afraid I won't let you do that."

"You've been running for what? Seven months? Eight months? Aren't you tired of running, Granger?"

She would never admit that she was. The existence she was experiencing wasn't life and it was hardly sustainable. If nothing changed, she would be dead soon.

"Did _he_ send you after me?"

Draco stepped forward. Hermione stepped backwards. Oceans between them wouldn't have been enough. Without making it too obvious what she was doing, she began planning her escape.

"I came of my own accord. No one sent me."

She scoffed in a derisive manner and rolled her eyes. Whatever his end game was, she wanted no part of it. Malfoy had a history of keeping his secrets close to his chest. There was always something more to his words than their face value. Only a fool would trust a Malfoy.

"I'm afraid your time has been wasted. I will _never_ return. I would rather die."

Quick spellwork was difficult to manage with little practice, but Hermione accomplished it. She knocked her opponent to the floor with a Jelly Legs jinx, blew a sizable hole in the side of the house, and jumped. She Disapparated before her feet ever touched the ground, but not before she heard him call out after her.

"I'm not going to stop looking! I'll find you again!"


	3. January 2nd

January 2nd

Leaving the house she'd been in the day before was a great disappointment. At the very least, it was a waste of valuable time. Hermione had watched the elderly couple who lived there for days to discover what she could about them. A chance encounter behind the wife in line at the market informed her that they would be going on a month-long trip to a warmer climate. Hiding in their car and sleeping in their backseat for three nights had been a small price to pay for the knowledge that she would have a solid _month_ to hide in their home without fear that she would be discovered.

And then _Malfoy_ had to come around and ruin her plans. Even the feel of his name on her tongue was bitter. He always showed up when and where he was least wanted. It was no longer safe for her to linger. How he was able to find her was a mystery, but she didn't want to see him again to ask. If she had it her way, she would never see the pale-faced ferret again. Some wounds never healed. And, he'd hurt her a lot in their younger days.

It was too risky to try to find another home to squat in on such short notice. She needed time to plan first. So, to her great disappointment, Hermione dipped into the meager savings she had tucked away in the beaded bag she never went anywhere without to purchase a couple of nights in one of the seedier London hotels. No one asked a lot of questions in establishments like that. Everyone kept to themselves. She might have to worry about bedbugs, but at least she could have some uninterrupted time to figure out her next move.

Her thoughts kept returning to Malfoy's sudden appearance. If she had been a superstitious person, which she certainly wasn't, she would've believed that his arrival on New Year's was the sign that the months ahead weren't going to be kind to her. Malfoy had a dangerous reputation of being a wizard who could find those that didn't wish to be found. She wondered if _he_ was responsible for sending him out after her and quickly decided that there was no other explanation. At least she could be thankful that the younger Malfoy was sent instead of the older. Lucius wouldn't have tried to convince her to return with words. It would have been a fierce duel until there was a victor. If she never had to see that embarrassing excuse for a wizard again, she would be thankful.

She'd lingered too long in the country. Maybe breaching the borders and setting up a new life in a place where no one had ever heard the name Hermione Granger would be the best option. Several she knew had already done it. Not just to run from the threat of Death Eaters, but also to run from responsibility, wives, unhappy children. There were a million reasons to flee.

The United States was not a possibility. MACUSA had made their stance against accepting any refugees from Great Britain's Civil War very plain. They were not welcome. Pompous arseholes, the lot of them. Too afraid of their own shadow and their tenuous grasp on their own society. How anyone ever believed that one set of Ilvermorny graduates tucked away in their small corner in New York City could effectively speak for the entire nation was beyond her and anyone else with half a brain. They were too diverse, too rich in cultures, too spread out to accept one set of leaders who didn't even represent them. No, the US had its own set of problems. Even if they would have allowed her sanctuary, Hermione didn't want to get pulled into any of the minor scuffles they were constantly having within their borders.

Australia was far enough away that she thought maybe, just maybe, _he_ wouldn't expect her to move there. Except for the fact that her parents were still living there blissfully with no memory of ever having a daughter. Some secrets were impossible to keep forever. The sad history of her Muggle parents was a secret no longer. No, running there would just bring an even larger target to her unsuspecting parents' backs. They deserved better than that. Besides, she wasn't sure that she could bear to be near her parents and not be a part of their lives again. It was safer for them to remain ignorant.

Viktor Krum made it clear in an encoded missive long before she made her escape that she would always be welcome in Bulgaria. She was certainly tempted to accept, but knew that too wouldn't work. Perhaps if she'd run earlier. Maybe it would've worked right after she received his message. Now it was too dangerous. He and his lovely wife had a child to worry about. Hiding a fugitive was an excellent way to get them all murdered. Just like her parents, they deserved better than to be cursed with the presence of the damned.

Hermione sat down on top of the bed. With her back against the headboard, she tried not to allow her mind to wander to thoughts of what sort of illicit activity the mattress beneath her had seen in its time. She always kept extra blankets in her beaded bag to keep from being forced to use ones she couldn't entirely trust.

There had to be more options. Giving up and just allowing herself to be captured again wasn't one. At least not one that was worth even contemplating. She would rather die than go back to what she had been forced to endure. _That_ wasn't living. That was merely existing, waiting for the moment her heart stopped beating. More than once she hoped that they'd finally catch up with her and put an end to the waiting.

The uncertainty of how her life was going to play out was threatening to drive her mad. If she went back, she knew that every moment of her day for as long as she lived would be planned out in advance. She would have little say in what happened to her if she did. Each day would be shockingly like the last with only bursts of inevitable violence sprinkled throughout the passing weeks. Was almost constant misery worth the peace of mind that knowing her future would bring?

She thought she had been happy once. It seemed a lifetime ago. At least, she wasn't entirely miserable all the time. There were pockets of what could have been happiness if it hadn't been tainted with the darkness they fought to survive in. The Dark Lord poisoned all he touched. Her life was no different.

It was clear that the answer to her worries would not be discovered that day. Knowing that a long, uninterrupted night's sleep was what she needed to make everything seem less dire, Hermione pulled her clean blankets out of her bag to settle in. Perhaps answers to the question of what she would need to do next would come to her as she slept.


	4. January 3rd

January 3rd

It had been a long time since Hermione had been able to sleep for ten hours straight. Not since long before she escaped her captivity. Her dreams were once the only place she felt truly free. In her awakened state, she had too many unpleasant tasks called upon her to complete. Or she saw the hateful faces of those she would kill without remorse. Only their much higher status in their newly reorganized society kept her hands off of her wand.

Dreams allowed her the opportunity to remember days that were gone and would never be seen again. She recalled moments in her past that occurred long before she ever got her letter explaining that she truly was different than all of the other children she knew. There were happy recollections of moments during her school years and then in that year leading up to the end of the war. Life was simpler in those fantasies. Harry was still alive and Ron… well, he was better left unthought about. It wasn't as if she could really judge her old boyfriend. She had been forced to make many less than palatable choices herself in the collapse of their world following Harry's murder.

Lingering in bed for as long as she did had been a terrible idea. She knew she shouldn't get too comfortable anywhere she landed. Complacency was her worst enemy. Perhaps that was why Malfoy was able to find her. She was too confident in her safety with the elderly couple set to be out of the country for another two weeks. In her mind, no one would ever think to look for her in their charming home in the middle of the small village. Thinking like that would get her killed. Or worse, _captured_.

Life had taught her the valuable lesson that some things were worse than death. Suicide was an act she had considered, but never seriously. There always remained that still small hope in the back of her mind that there would a change worth sticking around for. The Dark Lord couldn't remain in power forever, could he? Three teenagers who should have been in school were almost able to bring him down. Someone else might very well be able to succeed where they failed.

Living on hope and nothing else was no way to live. Hermione wished she could return to the hopeful young girl who believed that good would always prevail. She had been that girl once upon a time. An adolescence marked with tragedy and violence began to strip away that idealism. The events that transpired after her best friend was brutally murdered in front of her eyes removed the rest. She had seen the ugliness that human nature had to offer and it had not flinched in her judgement.

Thursday nights weren't the busiest night of the week for the pubs. She used that flimsy fact to talk herself into entering an establishment she probably should've stayed out of. There was no way to tell where _he_ had his spies. Money was scarce, but she, like so many other women before her, knew a way to get what she wanted without paying.

A quick scan of the virtually empty pub showed there to be four other souls in the building: one man behind the bar organizing the bottles, a frustratingly flirtatious and happy couple in the darkest corner slobbering over each other, and a solitary man nearing middle-age at the end of the bar clearly just off work. Hermione willed herself to not get too cocky. Though she knew this was going to be all too easy, she couldn't allow her countenance to reveal her confidence. Half of the subterfuge required that she seem as innocent as her magical genetics would suggest.

She chose an empty seat at the bar only a few feet away from the man sipping slowly at his pint. As she climbed up onto the barstool, she caught his eye and gave him a small, shy smile. He seemed caught off-guard by the attention, but after a few owlish blinks of his eyes, returned a grin. Shortly after she reluctantly passed over enough money to pay for her first drink entirely in change, she tried to hide her bright red blushes in the glass.

Both men watched her with differing levels of clear sympathy on their kind faces. Part of her felt guilty that she was going to use her hard-earned skills against these men. Most of her, however, kept reminding herself that the world was a cruel and dangerous place for those who weren't willing to get their hands dirty. She didn't know anything about these men. Maybe they were running from something too. Maybe they wanted nothing to do with their children. Hated them for what they represented. Or maybe they were filled with rage that they took out on everyone they met because of a failed love affair that could never be more than just a handful of nights they lived to regret. They could be abusive husbands who could whisper sweet words into their wife's ear making her believe he actually loved her and things would finally change one second and then push her down the stairs the next.

No one really knew anyone. At least not their true self. In order to survive in this world, Voldemort or not, one had to present themselves a certain way to those they came into contact with. Weaknesses were deadly.

There was a continued silence between the three at the bar as Hermione sipped her drink. In the name of curiosity, she allowed her eyes to drift over to the man seated just a couple of seats down. He wasn't handsome in the most conventional of ways, but she could see how he might have turned a few heads when he was younger. She put his age as early to mid-forties. If he had been a wizard, he would still have had many more years to look forward to before anyone started to call him 'middle-aged'. His light green eyes and dark hair made for an almost startling combination. Funny how she always seemed to find the men that reminded her so much of…

Hermione shook her head. There was no sense thinking about the past if she could avoid it. She was running _away_ from the past, not to it. _'Oh, that way madness lies.'_

"Excuse me, sir," she began with shy, downcast eyes, catching the attention of the pub's proprietor as well as the man seated nearby. "Can you tell me if there's any place nearby a room could be had for the night?"

She listened to the man recite the number of hotels in the area that were likely to have vacancies. Each suggestion she politely thanked him for with another round of furious, red blushes that she'd learned to time perfectly. Most men, especially Muggles, were practically powerless in the presence of a poor girl who looked like she needed help. It was a weakness Hermione was only too happy to exploit.

"Thank you. I'm certain I will figure something out."

The bottom of her almost-empty glass suddenly became the most interesting specimen to examine. Even without looking up for positive confirmation, she could tell that the men were at the very least exchanging concerned glances with the other. If she continued to play her cards right, she might end up with _both_ targets being a success instead of just one. But, she reminded herself again, cockiness would get her nowhere but flat on her arse outside on the pavement.

When the last drops of her pint trickled down her throat, the barkeep asked her if she wanted another. Before she would commit to an answer one way or the other, she pulled a small coin purse out of her bag. Doing a purposefully terrible job of keeping her actions hidden from view, she clinked her remaining coins together as she silently counted them. She looked up at the man with an embarrassed smile and shook her head 'no'.

"Jack, give her another one on me."

With watery eyes and flushed cheeks of shame, Hermione stared into the kind eyes of the man a few seats away. He was one of those creatures uncomfortable with overt emotional displays. All the better, in her opinion. He nodded silently to her, clearly wishing that she wouldn't make a big deal out of his gesture.

A fresh glass was placed in front of Hermione. Moments later, a steaming bowl of soup followed. She feigned shock at the gesture from the generous soul behind the bar.

"Thank you, but I can't…"

He waved off all concerns with a single motion from his hand.

"Slow night. _Someone_ needs to eat it. I made too much and you look like you could use a bite…"

Realizing he said too much and was in danger of mortifying the poor girl, he cleared his throat loudly and moved to the end of the bar to wipe up a non-existent spill. Hermione tucked into the delicious smelling meal. Truthfully, he wasn't wrong. It had been a couple of days since she was certain she'd had a proper meal. Money was so scarce that she tried to use it as little as possible. Proper nutrition often fell to the wayside when one was on the run from evil wizards who wanted to drag her back into her cage.

She made polite, if somewhat stilted, conversation with the man who bought her a drink. Mostly inquiries were made about where she had been and what brought her to their city. It was obvious she wasn't a permanent resident. When the last bite of the soup was gone and she drank the last of her pint, she knew it was time to go. A free meal and a bit of sympathy was all she was looking for that night. Once her task was complete, it was best to move on.

"Thank you both for, well, for everything."

Hermione quickly rose to her feet and headed straight for the door. Night had fallen while she enjoyed the warmth of the comfortable pub. The small part of her humanity that identified as the idealistic girl who once tried to free an entire species from their slavery was still there somewhere, deep, _deep_ inside. _That_ Hermione was embarrassed at the lows she'd fallen to and her humiliation in the face of those two men as she ran away was genuine.

"Miss, wait!"

Three steps outside onto the pavement and her drinking companion stopped her. He allowed the door to slam shut behind him. The few people that were out in the cold January night paid them no mind. Before she realized what he was doing, the man slipped a few folded bills into her gloved hand.

"Get yourself somewhere warm tonight. And in the morning, go home. This isn't a place you want to be without any money or somewhere to stay."

The tears that began to roll out of her eyes were mostly real. If only going home was an option… She would've given just about anything to be back in her parents' home, safe and secure in the knowledge that she wasn't alone. The only 'home' she had to look forward to wasn't warm and inviting at all. It was dangerous and even lonelier than being on the run.

She didn't expect the warm hug that the man offered. It had been so long since someone had touched her for no other reason than to provide her comfort. At first, she didn't know how to respond. Her entire body tensed, but he did not release her. When she allowed herself the vulnerability to melt into the embrace, the tears she was ordinarily so good at holding in came bursting out in a torrent. He patted her back and whispered soothing words of 'there, there' and 'it'll all look brighter in the morning'.

"I'm so sorry. That was… _thank you_."

Hermione didn't linger long in the area when she pushed the man away. She was embarrassed that anyone had been able to break through the thick wall she'd constructed around her emotions. Weakness would get her killed.

Besides, it was better that she put as much distance between herself and the man before he realized she'd lifted his wallet.


	5. January 4th

January 4th

A conscience was a luxury that Hermione couldn't afford to hold on to. Too much was at stake to worry about what was good and proper. Or kind. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had been kind. There were plenty of people in her past who would be quick to declare her ruthless and overly opinionated. Bossy, even. Of course, those were often the adjectives that were used to describe witches who exhibited the same qualities that so many found attractive and desirable in wizards. She would never apologize for being who she was or who she had been _forced_ to become.

Stealing the man's wallet wasn't her proudest moment. It also wasn't her worst. She had done much worse in the name of safety and survival. If one wished to survive, they had to make sacrifices of the very best parts of themselves at times. And thanks to the unsuspecting Muggle, Hermione had been able to purchase a ticket for a bus ride far away from London.

It was a bad time of year to go up north, especially for one who didn't even have a place to sleep. She wasn't sure where she would spend her time trying to stay warm. There was still a tent inside her bag, but it wasn't wise to use it with magic. If Malfoy had been able to track her when she had been so careful, he wouldn't have any trouble if she actually used her wand.

There was a trace on her, she knew. One that informed her _master_ the moment she tried to use any of her magic. She wasn't sure when she came to that conclusion, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. Ordinarily used only on underage witches and wizards to keep them from violating the Underage Magic Act, the Ministry had begun by placing it on those they deemed 'Undesirable' or those who had somehow managed to slip out of the constraints of the new world that Voldemort was in the process of creating. It didn't take long before _everyone_ had the Trace. If one was well-connected or happily living within the confines of wizarding society playing by the very strict rules set up, there was no problem with exercising a bit of magical skill. If someone, like her, was trying to desperately avoid anyone with the slightest amount of power, they had to live just like the Muggles.

A month earlier she'd been desperate for a little bit of warmth. She hadn't been able to find anywhere with a roof to spend the night and the weather was dreadful. Even putting on every single piece of clothing she owned and wrapping herself in multiple blankets hadn't been enough. Without a fire, she was going to die. She turned her bag inside out searching for a lighter or even a single match. There was nothing, not even a piece of flint. And even if she did have those things, it wouldn't have mattered. Every scrap of wood she could find was too wet and frozen to burn.

Desperation caused her to use her wand. As she used the roaring fire in the middle of the woods to warm up her frozen body, she considered the very real possibility that she would be found by one of the Dark Lord's minions. She was low enough that the thought of being dragged back to captivity didn't even sound like a horrible fate. At least with the loss of her freedom she had a warm bed and enough food to eat. She might not have cared for her _master's_ incessant personal attention, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about getting sick and dying alone in the snow. She had the freedom to use her wand even if her orders were hardly pleasurable at times.

The fire had only just gotten warm enough to start thawing the worst of her chills when a sound in the distance assaulted her ears. It was subtle. A single snapping of a twig beneath a foot. If she had been anyone else, she might have been able to explain it away as a wild animal in the distance. She was grateful that she didn't discount the sound. Only seconds after she heard it, bright red streams bursting out of the end of at least three different wands lit up the darkness.

Magic was one of those skills that would grow weaker and more difficult if too much time passed without its utilization. Though she was able to roll away from the path of the stunners without a hitch, actually creating a shield against the offensive spells was harder than she expected. It took her a couple of tries to cast what had once been second nature. Months on the run was threatening to take away her prodigious magical abilities. If she didn't figure out a way to get more practice, she would be in even more danger than she already was.

"Trying to get warm, Princess? I can help you with that."

Even as she ran as fast as she could away from the Death Eaters, she couldn't resist a roll of her eyes. Thorfinn Rowle was about as subtle as a bludger to the head. She wasn't sure who his companions were. It didn't really matter. Each one of them represented a danger she should have expected. She was able to Disapparate from the forest after running several hundred meters away. Once she was safely in another part of the country, she put her wand back in her pocket and didn't stop moving for miles.

She would be foolish to try to use magic again. Next time, she might not be so lucky. The Dark Lord might send a more competent group of his followers. She suffered no delusions that their failure to apprehend the wanted fugitive resulted in a severe punishment when they returned. Not only from Lord Voldemort, but also from the _other_ wizard she hoped to never see again. He was just as tenacious and stubborn as she was. If she slipped up and made another mistake, she would be caught. Her master would make certain of it.

It was a long journey from London to her next destination. Scotland was just as dangerous. She was hoping that since very few would expect her to travel so close to the very place she was running from, that she might find safety. At least for a little while. Nowhere was safe forever. Not even if she figured out how to slip past the borders.

Feeling confident that she was unlikely to be accosted by a crazed Dark wizard on the bus, Hermione laid her head against the window and closed her eyes. There would be hundreds of miles and several hours before she had to worry about her next move. Relaxing in the delicious heat of the bus, she quickly drifted off to sleep.


	6. January 5th

January 5th

Edinburgh carried far too many unpleasant memories for Hermione. Only the fact that she believed it to be the best location for her to regroup for a few days made her even consider the city. In the middle of the winter with nowhere to live, it would be assumed that she would keep as far south as possible. She even left clues that she was certain _he_ would find giving every indication that she would be trying to leave for France.

The happiest weeks of her entire life were spent in the familiar country across the Channel. Not just when she was young and still living a somewhat idyllic childhood with her Muggle parents. When she grew a bit older, she loved to slip over for a few days here and there to relax. Life in Great Britain was never easy. She dreamed about leaving and never returning.

She used the last bit of money she'd stolen from the kind-hearted Muggle to pay for a room for the night in a dodgy part of the city. It was unfortunate that life on the run meant she had been forced to stay in some of the more disgusting hotel rooms all over the country. A person needed a great deal of money to be able to run away in style. She'd have to rob much more wealthy people to do so. That was a thought she didn't cherish.

Once inside the relative safety of her hotel room, she peeled off the clothes she had been traveling in and threw them in a pile on the floor. Laundry was getting to be a dire problem. If she planned on staying in the same hotel for more than a couple of days, she would just wash her clothes in the bathtub. That wasn't possible this time. She needed to find somewhere else she could sleep for no money. Her purse was too light. Staying in the same hotel room long enough for her clothes to dry on their own wasn't an option.

Long, hot showers were a luxury that she rarely experienced. She stood under the heat of the water with her eyes closed to simply savor the moment that most people in the world took for granted each day. Eight months had passed since she made the decision to start running. Though she'd regretted her rash choice a handful of times, she knew that she couldn't keep on living the way she had been. She had long ago become a person she didn't even recognize.

She had become dangerous. Unpredictable. Losing Harry and the hope that their world would ever return to what it once was had been a crushing blow. Decisions that she had made under duress had come back to haunt her later. If her best friend could see her now, he would be ashamed of what she had become. What she had _willingly_ allowed herself to get involved in.

There had been plenty who had given their lives in the Cause. They stuck close to their principles and never wavered in their beliefs that Good would conquer Evil. She admired their steadfastness even as she pitied and hated them. Several, like Neville, had been given the option to pledge their lives to the new regime in exchange for their forgiveness and their renewed place in Voldemort's new society. Her round-faced friend had gone to the gallows with his head held high and the fierce determination in his eye that he would never surrender. His execution had been another nail in the coffin of the old idealistic Hermione Granger. She would never be the person who put others first again. All that did was get you an Avada straight to your heart.

Just before the water switched from lukewarm to cold, Hermione turned the taps off. There wasn't enough hot water in the world to cleanse her of her sins. A day would come when she would burn for them. She wasn't certain of a lot in her life, but that was something she knew without a doubt would come to pass. Drying quickly with a towel that was woefully inadequate for the job at hand, she tried to ignore all of the negative thoughts plaguing her. The more human she felt, the more wretched she felt.

Knowing that arriving at a public launderette without any clothes in hand would be suspicious, Hermione piled all of her dirty clothing on top of the hotel bed. She wrapped it all up in a large bundle with one of her blankets. A laundry room had been promised when she checked into the hotel, but one inquiry to the front desk clerk proved it hadn't been serviceable in the entire length of time he'd been employed. She didn't look forward to being out in the open, but seeing as it was middle of the afternoon, she hoped she could pass the time unnoticed.

Only a single elderly lady washing her bedding was present when Hermione pushed open the front door. The front desk clerk had given her directions to a place she could visit a few blocks away. Each step of the journey left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. This was not a safe city to be in. There were spies everywhere. She was relieved to have the place almost all to herself.

The other patron ignored Hermione. She may as well have not even existed. There had been a time when that kind of treatment would have bothered her, but not any longer. Invisibility was a superhero power she would have loved to have. Even simply borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak would have been enough. She wasn't sure where that ended up after war. Likely some sycophant discovered it and turned it into Lord Voldemort for an extra measure of favor. It didn't really matter. The cloak was just another remnant of a past that was better left forgotten.

Just as the wash cycle finished and she began moving the dripping garments to the electric dryers, the door to the street opened for the first time since she entered. The guilty conscience of a woman on the run taught her to immediately examine the new arrival without making it obvious that that was what she was doing. A man, likely eight or ten years older than her, carried a large bag on his back like some kind of disappointing Father Christmas. He sought out a machine only steps from Hermione.

Ignoring strangers while also keeping a close eye on them was another survival skill that had come in handy. She didn't make it obvious that she was watching every move the Muggle made. One never knew just who was a spy and who wasn't. She'd learned that the hard way only days after first running when her path crossed an innocuous-looking child who had been paid to keep track of all of the comings and goings of visitors to their village. Perhaps the little girl was a Muggle-born already given her first taste of what life could be like if she simply fell in line with the Dark Lord's administration. Didn't really matter. Hermione almost didn't make it out of that village.

Hermione flipped through a discarded magazine several months old filled with tips on how to repaint old furniture next to advertisements about miracle drugs that were sure to cure any number of ailments Muggles were apparently afflicted with. She watched the man's movements in the corner of her eye. Several minutes passed before a broad grin crossed his face and he laughed.

"Are you judging me for not separating my whites from my colors? Or dare I hope you see something else you might like?"

Completely mortified that she had been caught staring, Hermione stuttered out a barely coherent assurance that she hadn't been judging. Only as the words tumbled out of her mouth did she realize she was implying that she had discovered something else about him to captivate her attention. Wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, she checked on her clothes, hoping and praying they would be dry already. She was disappointed to find them still damp. There wouldn't be any chance for a sudden escape.

She sat in a plastic chair as far away from the man as possible without leaving the building. Even though she refused to look in his direction again, she knew that he wasn't shy about the fact he was watching her. Maybe he was hoping she would call him on it, but she was too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. Any other woman in the world would be somewhat flattered by the attention bestowed on her by an attractive man. Hermione missed being invisible. It was safer when no one paid any attention to her.

The moment she heard the dryer turn off, she jumped up from her seat to retrieve her clothes. She didn't even bother to fold them. That was a task that could be completed later when she was alone and away from the prying eyes of strangers. She wrapped her clothes in the same blanket she'd used to carry them in and headed for the door. Before she could make her exit, an arm reached out to block her escape.

"I didn't mean to scare you off."

"You didn't. I'm done."

"Maybe I can make it up to you?"

The man ran his fingertips up her arm. Hermione calmed her nerves down by feeling the end of her wand in her pocket. If circumstances became dire, she could use magic to get away. It would be dangerous and would likely lead to her recapture, but there were few things she absolutely would _not_ abide. A man, Muggle or wizard, getting too free with his hands was one of them.

"Kindly _remove_ your hand from me, sir."

"One drink. I'll buy."

She wrenched her arm away from his grasp. The fire in her eyes should have been enough to frighten him away. A more intelligent man, aware of her reputation or not, wouldn't have allowed the situation to boil up to the point it had. Hermione swore long ago that she would _never_ allow anyone to touch her without her permission. Many had tried and every single one of them had paid the price.

"Get _out_ of my way."

His face was still lit up in an amused smirk when he stepped aside to allow her passage. Hermione rushed out into the dark streets, taking the long way back to the hotel to make certain she wasn't followed.


	7. January 6th

January 6th

Hermione's experience in the launderette the day before left her rattled in a manner she hadn't expected. Something about the man who grabbed her arm was unsettling. Who was he? She had long ago given up the assumption that coincidences actually existed and that harmless looking Muggles couldn't hurt her. Being suspicious had kept her alive.

Sleep had been impossible. Every single ambient noise in the rundown hotel was sinister and proof that she was about to be found again. Hadn't Malfoy screamed at her as she ran off on New Year's that he would keep searching? He wasn't the kind of man to just give up because it was difficult. His special set of skills had served him well in the Dark Lord's employ.

She was out of the hotel before the sun came up. Ordinarily, she would stay inside as long as possible. Up until the minute before check-out time. When a person was homeless and had nowhere else to go, lingering in the warmth of a heated room only made sense. What else did she have to look forward to but misery and the cold?

Trying to fill the hours of the day when one has no purpose in life but to run away from those that would do them harm was more difficult than one might imagine if they weren't in the same situation. Hermione kept books in her beaded bag, but she could only read the same text so many times before she longed to throw the volume in the rubbish bin. Whenever she got the opportunity, when someone was foolish enough to set a book down within her reach, she would procure new reading material. It wasn't a difficult task. Most people didn't worry about keeping an eye on their books. After all, who would want to steal a ripped paperback that had already been passed through countless hands?

Public libraries could be entered and utilized when she was feeling brave. If there was one trait Hermione Granger was known throughout the land for, it was her love of books. She was well aware that libraries often were searched when she was the prey. It made sense to look for her in the quiet buildings. Where else could a person sit in a chair undisturbed for hours? She only entered them if she was truly desperate and at a loss what to do next.

The temperature hovered just a few degrees above freezing all day. There was a slight breeze that increased the chill in the air. She knew she should've kept walking, kept looking for a place to sleep for the night. If she waited too late in the day, there would be nowhere else to go but open parks and seedy twenty-four hour cafes. Usually, they weren't too keen on someone laying their head down on top of their tables for a short kip.

Between the man grabbing her arm the day before and the visit from Malfoy a week earlier, Hermione was out of sorts. It was becoming evident more and more every single day that she couldn't continue how she was living. She needed a long-term plan. One that would sustain her for more than a few days. It had to be solid. She knew that _he_ would never stop looking for her until either he was dead or she was.

Most of the libraries in the city were open until the evening hours. She could ramble through their stacks for a few hours before she had to worry about moving on. Her previous trips to the city had given her a fair idea of where some of the libraries were located. Though it took her several wrong turns and more than an hour to find one on foot, Hermione finally found at least one building that would welcome her for a short time.

It was only as she tried to tug on the closed and locked door that she realized it was Sunday. She wasn't sure if _all_ of them were closed on Sundays, but she rather suspected they were. Frustrated that she still had an entire day to fill up, she kept walking. Remaining on the move was imperative if she wanted to avoid drawing suspicion. Too many Muggle police officers had stopped her over the months she was on the run. If they asked too many questions that she couldn't answer, she would be in trouble. It was best to give the locals no reason to fear her presence.

She had been walking at least a quarter of an hour when she heard laughter and conversation ahead. Large groups of people could either be helpful camouflage or dangerous. Hermione stepped behind a building to examine the noise from a distance. Almost at once she relaxed. It was simply Muggles heading inside their large church for Sunday services. A quick scan of the crowd didn't reveal any obvious Death Eaters in disguise.

Years earlier, when the world was different, she remembered Sunday morning services with her parents. They were never regular occurrences. Mostly random events spurred on by her mother's 'Christian guilt' when it had been too long since they last sat in an uncomfortable pew to attempt to listen to a sermon without dozing off. Hermione was much more like her dad in that she would go to make her mother happy, but she didn't find any peace or fulfillment in the act.

There was an empty pew in the very back of the church's sanctuary that she slipped into. Maybe she wouldn't find any answers to questions she didn't know she was supposed to be seeking the answers to, but she could guarantee at least a couple of hours of freedom from running. Dolohov was superstitious enough to believe that he'd incinerate into a pile of ash if he ever crossed the threshold of a church. He certainly wasn't the only one who held that opinion either.

She was respectful enough to stand when asked, bow her head when told, and kneel when the others around her did so. The small sense of comfort she discovered in repeating the rituals of her youth surprised her. When the priest spoke to the congregation, she even tried to pay attention. It was unfortunate for her that the room was so warm and the cadence of his words so soothing. Closing her eyes for just a minute wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?

The first sensation she could recall was the feel of polished wood against her cheek. It felt cool to the touch. She considered ignoring the fact that what she was doing was clearly wrong to recapture a few more minutes of blessed relaxation. Only when she realized that there were no sounds around her did Hermione begin to worry. The priest was no longer speaking. The congregation no longer singing. She couldn't even hear the ubiquitous clearing of throats that seemed to accompany all gatherings of any size.

Falling asleep in a church pew was hardly being inconspicuous. She sat up quickly. Just as she feared, the sanctuary was empty. How long had she been sleeping? And, she covered her face with her hands at the shame of it, how many people had seen her do so? Knowing she needed to get out of the church sooner rather than later, Hermione grabbed her scarf to wrap it back around her throat. A gentle cough inches away alerted her to the presence of another.

The priest had kind eyes, she noticed first. Hovering somewhere around the Muggle middle-age mark, he smiled at her and showed no hint of anger. Somehow, that made what happened all that much more embarrassing.

"Forgive me, Father. I did not mean to…"

"If one cannot find rest in the Lord's house, where can they?"

He held out his hand to her, silently requesting that she take what he was offering. Hermione almost cried when she saw the sandwich. Other than a few crackers here and there, she hadn't actually had a solid meal since the night she stole the wallet. Even if her pride screamed at her to refuse the gift, she took it. She wasn't sure what the proper protocol for eating in a church was, but it didn't really matter. As she unwrapped the offering and began to nibble at the bread, the priest kept up a running commentary of the services the church offered to a young woman who might have found herself in the midst of difficult times.

Taking refuge with innocent Muggles would be wrong. No matter how lovely the sound of the beds available and the prospect of food on a regular basis, Hermione knew she couldn't accept. She would be tracked down again. It was an inevitability that she could not ignore. Putting helpless Muggles in the line of fire was reckless and selfish. Hadn't she exhibited enough cruelty to last several lifetimes? One more mark on her blackened soul and she might incinerate just as Dolohov would.

"Thank you, Father."

With half of the sandwich still clutched in her hand, Hermione rushed out of the church.


	8. January 7th

January 7th

One of the first lessons Hermione learned when she was on the run was that Muggles were often entirely too trusting. Even in the large cities she sometimes took refuge in she could easily find a car that had been left unlocked. Sometimes it took a few tries to uncover one. Especially if she'd wandered into a nicer neighborhood where all of the cars were likely to have alarms. More than a few times she'd been forced to run as quickly as she could into the shadows of the night to keep out of the clutches of the Muggle authorities.

When there was little money to be found or she wanted to keep an even lower profile, crawling into the backseat of a car could provide her a relatively safe and quiet place to sleep for a few hours. She tried to pick out her targets carefully. It wouldn't do to go through all of the trouble of finding an unlocked car to relax in only to have the owner come back a couple of hours later to find her in it. She'd been caught doing so on three different occasions. None of them were moments she would care to repeat.

Long after the midnight hour when the streets began to quiet down, she picked her target. Belonging to a man who'd climbed out of it covering his mouth with his hand to hide his yawns, she felt confident that he wouldn't be back any time soon. He appeared in as much need of sleep as she was. After a quick scan of the area to ensure she wasn't being watched, Hermione checked the driver's door. Mercifully, it was unlocked.

She didn't waste time finding a comfortable position in the back to lay down. Beyond her strangely deep nap on the pew of the church that morning, she hadn't had time or opportunity to relax. The moment she pillowed her head on her arms and closed her eyes, she was asleep.

There was no easy way to tell how long she'd been asleep when she felt the tug at her feet. Based on how exhausted she still felt, it hadn't been long before she was discovered. Worried that it was going to be another night in a Muggle jail or that she was going to have to expose her position by using magic, Hermione came to her senses immediately.

Whatever darkly dressed figure pulled her out of the back of the car to land painfully on the pavement below wasn't familiar. Large enough to only be a man, she worried that this was going to be worse than it usually was. What other reason would someone have for attacking a solitary woman in the middle of the night if not for nefarious purposes?

"Let me go," she ordered when the stranger yanked her off of the pavement by a painful grip on her upper arm. "What do you want?"

He didn't speak as he dragged her away from the scene of the crime. Even though it would be dangerous to attempt, Hermione tried to reach into her pocket to remove her wand. She wasn't going to let anything happen to her without a fight. Hermione Granger was a lot of things, but a victim most definitely wasn't one of them. Before she could reach the object that could save her, the stranger thrust his hand inside her pocket to remove it first. So, clearly she wasn't dealing with a random Muggle. She wasn't sure if that realization should encourage her or not.

Fighting with a man who was at least a head taller and a good seven stone heavier was never a good plan. Magically speaking, they might have been on an even par. She likely would've been even more powerful in her desperation to get out of the sticky situation she'd found herself in simply by falling asleep in an empty car. Physically, however, she was limited. Terribly limited. Embarrassingly limited even. She would have to wait for an opportunity to kick him in a sensitive area of his body.

Her assailant didn't drag her far. Just until they were in a hidden corner where the possibility of being spotted by an innocent walking by was minimized. Wandless and powerless, Hermione briefly considered screaming out for help. Even if there were nothing but Muggles about, surely _one_ of them wasn't going to be completely useless. Right as she made the decision to take her chances with shouting, she felt a hook behind her navel.

Only Death Eaters and those who were friendly with the followers of the Dark Lord were ever authorized portkeys. The trip might have only taken a few seconds, but that was long enough for her mind to travel to all of the horrible possibilities of just who had caught her. Eight months on the run utterly alone wasn't half bad really. Many others with much more support didn't make it that half that long. She thought maybe she should be proud of her accomplishment.

They landed in a dark room that smelled of mildew and something else she didn't want to give a name to. The fact that she wasn't taken directly to her _master_ and thrown at his feet to await her punishment was a small comfort. A lot could still happen. She'd managed to escape before.

Her captor struck a Muggle match to light a nearby candle. Wherever they were clearly didn't have any kind of working electricity. Hermione tried to soak in as much of her surroundings as possible. If the electricity wasn't working, it was most likely that they were in an abandoned building. That would explain the smell. The fact that he wasn't using magic to light the area was also another clue to his identity. He wasn't a Death Eater despite having access to a portkey. Another fugitive from the law.

"Who are you?"

He released his grip on her arm to pull his hood down off of his head. With the freedom to inspect the man more clearly, she could see that he was dressed entirely like a Muggle with one of those sweatshirts that helped conceal his identity. She saw his smile before she saw the rest of him. Waiting for him to be revealed in the dim light was torture. What game was he playing?

 _The man from the launderette._ She should've left the city the moment she felt unnerved by him days earlier. Her instincts rarely failed her. Why didn't she listen to them?

"Someone very much wants to speak to you, Granger. Wants to know what you're doing in our city. You know you're not welcome here."

"Who _are_ you?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll stay down here until he gets here."

He set the candle down on a rickety wooden table that Hermione was half-convinced would catch fire immediately. Gesturing to a spot in the corner, the stranger pointed out a camp bed that at first glance didn't look _too_ dirty. In fact, compared to some of the places she'd been forced to lay her head recently, it looked downright luxurious.

"He'll be here soon. Get some sleep."

Without any further explanation, he began to ascend a staircase that creaked and groaned with each step. To remind her that she was at his mercy, he spun her stolen wand between his fingers. She itched to curse him, the loss of her weapon profound. How was she going to get out of this?

"I'd take the opportunity to sleep if I were you, Granger. You look like it's been a long time since you had any."

He disappeared up the stairs. The clang of the door slamming behind him and the click that could only belong to a lock echoed in her cell long after he was gone.


	9. January 8th

_Author's Note: For those lovely human beings who are under the impression that I'm only writing this story for the sole reason because I'm a "greedy fanfic writer thirsty for reviews", let me put your mind at ease. If my only goal was to write a story with a shit-ton of reviews, there are **MUCH**_ _easier ways to do that than what I'm currently doing. In fact, my writer friends and I have already had this discussion. Fewer people are actually likely to review this story than ordinarily would because they_ know _the next chapter will be out tomorrow. I'm writing this story as a challenge to myself - to prove that I can write a single year in the characters' lives. If you don't like it or think that I'm just doing it because I'm "greedy", feel free to move on to another story. You are not the one I'm proving I can do this to. You are not the one I'm writing this story for. And, for the record, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a fanfiction writer appreciating reviews for the story they wrote and shared for free. Absolutely nothing. If this bothers you, find a new hobby. Have a wonderful day!_

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January 8th

It was impossible to tell time in the dark, smelly room Hermione was locked in. She didn't _think_ more than a day had passed since she was portkeyed in by the stranger, but she had no way of being one hundred percent positive. Not only had he taken her wand, the candle had blown out hours earlier and no one had been back in to check on her.

She wasn't worried _yet_. There was still plenty of time to get herself out of the mess she was in before it got too dire. Humans were always making mistakes, especially when they were involved in something as tense as keeping a prisoner. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way a few times herself. All she needed to do was remain patient a little while longer and be prepared to strike when the opportunity presented itself.

For hours after she heard the click of the lock, she tried to find some way to escape. Without magic and without any kind of useful tool, she was at a loss. Even dumping out the contents of her beaded bag produced nothing that could help. There were no loose boards, no hidden rooms, no windows to break and climb out of. Once she was convinced that she would just have to wait it out, she allowed herself to relax enough to sleep in the camp bed.

Her year hadn't been off to an auspicious start. After almost being caught just a short time after midnight on New Year's, she should've expected that nothing else would be easy. Wasn't it a tradition in most countries that how one celebrated the New Year was how they could expect to live for the entire year? If that depressing thought were the case, she would be dodging enemies for months to come.

What bothered her most about her captor was his complete unfamiliarity. Wizarding Britain was a relatively small community. One usually crossed the paths of just about everyone at some point. And after the war ended with a victorious Dark Lord, there were mandatory gatherings several times of all of his new subjects. Had she been so full of her own worries and concerns that she overlooked the man?

If his accent hadn't been decidedly Scottish, she would've assumed he was a foreign wizard visiting. There were enough of those to be sure. Most of them were bootlickers of the most stomach-turning variety. Hermione had been disgusted to learn the number of countries that were so quick to fawn over their newest leader as soon as he set up the new government. Either they were terrified to show the least bit of antagonization towards the new regime or they actually believed the drivel he was spouting. Whatever the reason, she hated them all.

Who was her captor working for? She tried to imagine every single possibility. There were quite a few options and it gave her the chance to keep her mind off of the growing fear that whatever was about to happen to her wasn't going to be pleasant. He gave no indication that he was a 'good guy' or a 'bad guy'. Of course, there were few of the so-called 'good guys' left and didn't kidnapping her immediately group him in as a bad sort?

The most obvious person who wanted her found was Lord Voldemort himself. He'd spent too much time and energy molding her into the perfect little puppet he could parade around in front of the world when morale needed to be boosted or resistors needed to be silenced. No doubt he was furious that she even dared to run. His future, long-term plans involved her without question. Not only had they been hinted at by members of all levels of his new government, but he'd made it clear directly to her as well.

But, she'd never seen her Scottish captor before and she knew _everyone_ even remotely associated with the Dark Lord. At least domestically. It had all been part of her training and conditioning. If he was really there on the Dark Lord's behalf, there would be no reason to leave her locked in a basement. She would've been dragged straight to his regal-like court and tossed at his feet to face his displeasure.

Antonin Dolohov was the second most likely person to have hired the man to stalk her around Edinburgh. It _would_ be like him to leave her locked in a basement with no food or water for days. Give her lots of time to think over her actions and begin to lament her follies. He'd want her good and compliant when he swooped in to drag her back home. He liked to break people. Make them desperate and needy. Clearly, the man had never known any real love in his life.

But, just like with the Dark Lord, she knew everyone that Dolohov knew. There was a time when there were no secrets that he had that she didn't know. It had been a surprising fact to learn that the usually stoic and silent man liked to talk when he had some fire whiskey in him. The trick, actually, was to get him to _stop_ talking once he started. She learned quickly that there was a very valid reason why he didn't ever imbibe any alcoholic beverages outside of his own home.

Another possible candidate for the mastermind behind her kidnapping was Draco Malfoy. She didn't understand why he was after her. Truthfully, it didn't matter. His reputation preceded him. He had proven himself to be good at finding things that were lost. This included people who were on the run from their fate. He might have claimed the night that he found her that no one sent him, but his word wasn't exactly one she could afford to trust.

She couldn't understand why he would be looking for her if it wasn't because of one of the two wizards she'd already considered. There was no reason to seek her out otherwise. When they had been in the same room in the past, they avoided each other as much as possible. Even when he'd been a guest in that horrid place she was forced to call home, they didn't speak. Old wounds and habits and all that rubbish.

The opening of the door at the top of the unsteady staircase shook Hermione out of her thoughts. She jumped off to the camp bed to her feet. If something was going to happen, she wanted to be prepared and ready to fight.

"Miss me?"

If her wand had been in her hands, she would've cursed the man's blasted smirk off of his face. She was growing weary of this whole experience. Either kill her or let her go or drag her back to the life she was running from. This sitting around waiting was unbearable.

"Hardly. How long have I been down here?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"About a day. It'll be midnight in a few minutes."

"Why are you doing this? Who are you working for?"

His chuckle only served to infuriate his captive further. Hermione considered the sagacity of using her physical prowess to hurt him. How hard could she hit him before he struck back or stopped her? Instead, she decided it was safer to try to get some answers out of him by asking.

"The Dark Lord?"

"No."

"Dolohov?"

The stranger lifted a single eyebrow and smirked. She wasn't sure what prompted that kind of reaction, but it made her cheeks flush and her heart rate increase. At least in the darkness of the room he wasn't able to see.

"Absolutely not."

"Then who?"

"Doesn't matter."

He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of learning anything. It was his own personal game, she decided. For whatever reason she couldn't possibly fathom, he _enjoyed_ not answering her questions.

"What is your name?"

"My name isn't important. You don't know me."

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes with a sigh.

"But you did know my little brother."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. Another amused quirk at his lips threatened to send her across the room at his throat. How could anyone find what was happening the least bit enjoyable?

"I'd already left Hogwarts before you arrived, but my baby brother was in your House."

"What's his name?"

"Oliver Wood."

Hermione suddenly felt like all of the air had been let out of the room. Once she had an idea of who she was standing with, she could see a resemblance to the former Gryffindor Keeper. In the eyes. And the cheekbones. She didn't have any doubt that he was telling her the truth. They looked like brothers. She'd seen those eyes looking back at her with murderous fury, abject terror, and then… _nothing_.

Whatever the purpose of her being locked in the basement was, she knew most definitely in that moment that it wasn't for a good reason. This Wood meant her harm. A great deal of harm. He might have been smiling, but she knew anger and determination even when it was well hidden. If she managed to make it out of that basement alive, she'd be surprised.


	10. January 9th

Author's Note: _Thank you all for such lovely encouragement yesterday! Not to worry. I'm not upset. Pathetic trolls are just that... pathetic. I'm always so grateful to find others in the fandom who are so kind and supportive. I fear I have angered a small-minded person recently. Oh well. That's their problem and not mine. Mostly, I just feel sorry for people who act like that. But, anyway, thanks again!_

 _And sweet Guest who was worried that I was offended by your review about the large number of reviews on so few chapters, please don't be. You were absolutely not offensive in any way. The reviews that **have** been were very deliberately so. Yours was not. You were very kind. Thank you. ;)_

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January 9th

"Well, I suppose I should be thankful that you haven't forgotten my little brother."

"Of course I haven't forgotten him."

Wood's laughter echoed through her prison. There was the faintest hint of mania behind it that put Hermione on edge. Not that she could blame him exactly. He had very valid reasons to not like her. Many people did. But, maybe he had more reason than most.

"Is that what this is all about? Oliver?"

Even saying his name made her stomach lurch. His older brother didn't notice. Or if he did, he wasn't moved. A person's past usually had a way of coming back to haunt them later. Hermione was no exception.

"Did you follow me the other day because of your brother?"

"Partly."

He began moving around the room like a wild animal pacing in its too-small cage. Though the dank and dingy space had never felt large, Hermione could almost swear the walls were beginning to close in around them. Oliver's older brother's anger was rapidly growing.

She'd had enough experience around men and women who were at their breaking point. This was a man who wasn't holding it all together very well. He might have been able to be charming in the launderette and smile and laugh during her kidnapping, but he was cracking. All evidence of him being a part of the Dark Lord's government or in his employ disappeared. She recognized what a man living on the outskirts of the regime looked like. Either he was a rogue who had been fortunate enough to keep out of trouble or he was a member of the Resistance.

"Are you aware that we have observers at all major entry points into this city?"

 _Resistance, then_. She shook her head 'no'.

"If an _undesirable_ enters the city through Muggle means, we almost always are aware of it. It's helpful. Some of the Death Eaters think they're being clever taking the train or riding a bus. We know what we are looking for."

Keeping him talking was going to be her best chance at survival. Every word that dripped from his tongue was delaying his plans just a little more. It also gave Hermione time to come up with a plan. And, if she was lucky, he'd start to get emotional and make mistakes.

The first rule of detaining a hostage is to maintain a level head. Don't attempt to connect with them on any kind of personal level. Stockholm Syndrome might work in the movies, but it's harder than it looks to get a captive to form an emotional attachment when one holds their very existence in their hands. Especially if time is limited. Without any food or water, she wasn't expecting her captivity to last long. There's no need to waste precious resources on someone who isn't going to remain a 'guest' for long.

"And someone saw me get off the bus?"

"Yes, they did. Thought I'd be interested to know about it too."

"Look, Mr. Wood, I'm very sorry about your brother. Truly. He was a very nice man."

His scoff of disbelief made her want to roll her eyes, but she didn't want to escalate the situation any further. That was rule number three or four in _being_ a hostage. Remaining calm and keeping the captor calm. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time she'd been held prisoner. Something told her that if she managed to make it out alive, it wouldn't be her last either. She kept her gaze focused and allowed no emotion to cross her face.

"I suppose this is where you are going to say something trite like 'orders are orders', am I right?"

The implication that she had no remorse over what had been nothing more than a tragedy struck Hermione right in the gut. Is that what everyone else thought too? That she was a soulless automaton who did as she was told?

"No. I was just going to say that it's a shame your brother got in the way of my survival. I _had_ to defend myself. If the roles were reversed, he would've done the same thing to me without hesitation."

"I wish he would've."

"Yeah, well, some days I wish so too."

It was the truth. Oliver Wood was the first life she'd ever taken. During the war, she had had some success in disarming and injuring the enemy, but none of them died by her hand. She had been too timid, too afraid to blacken her soul with the magic that could've obliterated them from the earth. Only after the war was truly lost had she graduated to using deadly force.

She would _never_ forget Oliver Wood. For the rest of her life, she would think about that moment. If she could take it back and they could both survive, she would've done it in a heartbeat. But, she refused to feel guilty that she survived. And to be certain that she never forgot Oliver and forgot what she had been forced to do by those who were now in charge, she'd even…

No, she refused to even allow her mind to travel down that road. She shook her head as if she could somehow physically dislodge those thoughts from her brain. It was better that she not think them. Better that she not think about how she chose to honor Oliver's memory and to keep the reminder of his sacrifice alive. Too painful. She had to keep going forward, not looking back.

"So now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?"

"That's entirely up to you, Miss Granger."

Hermione spun around in place at the sound of the third voice in the basement. She hadn't even heard the door open or another person descend the staircase. What was wrong with her? Had she been that lax in her precautions lately to allow another wizard to sneak up behind her unaware? If she managed to make it out of this, she was going to have to reevaluate her survival skills. Another slip-up like that could cost her her life.

"Do you still answer to Miss Granger? Or should I call you Madam…"

"Granger will be _fine_."

Aberforth Dumbledore somehow managed to look even younger than he did before the war ended. Perhaps it was shaving off the long, ridiculous beard he used to have. Though he still had his face covered in whiskers, they were cropped closer to his skin. Likewise, his hair was much shorter. Clearly, he was trying to blend in better with the Muggles. His blue eyes, so similar to his elder brother's, did _not_ twinkle as he stared down his crooked nose at her. She wasn't sure yet if her situation had improved or if it had gotten much, much worse.

"Thank you for your help, William. You may leave now. I'd like to speak with Miss Granger alone."

Her abductor did not like being dismissed so easily. As he stormed out of the basement, he glared at Hermione, the promise that their interactions were far from over seared in his eyes. He would be a problem again for her someday, she was certain. Aberforth didn't speak again until the sound of William's stomps up the stairs and the door slamming behind him died down.

"Why are you in Edinburgh? You're not welcome here."

"Yes, I've already figured that one out for myself."

"This is not a joke, Granger. William would kill you if given half a chance."

Part of her wished he would. At least then she could stop running. It was getting to be very exhausting and there was no end in sight.

"Now, I thought it was made clear to you the last time you dropped into our city that you weren't welcome back. _Why_ are you here?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the tense headache that was forming to go away. She hadn't been in the city for months. Since long before she ran away. On a mission to discover the Resistance's stronghold, she'd almost been captured then too. It was only sheer numbers on her side that allowed her to escape. But, of course, not before she was left with the warning that the next time she was found there, they wouldn't be so quick to let her go.

Truthfully, she hated the city. She would've rather been anywhere else than there. Something compelled her to buy a ticket to Edinburgh. She didn't know why. The pessimist in her thought maybe she was looking for a reason to get caught. Dumbledore was sometimes assumed to be the leader of the Resistance. He'd been offered the ability to stay in his own home and live out the rest of his days tending the bar in his pub. The required oath to the Dark Lord had been a condition he wasn't prepared to accept.

"I'm running. I had to get out of London for a few days."

"You foolish child." He shook his head and sighed. "Half the Resistance are calling for your head. You're a traitor."

"I never betrayed the Resistance."

She knew he was going to let her go again. The look of resignation in his blue eyes was all she needed to know. He'd fought a good fight already. Though he'd lost many of his own people, Aberforth Dumbledore still had a soft spot for Harry Potter's best friend.

"Leave the city. Immediately. I'll make certain William doesn't harm you, but I cannot and will not make promises that I'll protect you again. Stay out of our city."


	11. January 10th

January 10th

Hermione didn't wait to wonder if Aberforth's warning was sincere. The first moment she could, she left Edinburgh. Even though her store of money was rapidly depleting, she bought another ticket out. Her next destination took her back to the south, but not to a city of any measurable size. She randomly selected a village name from a list at the ticket counter, somewhere lovely and Welsh-sounding. To the best of her knowledge, there weren't any large Resistance cells in Wales. All she had to worry about was a stray Death Eater here or there. Death Eaters she knew how to handle.

All day as her bus made its way to the stop she was required to get out at, Hermione's mind kept returning to the events of her kidnapping. Clearly, Albus Dumbledore's younger brother had a great deal of control over those that followed him in the Resistance. William Wood had plenty of time to exact his revenge on her when they were alone. She doubted that any of the other members of their group would be all that much upset if he'd succeeded either.

She was a traitor. Not necessarily a traitor to the Resistance itself. She'd had enough sense from the very beginning to stay out of groups like that. Most of them crumbled within weeks of the end of the war. Their leaders were brutally dispatched in mass public executions that all of wizarding Britain was required to attend. She'd been forced to watch as childhood friends like Neville Longbottom and George Weasley were murdered to make a point that there was no escaping their new reality.

No, she wasn't a traitor to the Resistance, but she was a traitor to her ideals. Any last remnant of hope for a better world was crushed in the days immediately following the Final Battle. Lord Voldemort's surviving Death Eaters made certain of that. As she was confined to a small broom cupboard in the castle that had miraculously avoided any kind of damage, she'd been given the opportunity to think about what she was going to do next.

Maybe if she'd been able to fight her way out of the castle like so many others she would've come to a different conclusion. But, she hadn't and there was no use dwelling on what she could not change. As one of Harry Potter's best friends and his rumored lover, she was a high priority capture. She would never forget the powerlessness she felt watching her wand fly out of her hand across the Great Hall and two of the largest Death Eaters tackle her to the ground. With her tearstained cheeks crushed against the stones of the castle, she watched Ron suffer the same fate. He hadn't even bothered to try to run when he saw her captured. His first instinct was to try to save her.

How much time passed with her locked in a cupboard was still a question she didn't have the answer to. A long time. Many, many days. Long enough that the light hurt her eyes for a long time after she was released. She could hear the sounds of frightened shrieks outside in the corridors of the castle her entire stay. What was happening to those poor souls out there was a mystery to her. The isolation and the fear of the unknown was horrible enough. Her imagination ran wild with the possibilities of why she kept hearing high-pitched screaming and then sobbing.

There had been kindness in those days that she hadn't expected. As a prisoner of the Death Eaters, Hermione imagined that she would be at best beaten and at worst… a victim of her own screams of agony. A few times she heard arguments outside her door.

"Step out of the way! She's our prisoner too!"

The door knob had even been rattled and turned. She huddled in the corner of the cupboard, making herself as small a target as possible, and waited for her fate. Each and every time this happened, she heard the same masculine voice tell them to bugger off and leave her in peace. If they didn't immediately leave, Hermione heard muttered curses and angry obscenities. But, without fail, she would be left alone.

She had a new mystery to concern herself with that allowed her the chance to keep her thoughts occupied on something other than the echoes of screaming. Who did that voice belong to? Certainly she could never remember hearing it before. Not once did she ever hear him mentioned by name and when she finally worked up the courage to speak to him through terrified whispers at the keyhole, he never offered it.

Without the ability to tell time in the dark, Hermione could only assume that two or three days had passed before she spoke again. There were no cries to be let out of the room. Those, she was certain, would've been ignored and would've made her feel weak. A prisoner she might be, but she didn't have to become a craven, blubbering mess too. Even if she was dragged in front of Lord Voldemort himself and forced to endure another round of torture, she would do so with pride. They would _not_ break her.

"Have you been here the entire time I have?" She'd asked the question in one of the rare moments when she couldn't hear any noise outside in the corridor.

"Yes, I have," he replied back, amusement clear in his voice.

Having a Death Eater threaten to chuckle in her presence wasn't necessarily a good thing. Hermione briefly worried that she was making a mistake engaging the man in a conversation, but she quickly ignored any misgivings. If she was going to die, she was going to die. The sitting in complete darkness and solitude was going to drive her mad. She was a fool not to take the opportunity to try to prevent that fate from coming to pass.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why', Miss Granger? Would you have preferred that I allow those drunken idiots to break through the enchantments on your cupboard? I assure you, you wouldn't appreciate their intentions."

Even reminding her gently that the other Death Eaters had nefarious designs on her person, Hermione found herself inexplicably calmer. Whoever was stationed outside of her door made her feel safe. Made her feel protected. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember. Maybe isolation was making her go round the bend, after all. Who had ever heard of a Death Eater being kind? Perhaps she had created a fantasy in her own madness.

"Thank you."

They spoke many more times before the door was finally opened and she was presented to the Dark Lord. Mostly about inconsequential topics that were safe. Nothing about what was happening around them or what was going to happen next. She might not have known his name, but he kept her calm and each time one of his comrades tried to force open the door, Hermione felt confident that he would prevail.

The abrupt stop of the bus at the Welsh village she'd purchased a ticket for broke Hermione out of her memories. She was grateful for the interruption and the respite. Not much in her past was much of a comfort any longer. With a nod to the driver of the bus, she hopped off. Instantly, her gaze focused on an elderly woman loading a suitcase into the boot of a small car.

"Just for a few days." Her voice carried over the quiet village to a woman standing just a few feet away. "I'll be back on the 16th."

At least now she knew a place she could spend a few nights.


	12. January 11th

January 11th

The elderly woman who owned the small house Hermione was squatting in should really learn to be more careful. Once she set her sights on her target, it hadn't taken Hermione any time at all to break into the house. She didn't even have a security system or a deadbolt on her back door! What trusting fools Muggles could be.

Even though she felt confident that she could rest inside the house comfortably for a few days, Hermione knew better than to get complacent. She made as little impact on the woman's dwelling as possible. Lighting a fire in the fireplace might have been noticed by a concerned and nosy neighbor. Any amount of smoke swirling out of the chimney could bring the front door crashing down by a citizen's call to the fire services. Turning any of the lights on or off could also draw unwanted attention.

Once when she was able to sneak into an empty house, she'd been so careful keeping her presence a secret that the home was actually burgled while she was trying to sleep. Thankfully, her instincts kicked in and she was able to get out of the house before she was spotted by the criminals, but it had been a near miss. Knowing that they would assume the items were taken in the heist, Hermione had the presence of mind to slip a few valuables she could easily sell inside her pockets on the way out. The burglars were responsible for giving her enough money to eat for the next couple of weeks. Small favors.

When she first inspected the dwelling that would be her temporary home, Hermione had been excited to see the comfortable-looking bed in the largest bedroom. A thick mattress and fluffy sheets seemed like Heaven to her after trying to sleep in the backseat of cars or her chilly nights in the cellar. As she kicked off her shoes and prepared herself to slip between the heavy blankets, she stopped. Getting too comfortable in the last house was exactly what almost got her caught. If Draco Malfoy was on her trail, she had to be even more careful than she had already been.

Reluctantly, she tore herself away from the bedroom. A deep sofa in the tiny living room offered her the best opportunity to see or hear anyone trying to come in through the front door. She was closer to the back door as well. It certainly wasn't nearly as comfortable as the bed would've been, but in no time, she was fast asleep underneath several blankets she found in a linen cupboard.

Sleep was sometimes difficult to find when she was on the run. Other times, it was the only activity that could fill her days. Whenever she got the opportunity, Hermione took advantage of sleeping as much as she could. Not only would she be unable to guarantee that she would find somewhere safe to sleep outside those walls, but slipping away into her dream world was as close to an escape from her harsh reality as she could ever expect until death. Nonsensical dreams and memories of a happier past could sustain her in the hours she was forced to be awake.

The events of the previous few days colored her dreams. Instead of hiding within her dreams, she was forced to relive one of the worst days of her life. As unsettling image after unsettling image raced through her subconscious, Hermione couldn't stay in a carefree, blissful sleeping state. To her frustration, she woke up with her heart racing.

Oliver Wood was frequently a guest star in her nightmares. She hated that there were others after him that carved their individual marks on her conscience, but he was the first and in a number of ways, the most upsetting. Up until the moment his life force drained out of his weakened body, there had been opportunity for Hermione not to become a monster. Once he was dead, however, there was no turning back.

It had been a simple mission, a simple set of orders. Flush the renegades out of the Hogsmeade Caves by any means necessary. Capture them, if possible. If not, use whatever level of force was required to neutralize them as a threat. Rumors spread quickly through those unfortunate souls chosen for duty that day that the Caves weren't filled with the usual Resistance fighters. They would be attacking families, _children_. Most didn't care. An order was an order. Those who were new to the ranks, however, felt their fear and guilt manifest into twisted guts.

This would be her first test, the first real proof that she was serious in her decision. Her training and indoctrination were thorough. In theory, she was a perfect little soldier. She needed her 'first blood' as her master called it. One couldn't be sure of their true capabilities until they were faced with situations that couldn't be easily duplicated in a training room.

Someone had warned them before they arrived. Not soon enough for everyone to get away, but most. Many of the Resistance members who were able-bodied and ready to fight had enough time to rally for an attack. They were outnumbered, of course, but history had proven time and time again that a stout heart and righteous anger could make up for a lot. Each side had heavy casualties. Fighting in close quarters was dangerous for everyone involved.

Hermione tried to stay back away from the bulk of the violence for as long as she could. There was enough activity going on that she didn't have to be right in the thick of it to make it seem like she was trying. She'd almost made it too. Almost survived an entire battle without injuring an opponent once.

As the prisoners who were willing to come quietly were magically bound and gathered, she felt a rough hand on her arm. Unsurprised to see a furious Antonin Dolohov, she prepared herself for what was certain to be an unpleasant encounter. He moved his mouth to just outside of her ear, lowered his voice, and changed her life irrevocably.

"If we go back to the Dark Lord and you haven't shed any blood, he will not be pleased. He's expecting you to prove yourself, Hermione."

She knew he was right, of course. Her mind would be assaulted the first moment Lord Voldemort saw her again. His methods of ensuring his followers' loyalty hadn't changed even after the war ended. She would never forget the first time he ravaged her mind with Legilimency. Never had she felt more violated in her entire life. He would continue to do it until she gave him no reason to doubt her commitment.

Antonin dragged her back into the caves. He had had concerns since they were first given orders that she wouldn't be able to carry them out. Thinly veiled hints at her incompetence were whispered at her before they left for Hogsmeade. She wasn't just proving herself to the Dark Lord that day. If the fearsome Death Eater who had been in charge of her training from the first day she was released from her broom cupboard wasn't convinced, she had no doubt she would be dead at the end of his wand before the sun set on that day.

"I saved one for you. Knew you'd try to wait until the rest of us got our hands dirty first."

His lack of confidence in her was telling. No matter what she did next, he would punish her when they were alone again. Most of his training had been cruel punishment after cruel punishment. He had been successful already in hardening her heart. This next task would simply be his final exam.

He pushed her in the direction of one of the more secluded caves. An energy barrier could be felt across the mouth of the cave even if it wasn't obvious to her eyes. He'd been teaching her to _feel_ wards. Soon, if she didn't displease him too much, he would teach her how to cast them and bring them down.

Huddled in the back of the cave was a man Hermione recognized even if she couldn't immediately put his name with his face. She was still fuzzy on how much time had actually passed since the final battle was waged and Harry was killed. Even after she was no longer living in the broom cupboard in the castle and had her own bedroom in the attic of Antonin's Hogsmeade home, she was kept isolated in her training. In her 'reprogramming' as her teacher was fond of calling it.

"He's unarmed. Just step through the ward and finish him, Hermione. Do it quickly and you'll get a special treat when we get home tonight."

Antonin's special treat could be anything from a fresh biscuit to a new spell or even permission to use his private bathtub. Sometimes, the 'treat' was he simply went easier on her or shortened the time he spent punishing her for her misbehaviors. He liked to keep her guessing. She never knew how she was going to be rewarded.

"Granger? You're alive? We all thought that you…"

She remembered Oliver Wood's name the moment she heard his voice. His change in circumstances following the end of the war had altered his appearance, but she was certain it was him. Part of her wanted to respond to his questions, but one of the first lessons she ever learned from Antonin was to never allow your enemy to get too personal. It would make killing them much harder if you made even a hint of an emotional connection. Before she lost her nerve, Hermione lifted her wand to point at the cornered, unarmed wizard. Rage was clear in his eyes.

"A simple Avada will do. There's no reason to make it more complicated than that for your first kill."

The content of Antonin's words spoken in his calm, even manner changed the rage in Oliver's eyes to terror. He knew what was going to happen next. There was no way to avoid his fate. Hermione felt her wand arm trembling, a sign of weakness Antonin would punish her for later no doubt. She shouted the incantation with a false bravado to mask her own terror. Oliver was dead immediately. As she willed the contents of her stomach to remain inside her body, Antonin placed his arm around her shoulders and promised her that next time they could make the kill more interesting. There were several spells he was going to teach her to prolong her victims' suffering.

Hermione sat up abruptly on the old lady's couch when the last of her memory dreams ended. It was always unnerving to remember that day in Hogsmeade. She recalled the face of almost every single person she'd killed. None of them haunted her like Oliver.

Moments after waking, she realized that it wasn't the end of her dream that woke her up. A sharp, burning pain in her arm had been the culprit. Frustrated that her precious sleep was disturbed, she rolled up the sleeve on her left arm. The stain of her foolishness and her weakness mocked her in its deep, black ink. Staccato bursts of gradually increasing pain in her Dark Mark made her clench her teeth and close her eyes tightly.

Her master was calling to her.


	13. January 12th

_Author's Note: Please remember that there are over 350 chapters left in this story, so there's a great deal of story left to be told. Yes, Draco will be coming back. No, he will not be in every chapter. Hermione is the main character and is the only one that we will see every chapter. Also, there are four main characters - not just Hermione and Draco. They are important too. Expect them to keep popping up._

* * *

January 12th

Long after midnight and well into the early morning hours, the pain continued. The Dark Lord enjoyed toying with his followers, reluctant or otherwise. Hermione had had the opportunity on numerous occasions to see it firsthand. Long ago, a lifetime it felt really, when she was so enmeshed in that world that she couldn't even imagine trying to run away, she couldn't understand _why_ there were Death Eaters who would become disillusioned and try to leave. It seemed like an enormous waste of potential.

She laid on top of the couch covered in blankets with her eyes closed tightly and her jaw clenched. This wasn't the first time he'd reached out to torment her personally. Perhaps Malfoy had returned to their master and informed him that she was still unwilling to come back into the fold. The wizard she swore she would serve for the rest of her life wasn't going to give up on her so easily. Why else would he send his best tracker?

Lord Voldemort had been growing stronger every single day since he murdered Harry. With the loss of his horcruxes, there had been a concern that he wouldn't be able to regain his full strength and power. That, however, was quickly proven to be a non-issue. When one isn't concerned about the consequences of performing the Darkest of Magics on one's soul, there is very little that can't be accomplished.

When she'd been ripped out of her broom cupboard and dragged down the corridors of the castle to where the Dark Lord was keeping court in the Great Hall, Hermione had been astonished by how sickly and pale he looked. There hadn't been time to examine him in the heat of battle. Too much was going on around her to focus on his state of health. Thrown at his feet in front of the remaining members of his Inner Circle, she hadn't been able to look away.

"I considered killing you the moment you were captured."

The sound of his voice wasn't easy to get used to. Not even after she began hearing it daily. A single word spoken in his high, cold tenor made her skin crawl and erupt into goosebumps. When he was near enough that she could smell his foul breath or feel it on the back of her neck, it was worse. Power and malevolence poured off of him in heavy, crashing waves. No one was immune to the discomfort it caused. Not even the men and women who had been there for decades.

"Many of my loyal Death Eaters believed that you should be dealt with swiftly and as painfully as possible."

The hardening of Hermione's heart began at that exact second. Listening to him describe how several of his followers wanted her killed stirred something within herself. She didn't recognize it at the time, but it was the moment that she began putting her survival first above everything else. Amycus Carrow suggested she be tortured with the Cruciatus Curse until her bodily functions shut down. Walden Macnair wanted to lock her up in a cage full of starving manticores. Salazar Selwyn thought it would be diverting to chain her up down in the dungeons for target practice or tension release until she was too broken to survive.

She listened to each of their suggestions with a coldness that might've surprised her months earlier. There was no fear inside her heart. Just a cold determination that she would make each one of them suffer in varying and amusing ways. They were the first three on the list she kept only in her head. More would be added the longer she was alive. She resolved to be a person who wrought fear in the hearts of others. Becoming a weakling begging to be saved from slaughter was not a fate she would accept.

"Death is so _final_. I believe we can find a better use for a woman of your talents and intellect."

The first violation of her mind by the Dark Lord was another event she would never forget. Though she had read all about Legilimency and understood the basics about the branch of magic used to read another's mind, she was woefully ill-prepared for the actuality. Flashes of memories from the beginning of her life to being stuck in the broom cupboard were pulled out of the corners of her subconscious.

He had been looking for something specific. When he discovered the extent of the role she played in finding and destroying his horcruxes, he hadn't been angry. No, if anything, he'd been _impressed_. His conceit and arrogance meant that he had not even been capable of believing for a second that anyone would learn his secret. It might have been infuriating to learn that he wasn't as secure as he thought, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity to find out more slip through his spider-like fingers just because his followers were clamoring for her blood.

"I will spare you. Not as a kindness…" He grimaced at the very word. "…but because I believe you and I have a great deal to learn from each other."

Voldemort released his grip on her head. She would've crumpled to the stone floor if there hadn't been someone behind her back to catch her in time. Unconcerned in that present moment who it was that was offering her support, Hermione didn't take her eyes off of the evil wizard of her nightmares.

"Your education will not end with the completion of any NEWTs. I have something else entirely in mind."

Though she was uncertain of her eventuality and her heart clenched with each beat from the fear, she was trying to remain calm. Anything else but a mask of cool indifference would be taken as a sign of weakness. Enough of the people in the circle surrounding her wouldn't hesitate to kill her if given the opportunity or the permission. She would need every single one of them to fear what she was capable of. Or… perhaps, more attractive to her plans, they would need to be dead.

"Antonin has graciously offered a place for you in his home."

Ignoring the amused snickers from several of the Death Eaters, Hermione turned her head far enough around to look over her shoulder at the man who hadn't released his grip on her arm. The subject of many of her nightmares stared unblinking back at her with no hint of a smile on his face. If he was pleased by the arrangement or not, he wasn't giving any indication. Her second test of not showing weakness occurred when Antonin Dolohov was given permission to take her from the castle. She was certain she would rather be dead than suffer a minute alone in his presence. At least in the middle of the Great Hall there were witnesses.

As abruptly as the pains in her arm began, they stopped. The Dark Lord was a busy man. He couldn't afford to waste precious time torturing one of his lost sheep from afar. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. When her master called for all of his Death Eaters to come to his side, she still felt the burn. But, it had been several months since he last tried to call out to her specifically. Was he growing weary of her staying away?

No doubt he would double his efforts to find her again. She was thankful to know that he was unable to track his followers through their Marks. The rumor that he could find any of them whenever he wished kept the simpleminded in line. They never strayed very far. Her former best friend was a perfect example. But, Hermione was smarter. If a coward like Igor Karkaroff could elude his fate for an entire year, there was simply no way that a tracking spell was in the Mark. He would've been found within hours.

Hermione pulled one of the blankets over her head to block out the early morning sun peeking through the window of her temporary home.


	14. January 13th

January 13th

It was dark outside when Hermione woke up again from her place on the old lady's sofa. Spending hours in agony had taken a lot out of her physically. She was out of practice enduring mass amounts of pain in a short period of time. Her _conditioning_ had once been thorough enough that she was able to withstand her master's displeasure with a protracted Cruciatus Curse, sleep like a baby, and still manage to wake up promptly at five the next morning for her customary morning run. Jogging through the forests around Hogsmeade was sometimes the only opportunity she got to ensure she had some time alone. Now, she had more alone time than she knew what to do with. She was _almost_ tempted to seek out other human beings at times.

Her stomach quietly protested its lack of food when she was fully conscious. Sleep had been more valuable than sustenance the day before. She hadn't expected to find much inside the kitchen cupboards. Her unwitting hostess appeared to be a woman of limited means if the threadbareness of her linens was any indication. Women like her often subsisted on the bare minimum of food to keep their expenses down. And, they usually didn't eat much to begin with.

She was pleasantly surprised to find more food than she expected. The cupboards were filled. Of course, she was always aware that any time she cleaned out a person's stockpile of food, her presence would be noticed. It didn't matter if the Muggles discovered she'd been staying there as long as she wasn't there when they did. The longer she was away from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, the more bits and pieces of humanity began to creep back into Hermione. She knew that she _should_ feel guilty about stealing from people who had very little, but somehow, she still repressed her feelings. Whatever was necessary to stay alive was hers to take.

Once her stomach was appeased and she felt almost _too_ full, she filled her beaded bag with every can or jar in the kitchen that wouldn't spoil. Anything that needed to be cooked or kept cool would be consumed before she left. When she was thinking clearly, she would fill her bag with food minutes after breaking into a house. That way, if the homeowners returned earlier than she anticipated, she would already have their food stashed in her pockets. Between Malfoy and Aberforth Dumbledore and meeting Oliver Wood's older brother, she had been out of sorts. If she wasn't careful, she would be captured again. Next time, she probably wouldn't be released with just a warning.

Being unable to use magic for fear that she would be traced left Hermione in a difficult position. She was fairly certain that she had been cautious in her exit from Edinburgh. Her escape was witnessed by at least one member of the Resistance. It might not have been clear who that person was, but every moment she was in the bus station purchasing her ticket and waiting for departure, she felt eyes on her. If they belonged to anyone else Marked like she was, they wouldn't have allowed her to climb on the bus and leave the city. But, even if she felt confident no one who could do her any harm knew where she was, she didn't like the vulnerability she felt in being in an unsecured home. Antonin taught her more than she dreamed possible about wards, both building them up and tearing them down. Living any length of time in a structure without them went against her highly suspicious nature.

As best she could manage on her own physical power, Hermione stacked furniture in front of the front door and the back door. No one would be able to push either door open without making a loud racket across the wooden floor. Windows she couldn't do anything about. Even closing all of the drapes was a foolish idea. If the neighbors suspected that anything was odd about the house, she might be forced to fight her way out. Muggles were entirely too nosy.

Deciding that she should take advantage of the small bathroom connected to the women's bedroom, Hermione closed the battered old door and used the latch. It wasn't sturdy enough to withstand too much pressure if someone was inclined to knock it down, but at least she would have a few moments to prepare herself if they tried. Showering in a strange place was as vulnerable a position as she could find herself in. Sleeping might have had its own dangers. At least then she wasn't completely naked and the ambient sounds of the house weren't drowned out by the fall of water in her ears.

She knew better than to linger too long under the stream. Hot water ran out quickly in old homes and it was better to finish as quickly as possible. Still, she stood under the hot water taking deep, calming breaths ignoring her valid concerns. Sometimes it felt better to be warm than it did to feel safe. She would sacrifice her sense of security for a little more warmth. Unable to build a fire in the fireplace, the cozy, old house was quite cold. Very little heat poured out of the vents.

Hermione climbed out of the shower just as the hot water was beginning to run out. She had to do it quickly to keep from banishing the small bit of warmth she'd collected with a blast of icy water. Dressing quickly and wrapping her wet hair in a dry towel, she unlatched the door. Before she stepped back into the bedroom, she strained her ears for any sign or hint that anything unusual was happening within. Satisfied that she was still very much alone in her hideaway, she directed her steps towards the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

Of course, she should've considered the fact that wizards weren't going to be deterred by furniture stacked in front of the doors. A simple spell could get one into a structure without even needing to touching the entrance. And, a determined wizard could hide the sounds of Apparition if necessary. As well as make tea with little effort and without turning the taps on.

Draco Malfoy sat at the kitchen table covered in its floral tablecloth looking as if it wasn't unusual for him to pop up uninvited to the Welsh woman's home for tea. His wand lay in plain sight in the middle of the table next to the steaming teapot, proof that he wasn't there to harm her. Hermione wasn't so certain. He'd been taught tricks by the same master. At her entrance, he calmly looked up, met her eye, and nodded once in greeting. His silent offer to join him at the table was refused. She might be willing to listen to what he had to say if he said it quickly, but she was already planning to bolt.

"I think it wise that you not attempt any dramatic escapes like the other night, Granger. Your use of magic did not go unnoticed. Antonin was sorely disappointed to learn he'd missed you."

"I'm sure he was. How's his eye?"

His quiet chuckle sent chills up her spine.

"Perfectly all right, the last I saw. I believe the Healers at St. Mungo's were able to fix it before any permanent damage was done. But, if I may be honest, I'm not so sure Antonin is likely to forget you sticking a sharp fork in it. Something to keep in mind when you see him next."

"I don't plan on _ever_ seeing him again."

"Yes, well, I suppose that remains to be seen. I know I'm not speaking out of turn when I say that neither one of us have always been able to see the fulfillment of our plans."

It felt bizarre _chatting_ with Malfoy. Less than two weeks earlier he was intent on catching her and dragging her back to their Dark Lord. Nothing he said would convince Hermione otherwise. Maybe this was all just a different tactic he was trying to ensure she left with him. Wouldn't work.

"I'll kill you if I have to, Malfoy. Don't think your wand laying on the table will stop me. I'm not going back."

"Not even to see your…"

" _No_! I'm not going back."

She closed her hand over the handle of her wand. Every word she spoke, she meant. Killing her childhood bully wouldn't even be a hardship on her conscience. She'd killed many she hated less. Some she hadn't hated at all.

He raised both hands up, palms out. Just as he did a few minutes after midnight on New Year's. His apparent lack of a weapon didn't make her feel any safer.

"I'm not here to take you, Granger. Just here to leave you a message."

"You can tell Antonin that I want nothing…"

"It's not from him."

Draco held one hand up as he slipped the other into one of his pockets. She couldn't see what he pulled out in the dimness of the room. Whatever it was, he set it down on the table and picked up his wand. Preparing herself for a battle, Hermione had half a dozen brutal spells on the tip of her tongue waiting to be used against the wizard.

"Maybe it'll convince you I'm telling you the truth. I don't want to hurt you."

He spun in place, Disapparating from the kitchen in a swirl of his black robes. Not trusting that it wasn't an elaborate plan to catch her off guard, Hermione waited a solid minute or two before she moved her feet towards the table. Knowing him, he might have Apparated back in the room when she approached his 'message'.

A cut flower was all he left. She didn't understand. It was too dark to see even what kind of flower it was so she picked it up and carried it over to a window where the light of the moon was shining through brightly. Hermione gasped when she realized she was holding a single bluebell. In the light, she could see a tiny strip of parchment tied to the stem of the flower. The writing was so small it took a moment for her eyes to adjust enough to read. When they did, she felt her insides twist. She knew that handwriting _very_ well. Only two words were scrawled in black ink.

 _Trust him_.


	15. January 14th

January 14th

Hermione didn't wait around to discover whether or not Draco Malfoy could actually be trusted. Only moments after reading the message left tied to the bluebell, she gathered her meager belongings and abandoned her sanctuary. She spent the rest of the night and most of the next day walking as far from the village as she could on her own steam.

It was most likely a trap. She had to convince herself over and over again to not read more into the two words written on the parchment. Malfoy was getting creative in his efforts to drag her back where she didn't want to go. Overt violence wouldn't get him anywhere. She had been trained in cruelty under an unforgiving master. If she didn't want to do something, no amount of violence on his part was going to change her mind. Truthfully, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, only the fear of being traced by her magic kept her from using her wand on Malfoy. He might have been a good fighter, but she was better.

Even as she struggled to convince herself that Malfoy was just using gentler methods to bring her to heel, she couldn't ignore the 'message'. _Nobody_ would've understood the significance of the bluebell. It was a private joke, a reminder of a time in her life she would never forget. As with anything pleasant and lovely in her existence, it hadn't lasted long enough. Over almost as soon as it began really. Forced to return to a crushing reality that was swiftly turning her into a cold, hard woman she didn't even recognize.

Maybe it was better that it didn't last. Too much freedom, too much _hope_ could be detrimental to a person's survival. She had to remain focused on not only staying alive, but making certain those she'd marked for punishment received what they deserved. There were people she hadn't been finished with yet. All those three weeks did was give her a false sense of security and a dream of what life could be like that would never be real.

Duplicating another's handwriting was simple enough with the right spell. She tried to convince herself that there was no possible way the request that she trust Malfoy was genuine. Besides the simple fact that the person purported to have written the message hadn't even been in the country for the past few years that she was aware of, what could there possibly be to gain from trusting Malfoy when he said he wasn't there to drag her back to the feet of their master?

She kept to the quiet paths and lonely roads as much as she could. A woman walking alone in the middle of the country was often harassed or at least showered with concerned questions about her safety. Muggles didn't frighten Hermione. Not even the biggest, meanest ones with weapons intent on doing her harm. She'd made it that far in her life without being sexually assaulted and there were certainly plenty of opportunities for that to happen right after the war ended. Thanks to her protector outside her cupboard door and the terrifying reputation of her teacher once she moved to the village, no one bothered her beyond words and innocuous hexes. No Muggle was going to get the better of her even if she had to use her wand to Avada the bastard.

Several hours of walking hadn't gotten her very far from the place she was escaping. Malfoy likely was made aware of her entering the Welsh village from someone who'd seen her get on a bus in Edinburgh. It wouldn't take much effort at that point to track down her final destination. As much as she might try, she wasn't always the most inconspicuous of travelers. If he knew she entered the village on a bus, he would probably assume that she would leave that way too. Avoiding all Muggle transportation for awhile would be a safe bet.

She walked until her feet hurt and her back ached. January was not the best month to take a hike through the countryside. Staying warm even with multiple layers of clothing on was difficult. Each time a car would approach the area she was in, she hid behind bushes or trees until they passed. Any hint of civilization was avoided. Nosy Muggles who liked to gossip were dangerous. They could bring suspicion down on her with a simple unguarded comment. Spies were everywhere in Lord Voldemort's new country.

When the winter sun was down and she was worried that she physically couldn't carry on any longer without collapsing, Hermione found a small farm at the end of a quiet lane. Careful not to go near the main house, she snuck into the tiny barn in the back. It wasn't the most comfortable of locations, but one really couldn't be picky in the winter. Although freezing to death out in the elements might have put an end to all of her problems. Wasn't it supposed to be just like falling asleep and never waking? There were certainly worse ways to die. And, if she was dragged back to the Dark Lord, she would probably get to experience one first-hand. Antonin would probably still be angry enough to commit her murder himself. He was a man of many talents who knew many, _many_ ways to make a person scream.

Or, worse, she might even be given back to Antonin for more 'training'. She wasn't sure she could endure more of that. Her mind wasn't what it used to be. Even if she tried to ignore the signs, she was no fool. Much more time amongst the Death Eaters and she was at risk of being completely insane. Unlike most of the poor souls who found themselves in a similar position to hers after the crushing defeat of the Light side, of the 'good' side, she understood enough about psychology to know what brainwashing looked like.

But, _knowing_ about something and being able to prevent it from happening to the ones she loved, were completely different. She could easily see the change that intense training in the Dark Arts brought on the personality and psyche of Ron. His private teacher was able to drag the worst parts of him out, twist and exploit them, and engineer the perfect little soldier for the Dark Lord. She witnessed him be broken to nothing and rebuilt from the leftover parts. Very little of the boy she remembered from Hogwarts remained. He was almost a machine of destruction with very little thought for anything else. Hermione would've wept for the loss if she had anything left in her to care.

Feelings were weaknesses. That had been one of her first lessons. She was just as brainwashed as the rest of them even if she _knew_ it. That's why she had to run. Living in that environment any longer would've ripped out the last shred of humanity that made her Hermione. She'd already had to commit crimes and atrocities that were disgusting to her palate. And not all of them were even illegal or immoral. Running gave her a hope, even if it was just a sliver, that maybe she could find herself again. Be _normal_ again.

She fell asleep in the darkest corner of the barn clutching the bluebell tightly in her hand. It was a reminder to keep going, to not trust the pretty words of someone she might have once believed she loved. _Trusting_ Malfoy would make her a fool. She was exhausted of being a fool.


	16. January 15th

January 15th

The cold Welsh barn turned out to be much more comfortable than Hermione anticipated. She assumed that once she was able to find a quiet, dark corner and warm up enough to be able to fall asleep that she would only be out for a few hours. Sleeping outside of a bed or a comfortable couch was never easy. Usually she would sleep just long enough that she could gather enough strength and energy to keep moving. Hiding in an outbuilding on someone else's property while they were only meters away meant that she had to get up very early and leave before anyone suspected that she was there.

Unfortunately, the walking had taken more out of her than she thought. Unused to such a high level of physical activity, every muscle in her body was sore. She would have to get up and move even if there wasn't any way possible that she could get as far as she had the day before. Staying still could mean a death sentence if she wasn't careful. Once her eyes were closed, it was going to take a lot to get her to wake back up.

Like a single loud bark inches from her face.

"Leave the rats, Alfie. You're not going to catch one."

A series of more barks accompanied the sound of a woman's voice. Hermione sat up quickly when she understood that she was about to be discovered hiding in a barn by the potential owner. There would be no good excuse for her to be there. Alfie, the overly excited watchdog, continued to bark his concerns about the stranger. Unless she Disapparated out of the barn before she was caught, there was nothing she could do to get out of there. It had been foolish to bed down in a place with only one exit. She knew better than that.

Any use of her magic would be registered. It had been dangerous to use it on New Year's. How she didn't get caught was beyond her. In that moment, she was only concerned with getting away from Malfoy. He was dangerous to her survival. But was this Muggle? Though she hadn't gotten a look at her face, nothing in her voice led Hermione to believe she was possessed of unnatural physical strength. She just sounded like an ordinary, middle-aged Muggle. Surely she could outrun one of those. Even if her body still screamed from its physical activity the day before.

"What is it, Alfie?"

The concern in her voice was evident. Hermione had to make a quick decision how she was going to play this encounter. Each second the Muggle's footsteps drew closer and closer. Alfie continued to bark. He didn't instill any fear in Hermione. Clearly, he was one of those sweet, gentle dogs that got too excited when it came to strangers that they couldn't stop barking, but who wouldn't be able to cause anyone any injury. The white on his muzzle proved that he'd long ago passed his youthful stage. She didn't want to injure the dog, but if she had to, she would. Any threat to her survival had to be eliminated. The woman too.

Only a moment or two before the Muggle got her first glimpse of her intruder huddled in the corner of the barn, Hermione made her decision. Sometimes, sheer violence wasn't the answer. That had been one of the more surprising lessons she learned from Antonin. She assumed when they began their training that he would always be a proponent for killing what annoyed him. Kill first and ask questions later sort. As it turned out, he had more effective methods for dealing with enemies and potential threats.

Hermione made herself seem as small as possible in the corner away from the still barking Alfie. Every lesson she ever learned about projecting a steely mask of indifference on her face was thrown away. She allowed the very real fear she was experiencing to show on her face. She _wanted_ the Muggle to know she was afraid. Yes, she was capable of killing the woman with hardly any effort, but she was still frightened that this would be another threat to her being able to walk out the door and run away for another day.

"Alfie! To me."

With wide, unblinking eyes, the woman kept her gaze on her unwelcome visitor. It was obvious that she hadn't expected to find another person hiding in her barn. Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest. If she didn't immediately call for someone else to assist her in the barn, there was a high probability that she would be able to talk her way out of the sticky situation she'd found herself in.

She recognized the feel of being analyzed as a potential threat. It was something she herself had done countless times in the past. Seconds passed that felt like hours. Nearing the end of her fifties, by Hermione's estimation, the woman looked to be the kind of person that wasn't afraid of much. That could be a good thing or a very, very bad thing. If she didn't believe Hermione was a threat, she might let her go with little more than an apology. If she _did_ believe she was a threat, it was likely Hermione wouldn't even know it until it was too late to get out of there safely. Dealing with humans capable of thinking for themselves meant dealing with unknown variables.

"It was a cold night last night. Come inside the house and I'll make you some tea."

An invitation to enjoy the warmth of the woman's kitchen was not what Hermione expected. Startled at first, she didn't speak or make a move. Only when the woman turned her head back to call over her shoulder for her did Hermione find the strength in her legs to follow. Alfie ran back and forth between the two women with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his tail wagging without stopping. It was the strangest walk that she could remember for quite a long time.

Entering in the Muggle's back door to her kitchen presented a whole new set of dangers. If Hermione refused to enter, the woman might take it to mean that she was running from the authorities or something worse. A simple call to the right department and Muggles all over the area would be looking for a woman matching her description. There were spies everywhere. It wouldn't take long before Death Eaters were involved in the search. Of course, once she was inside the house, a lot could go wrong too. She had to be careful. Had to keep her eyes completely open and not grow complacent for a single second.

"Have a seat at the table and I'll put the kettle on."

Hermione did as she was told. Alfie immediately put his front paws in her lap, begging for attention. To give her hands something to do, she scratched behind his ears while she watched his master move around her tiny, warm kitchen. She hadn't spoken a single word to the Muggle yet. It was safer. The less she knew, the better.

The Muggle was too trusting. With her back to the stranger, she moved around as if it was every single day that she found an intruder in her personal property. She didn't speak to Hermione again until the tea was ready. As she filled each of their cups at the table, her eyes flicked up more than once to get a good look at her visitor. She sat down, picked up her cup, and asked the most obvious question that should've been asked a long time before that moment.

"Why were you in my barn?"

A direct question couldn't be ignored. Hermione knew she would have to say _something_ to pacify the woman's curiosity. She sped through all of the potential scenarios. Being perfectly honest seemed the best option.

"I was walking yesterday and I got very tired. I didn't expect to sleep for so long. Hoped to be out of there before anyone found me."

She seemed satisfied by the simple answer. Once she took a sip of her tea, the woman set the cup back down on the table.

"There's nothing of any value to steal in the barn. Or in the house, for that matter."

"I'm not a thief."

Except, survival had forced her to become one at times. Hermione could compartmentalize her actions. Shove them in the very back of her mind to forget about them. Sometimes staying alive was more important than one's personal convictions.

"No, I don't get the feeling that you are. You're running though. The question is, from what?"

She narrowed her eyes as if that would aid in her scrutiny of her unusual guest. Hermione wasn't about to come right out and admit what she was running from. Not only would it be too complicated to explain, the woman might assume that she was some dangerous criminal and the Muggle police would need to be contacted.

"It might have been many years since I did the same, but I recognize a woman running from her husband."

Hermione's eyes widened at her statement. She wasn't sure how to respond.

"Don't try to deny it. I see it. The same desperation I remember seeing when I looked in the mirror is all over you."

"Yes, well…"

"You don't look marked up, but sometimes they don't have to leave bruises to hurt us, do they?"

All she could do was nod her head and sip her tea. She didn't like where this conversation was headed and how she was going to be expected to participate in it.

"Or, like my bastard ex-husband, they prefer to leave the marks in places others can't see."

"He pushed me down the stairs once. Thought I was going to break my neck."

The Muggle didn't even seem horrified by the confession. Just shook her head and sighed. After another sip of tea, she spoke again.

"Can't say I blame you for running away. Any children?"

"One."

"A boy that looks just like his father?"

Hermione almost dropped her teacup.

"How did you…?"

"You didn't bring him with you. I just assumed."

"Yes, well, I've never been a terribly good mother anyway. Never wanted the job. It certainly wasn't my choice."

The Muggle woman nodded in understanding. Without warning, she rose from her chair and disappeared into another room. Hermione's fear grew. If she couldn't see what the woman was doing, she could be in danger. Maybe she was using the phone. Or she was digging out some ancient firearm her grandfather used to shoot birds. It could be anything.

Almost as soon as she left the room, the woman returned. In her hands she held a simple white envelope. She set it down on the table next to Hermione's abandoned teacup.

"Here. Take this. It's an address of a shelter I know of and a little bit of money to pay for the bus."

"I can't accept this."

"Nonsense. It's not much, but it'll get you some help. If I hadn't had a kind stranger help me all of those years ago, I would've gone back to the bastard and I'd probably be dead."

Hermione tried to swallow the lump of emotion that formed in her throat. No one had ever shown her such kindness. She was beginning to believe that there was hope for humanity after all.


	17. January 16th

January 16th

The smartest action to take after leaving the unexpectedly kind woman's small farm was to go in the exact opposite direction of the women's shelter she suggested. Hermione knew it was dangerous to go anywhere someone else might be expecting her to go. That's how a fugitive got caught. By making simple mistakes or listening to seemingly kind-hearted people who might try to lead them astray. Even though neither of the women exchanged names, it wouldn't be too difficult for the wrong sort of people to discover Hermione's whereabouts. The Dark Lord's spies were everywhere. And, if she was honest with herself, Antonin's influence was far-reaching as well.

So, armed with the knowledge that she was likely making a very serious error in judgement, Hermione went straight to the nearest bus stop in the nearby village. She handed over the exact amount for the ticket to Cardiff and waited for the bus. Hours later, she arrived in the charming Welsh city she'd had the pleasure to visit a couple of times in the past. A helpful Muggle gave her directions to the address written down on the envelope.

It was the first night that Hermione ever spent in a Muggle women's shelter. Truthfully, in all of her travels, she never would've thought for a second that hiding behind walls amongst other women struggling with the aftereffects of dangerous relationships was an option. She didn't feel like she belonged there. Every single second that she sat inside the warm building she felt certain that someone was going to point her out for the fraud that she was. She was the kind of person that everyone else should be protected _from_. What right did she have to seek her own protection?

She only went at the suggestion of the Muggle because she thought it would seem strange if she followed up later to discover she never arrived. Maybe she had a dear friend who worked in the shelter and she would casually ring her up to check to see if Hermione ever made it. There might have been laws and societal expectations put in place to protect the identity of the poor souls seeking refuge, but Hermione knew enough about human nature to understand that even the most proficient and law-abiding person could sometimes bend the rules. If her unexpected savior suspected that her uninvited guest was on the run from something other than an abusive husband, Hermione might have found herself the person of interest in _another_ search.

One night in a warm bed was all she wanted. One hot shower and one filling meal. She stayed long enough to get all three and to make it clear that she'd been there for at least a little while before slipping out the front door. The helpful Muggles in the shelter tried to get her to agree to remain a little bit longer. _'At least until you're on your own feet again.'_ They pressed pamphlets in her hands full of promises for a better life and warnings about the dangers of returning to an unsafe home. She was momentarily grateful for the illusion that someone out there might actually care what became of her. But, she couldn't stay. Every second she remained, she put more and more innocent people in danger.

Without much purpose, she roamed around the streets of Cardiff just looking for something to occupy her time. She had an overabundance of the stuff. It was strange to realize that it had not been _that_ long ago that she was rushing through the castle with a time turner to make it to her ridiculous number of classes. In those days, she never had enough time. Even with the time turner from the Ministry, she rarely had enough sleep or remembered to eat. Her problems in those days were much simpler even if they felt more like life-and-death than _actually_ worrying about whether or not she was going to live another day.

Some days when she allowed her mind to wander back to those relatively carefree days in the castle, Hermione wished she could travel back in time to appreciate what she had while she had it. There was very little of the same girl that strove to be the top of her year in every class in the woman that looked a little bit like her. Life had changed her in ways she couldn't even fully identify. Maybe it was best that she couldn't. One could only take so much heartache in a single lifetime. She forced her mind away from thoughts of life in the castle. Weeks in a broom cupboard had ruined the illusion of a happy, safe place. Not even the memories of the soft, kind voice outside the door made it better.

Cardiff was beautiful even if the rain that fell was incessant and cold. Hermione couldn't remember why she hadn't spent much time in the city in the past. Something about a treaty or an unspoken agreement with the magical community in the city. They weren't outright supporters of the Dark Lord and his regime, but they weren't openly in rebellion against them either. Not like the ones in Edinburgh or half of Devon. Enough energy had been expended by the Dark Lord's forces in those places that they were usually left relatively at peace. Until an enemy of the Resistance had the foolish idea to enter their boundaries, of course.

Hermione felt confident that if her presence was noticed in Cardiff, no one would say anything unless she started making trouble. Her defection had been a well-kept secret. Only those with direct access to the Dark Lord via his Inner Circle even knew that she had run. It would have been a massive blow to morale and to the illusion that Lord Voldemort's favorite pet was still in line with the regime if word of her _escape_ got out. No one would want the country to know that she wasn't still being a dutiful puppet.

Her favorite of all the Death Eaters, if it was possible to actually _like_ one of them, had made a very public decision to leave the organization he'd pledged his life to when he was a young, naive child chasing after a pretty witch's skirts. Rodolphus Lestrange had actually killed three members of the lower ranks of the Death Eaters in his rather dramatic resignation. Hermione struggled to keep the pride off of her face when she heard the tale secondhand. Her _master_ wouldn't have appreciated her joy.

Roddy had been kind to her from the first day they met. Convinced at first that _he_ was the voice outside her cupboard protecting her from his fellow debauched wizards and keeping her at least marginally sane, Hermione had been encouraged to learn he hadn't been anywhere near her cupboard. She was thankful to discover that there were at least _two_ Death Eaters who weren't complete horrors. If the rumors were true, and she very much hoped they were, Roddy was out there somewhere living happily in his animagus form free from the violence he despised.

Once, as a guise of helping Antonin with her training, Roddy offered to teach her how to become an animagus. He was selective in the people he revealed his secret to and she'd felt honored when he was kind enough to offer her a possible escape from the life she had been forced into. Transfiguration had always been one of her best subjects in school. Not only had it been terribly fascinating, but she admired Professor McGonagall so much that she wanted to impress the witch. Training to be an animagus, however, took a great deal more concentration and patience than she possessed. Roddy understood. He smiled, squeezed her hand, and promised her that if the time ever came that she needed his assistance, he would be there. Some days, he had been the only person in the Inner Circle she didn't want to murder.

As she continued to walk down the snowy streets ignoring the happy Muggles around her going about their lives, Hermione thought back to the message she still held in her pocket. If it truly was from the person she thought it was and wasn't just some elaborate plan to duplicate his writing, _why_ would he send Malfoy? Why would he ask her to trust him? He would've had a better chance of getting her to trust a Death Eater stalking her around the country if he'd chosen one she actually trusted. Like Roddy or even Corban Yaxley. They'd had their differences at times, but she knew underneath his rough exterior he was a good man caught up in impossible circumstances. Or, why didn't he come himself?

Exhausted from her walking and from her thoughts, Hermione set her attention to finding somewhere to sleep that night. The sun would be down soon and she needed a warm corner to collapse.


	18. January 17th

January 17th

Hermione was fortunate enough to find a cellar door that had been left unlocked. Most people, in her experience as a person on the run, rarely found cause to enter their cellars in the winter months. It wasn't like it used to be before the joys of modern inventions and the market on every corner. Instead of a cellar being used to store the very food necessary to survive the winter months, they were usually crowded with broken or unwanted junk: toys that had been outgrown, furniture that had become outdated, clothing that was out of fashion.

It certainly wasn't a long term solution to her constant problem of finding a place to keep out of the elements. Until she knew how she was going to escape the country completely or until she decided to stop running and return to the fate that was awaiting her in Hogsmeade, she had to keep moving. The unsuspecting owners of the home she was hiding in might not notice her for a few days, but she couldn't get too complacent. If she wasn't careful and stayed too long, she would be discovered again.

Wrapped up in every blanket she kept in her beaded bag and several more she found in a box in the cellar, Hermione settled down on an old sofa. As far away from the entrance to the cellar as it was possible to get, she felt secure hidden amongst the towering boxes of rubbish her host family couldn't bear to get rid of. Based on what else lay around her in that corner, she felt confident that even if a member of the family came down the stairs to search for something they needed, they wouldn't likely go anywhere near where she was trying to sleep. The plastic Christmas tree further encouraged her. If they'd already taken down all of their holiday decorations, maybe they wouldn't have a need to return until the holidays were upon them again. She was just grateful that the space was dry. That was a luxury that many cellars in old houses lacked. Yet one more lesson she'd discovered in her time on the run.

As she tried to take advantage of the relative safety of her shelter to get some sleep, Hermione's mind continued to wander back to the message she couldn't ignore. The first time she had seen that handwriting was a couple of days after she was removed from the castle. Antonin Dolohov had an attic room set up for her in his Hogsmeade house. He had been giving her an overview of what she could come to expect as his pupil. Being out of the broom cupboard had been a relief only until she fully understood what her life outside was going to be like. Dolohov was going to brainwash and mold her into the perfect puppet.

On her first day in his home, she naively expected to be fed and given the opportunity to wash her body. Weeks of filth still clung to every pore. She knew that she had a pungent odor. No one, not even someone who had spent fifteen years in Azkaban, could stand to be around her in that state for any length of time. So, when Antonin led her into his kitchen where a large meal was laid out on his table under a stasis spell, Hermione felt her stomach growl and ache for the sustenance it could smell. One step towards the food without permission earned her a hex to the gut that sent her toppling to the floor.

"You will only eat when I tell you to eat. Is that understood?"

She could vaguely remember nodding her head in agreement. At that moment, she might have agreed to anything to spare her from the pain of his punishment and to finally fill her empty belly. It didn't occur to her until much, _much_ later how little she'd been willing to sell herself for in order to keep on surviving. Antonin had a voracious appetite for cruelty that she would become well acquainted with the longer their training lasted. He ordered her to ignore all of the pain she was experiencing to stand back up on her feet. Inches from the food, he pointed to a spot on the floor.

"Remain in this spot."

He swept out of the room moments later to her surprise. A minute passed. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Fifteen. She knew only because there was a clock ticking loudly on the wall above the table. If she kept her eyes focused on the clock, she wasn't as tempted by the food. When he'd been gone for twenty minutes, Hermione took a step towards the table. If he wasn't around to witness her disobedience, what would it matter? The same spell struck her in the back. She witnessed him remove his disillusionment spell as she clutched her guts on the kitchen floor. He allowed her to lay there for several minutes in pain.

"Remain in this spot."

Three more times over the course of the next forty-eight hours he would cast the spell on her from a hidden corner of the room when she disobeyed his order. They were the two longest days of her entire life. Sitting in the darkness of the broom cupboard had been nothing compared to standing in place waiting for permission to eat. Antonin only allowed her to sit at the table when she didn't move for over an entire day. Sheer willpower and abject terror of what he would do to her if she didn't comply kept her rooted in the spot. Not caring whether she stood or laid down or just sat on the kitchen floor, he was satisfied with her ability to follow orders.

Hermione would've liked to admit that she'd been harder to break, but she wasn't. A human being can only take so much before they cracked and between months on the run, watching her best friend be murdered before her eyes, weeks in a broom cupboard where she didn't know what her fate would be, and then having her mind savagely ravished by Lord Voldemort, she wasn't at her strongest to begin with. While there would be many more times in the future that she would incur Antonin's wrath when she disobeyed an order from him or because she simply displeased him, never once did she eat in his presence without his permission.

After eating exactly what she was permitted to prevent her getting sick, Hermione was allowed to take the first shower she could remember having since she was a guest at Shell Cottage following her night of torture in Malfoy Manor. The simple pleasure that she had always taken for granted was an experience she wasn't likely to soon forget. Part of her was afraid that he wouldn't allow her to take another one. A bigger part of her was afraid that she would step out of the shower only to find him watching and waiting for an opportunity to exert even more power over her body. To her great relief, he made it clear early on that he wasn't interested in using his position of power to force her into his bed. She would either find her way there of her own desire or she wouldn't. That had been a kindness she hadn't expected from a Death Eater, and one of the few he ever offered.

Once dressed in clean pajamas and feeling more human than she had in a long time, she climbed the narrow staircase to the tiny room that had been set aside for her use. Antonin promised that she would be allowed to sleep as long as she desired before they resumed her training in earnest. He could understand the simple fact that her body needed rest, especially after his rather unconventional first lesson.

There was nothing remarkable about the space. Just a small wardrobe, a single bed and a little wooden table with rickety legs. Exhausted and excited about the prospect of sleeping in an actual bed again, Hermione slipped between the sheets with a sigh. She tossed and turned to try to find the most comfortable position. As tired as she was, she knew that once she fell asleep she'd likely be in that same position for hours. Pushing her hand underneath her pillow, her fingers brushed against a piece of parchment. She pulled it out to discover a hastily written note in handwriting she never forgot.

Fear overtook her at once. What if this was another test? Another lesson that Antonin was trying to teach. Should she turn it over to him without reading it first? Hide it? Pretend like she didn't find it? Her curiosity finally got the better of her. The message was simple, but encouraging. For the first time since arriving in Antonin's house, she didn't feel completely and utterly alone.

 _I'm not outside your door any longer, but I'm still watching. If you need me for any reason, open your window._

Maybe it was madness to imagine that she had a secret admirer or protector. He was almost certainly a Death Eater even if he hadn't admitted it openly during her captivity. She didn't know his name or even what he looked like. For all she knew, he was just playing a dangerous game. Any other time, any other woman, would have been unnerved by such a sentiment from a man she didn't know. He could have been acting on Antonin's orders. One more way he could control her. There was still so much to learn about her new life. She fell asleep clutching the promise, false or not, of an ally in a world filled with enemies.

In the present, Hermione unrolled the parchment with his handwritten request that she trust Malfoy. No matter how many times she read it, none of it made any sense. Where was he? Why wasn't he seeking her out himself? It might have been another in a long line of foolish hopes, but she imagined that if she wasn't alone any longer, she might actually have a chance of surviving. Still holding the crushed bluebell and the parchment, the exhausted witch fell asleep with memories of the first time she opened the window to her bedroom bleeding into her dreams.


	19. January 18th

January 18th

Even though her beaded bag was still full of food from the elderly woman's cupboards, Hermione waited until she could no longer hear footsteps above her head to sneak out of her hiding place. The family that owned the house hadn't been very quiet. In the middle of the night, she'd been startled awake by heavy footsteps. Initially fearing that she was about to be discovered, she relaxed when the pipes began clanging. Someone just needed a glass of water.

She waited until the upstairs had been silent for half an hour. Once when she had snuck into another cellar while the family slept upstairs, she made the mistake of going up the stairs immediately after the couple left for work. It had almost been a disaster when the husband rushed back home just minutes later to pick up his forgotten mobile. Hermione wasn't sure when those devices became a necessity for every single Muggle to possess and carry around at all times, but since hiding in the Muggle world, she discovered there was a great deal about their society that she didn't understand. Life had gone on while she was tucked up in Hogsmeade learning how to be a good Death Eater. Without her parents' tie to the world, she was a practical stranger.

The Muggles she was staying with were either overly trusting or entirely clueless. An outside door to their cellar had been left unlocked allowing a dangerous intruder entrance, and the door at the top of the stairs that led into their kitchen was also unlatched. Hermione didn't have any qualms about stealing from them at that point. They would get what they deserved. Ordinarily, she would stick only to the food they left in their cupboards. Because they were foolish enough to leave their doors unlocked, she resolved to take whatever she could find that had any value. Even in modest homes like theirs she could usually find some jewelry or small electronics that could fetch her a few pounds in another city.

After cramming all of the non-perishable food items they possessed into her bag, Hermione continued searching through the rest of the house. She had been very excited to discover the lady of the house was the exact same size she was. Several of her best clothing items ended up in her bag as well. It was rare that she had the opportunity to find new clothes. Much of what she was forced to wear was beginning to show its age. Laundrettes were clearly not as safe as she once thought they were. Other than the large items that she couldn't very well carry around herself without the aid of magic, there wasn't much else to steal. Perhaps she wasn't the first home invader this family had had in recent days. If they had the nasty habit of leaving their doors unsecured, it was no shock.

Hermione could move through a house swiftly when necessary. After every room had been examined for anything that could be taken, she helped herself to a meal of whatever she could find left in the kitchen. She had to save the jars and cans in her bag for the days she wasn't able to steal a good meal. Unfortunately, there were generally more of those days than there were of the other. When she was past satiated and on the verge of being too full to move, she headed back down the stairs to retrieve her blankets. It was best to get out of the house as quickly as she could. Hiding in houses in the daytime had an extra set of dangers.

"Don't even bother trying to Disapparate. I placed a ward around the house. Also locked all of the doors and windows upstairs while you were hunting. Thought it would be best that I remove all means of escape. Maybe then you'd actually talk to me."

She wasn't surprised to find Draco Malfoy sitting on the edge of the dusty sofa she'd spent the night on. Perhaps that was the nagging feeling in the back of her mind urging her to get out as soon as she could. Somehow she expected him to be back to bother her some more. _How_ he kept finding her was a mystery she would've loved to have the answer to. 'Disconcerting' didn't even begin to describe how it felt each time he found her again.

Knowing that she was well and truly caught, Hermione sat down on top of a box a few meters from the interloper. There was a time to waste energy running and there was a time when it was better to listen to the enemy speak. She knew that no matter what she did, Malfoy would continue to find her. The Dark Lord valued his tracking skills over all others. He was only brought in when a challenge was presented.

"If I asked you how you found me, would you tell me?"

"And give away one of my secrets?"

He was teasing her. She didn't like it. A quirk of a smile on his lips made Hermione uneasy. In her past experiences with the wizard, when he was pleased, she usually wasn't.

"Tracking spell. On your coat."

Hermione's first instinct was to rip the offending garment off of her body. If it hadn't been so warm and so vital to her survival, she would have. Instead, she resolved that if she got out of that cellar without being a captive, the first chance she got, she'd steal another coat.

"While you were showering the other day, I cast it on your coat. Very simple incantation. I'll teach it to you if you want."

Appealing to her curiosity and desire to learn was a low move even for Malfoy. She narrowed her eyes and scowled. Was that the plan? Trick her into using her magic so she could be traced again? Antonin would appreciate the effort. She briefly considered using some of the more effective _physical_ options for hurting the pest of a wizard until a thought came to mind that increased both her curiosity and her unease.

"If you knew how to find me at any time, why wait? You had plenty of chances the last few days."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. It was a gesture that she had never seen from him. Or at least, if she had, many years had passed since then. Usually, he was so sure of himself. So confident in his magical prowess and the protection that being a member of his influential family provided that he had no reason to seem nervous or unsure.

"You're not my main priority right now, Granger."

For some unknown reason, that statement offended Hermione greatly. Maybe she had grown too used to the importance that had been placed on her since the war ended. She held a high place of honor within the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. Or, at least, she _did_. If she was captured and returned to her master, she would have to work very, very hard to prove herself worthy of the position again. Assuming, of course, that Antonin didn't have her immediately murdered for stabbing him in the eye with the fork. For a man who could forget to shave for months at a time, he was awfully vain about his appearance.

"Searching for you is something of a side job. A _hobby_."

"'A _hobby?'_ "

"Like I told you before, I wasn't sent by anyone to find you. Not by the Dark Lord. Not by your…"

"Then why?"

Hermione reached into her pocket to feel the bluebell that was already wilted and halfway to being dry. She wanted to feel the reassurance it provided. If she wanted to keep it, she would have to press it between the pages of one of her books soon. But, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with it yet. It was just another reminder of a past she was running from and a future that could never exist.

"I haven't decided if I can trust you yet."

She snorted, both amused and offended by his simple statement. Hadn't she been told that she was to trust _him_? Malfoy was confusing her the longer he sat perfectly still on the edge of the sofa. If his casual stance was to be believed, he was perfectly at ease speaking with his old rival in the cluttered and dirty cellar of an unknown Muggle family. Maybe her mind was finally going. She'd suspected it was beginning to for a long time. That had been the number one reason she ran out when she did. To preserve some semblance of her sanity before she came to an undoubtedly sticky end.

"I'll have to think about it some more before I decide."

Malfoy rose from the sofa. With a wave of his wand, Hermione could feel the rush of magic throughout the entire house. She felt confident even without testing the fact that if she tried to Disapparate, she would be successful. He nodded his head politely in her direction and crossed the cellar to the way out.

The slam of the door behind him jarred Hermione straight to her bones. If there was any sense to be made out of his strange visit, she wasn't sure where to begin. He left her with more questions than answers. And, for the first time since New Year's, she was _almost_ looking forward to another unexpected visit from the enigmatic tracker. _Almost._


	20. January 19th

January 19th

Remaining in the pillaged house was never going to be an option. As soon as Hermione got over the initial shock of her bizarre meeting with Malfoy, she packed up her discarded blankets, searched the cellar for anything else of value she might have missed, and exited the house before she could be discovered by the hapless Muggles upstairs. The sense of urgency she'd had about leaving the city dissipated slightly. Like he promised, if Malfoy wanted to find her again, he would.

She couldn't explain why she was more intrigued than frightened by him. Even when she berated herself for not taking her safety seriously, she couldn't change her feelings. It could all be one big trap. Force had been attempted a couple times since she first escaped. Alecto Carrow had been uncomfortably close to catching up with her in London. Only the tentative friendship she'd long ago established with the woman kept her out her clutches. A split second of hesitation on Allie's part had been all that Hermione needed. She was able to move out of the way at the last moment to safety. Her conscience only plagued her slightly about Allie's fate when she returned to Hogsmeade. Their master would not be pleased. Neither would Antonin. At best she would just be subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. At worst… well, it didn't matter. Hermione couldn't afford to think about anyone else when her own survival wasn't yet guaranteed.

Perhaps, Malfoy was using her intellect and thirst for knowledge to his advantage. If he could keep her guessing long enough to want to know more, he could swoop in when she wasn't expecting it to capture her. But, she had to remind herself, couldn't he have taken her in the cellar? Assuming that there was indeed an Anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property, he could have simply Stunned her with very little effort. A portkey that he could easily obtain from the Ministry of Magic would have been all that was required to drag her back to be thrown at the feet of the Dark Lord.

It was difficult to remain logical in an illogical world. Hermione could not understand the first bit about his fascination with her whereabouts. Clearly, he hadn't been hired by her ruthless master or her abandoned husband. He wasn't even hired by her former teacher. Any one of those men would've demanded she be brought back to them immediately. What was Malfoy playing at? And how did her protector factor in to this whole situation? She couldn't understand what part he played.

Now that leaving Cardiff wasn't a necessity just yet, Hermione took to wandering around the city again. She wanted to see what it had to offer. Maybe she would find the answer to where she needed to go next somewhere in her exploration. The city had a long history of ships filled with the region's coal leaving their ports. It was easy to dream about stowing aboard one of the many vessels harbored in the area. She didn't even care about the destination as long as it was away from the country she had grown to despise.

Idealism was a folly for the young. She no longer felt like she was of an age to imagine a world without the violence and depravity that had been her existence. Maybe the rest of the world would look at her without knowing what she'd endured to proclaim her still young, but she knew better. Age was just a number. In the long run, it meant nothing. There were people in their nineties still agile and naïve while children not even in their teens had seen the worst of their society and grown hard within themselves to survive.

None of the children who fought and who still breathed at the end of the day Harry Potter was murdered could ever be considered anything other than hardened battle veterans. Some, like Neville and George, refused to give up the struggle. Refused to cower to the idea that they were simply a cog in the machinery that they could not control. Each of them went to their deaths believing that it was still possible to resist the transformation into darkness. She would have pitied them for their idealistic imbecility if she didn't also admire them their bravery. They demanded that the world change to meet their demands, not the other way around. While clearly not possible, she admired that they had such strong convictions in their beliefs. One learns quickly as they grow up very little in life is simple. _Nothing_ is black or white. Everything was a shade of grey. To not understand that, to cling to such simplistic ideas, showed a complete lack in the experience of living.

She used to spend her free hours crusading for the freedom of a species she believed to be subjected to the whims of a cruel master. It never once occurred to her that there was a certain freedom in slavery that could be found nowhere else. When one isn't burdened with the worries of making their own decisions or thinking for themselves, there is peace of mind. Follow the orders of someone else and leave the mind closed to the notion that those speaking on your behalf might not have your best interests at heart, you'll never worry the next day. Someone else is taking care of it.

Both sides had figured out the formula for enslaving the minds of the people too weak and corrupted to maintain their own thoughts. Albus Dumbledore was just as guilty. He manipulated the very ideals and value systems of an entire group of people who firmly believed they were on the side of the 'good'. It hadn't even been that difficult. All that he needed to do was loudly and confidently proclaim that he was fighting to have a world free of evil and darkness. He convinced even himself that what he was doing was simply for the 'Greater Good'. Countless people in the seventies and the nineties died because they believed it was a cause worth dying for. Lord Voldemort never hid his nefarious plans behind pretty words and kind gestures. Though he might have used less force, Dumbledore was every bit as insidious in his machinations. Innocent people who should have been able to look forward to a long life with their families were cut down too early. There were no winners.

Many times in the past Hermione tried to understand what the 'Greater Good' even meant. How could one person even determine what would be best for the world? It took a great deal of blind arrogance for wizards like Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald to make the decisions for everyone else. She had little use for men with egos that large. It was all too easy to point the finger at the imperious masculinity of such a mindset to see fault as a witch forced to endure the ramifications, but it wasn't that simple. Witches were just as culpable as wizards. There was a certain amount of permission that _everyone_ in their society, regardless of their sex, gave to these power-mad figures. Her fellow humans, Muggles included, were simply sheep incapable of making their own choices. Those who didn't fall in line often wished they had.

In the end, it all boiled down to a simple concept. There was no Light side and there was no Darkness. They were all just a flawed and dangerous people. Everyone was certain that what _they_ believed was correct and if anyone even dared to disagree, they were evil or sadly misguided. It had taken Hermione a long time to understand that one could not determine the character of a person simply by _assuming._ No one belonged in a box. A witch raised in the mire of blood supremacy had shown her more kindness and proven to have a more generous heart than a wizard from the worst of all blood traitor families.

Hermione wandered away from the port when the fantasy of running away to a distant land became choking. She was afraid to hope for the future. All of her dreams had been crushed over time. What was left? When the sun began to descend from the sky and the temperature dropped even lower, she pulled tight the coat she still hadn't thrown away yet around her exhausted body and began looking for somewhere to rest for the night.


	21. January 20th

January 20th

Dreams were an escape that Hermione took advantage of whenever she could. When she was younger and determined to make her own mark on the world, or at the very least prove that she _belonged_ in the world she was a part of, she would sleep as little as possible just to keep her body functioning. The human body really needed very little to keep going. Though she was well aware that it wasn't healthy to skip sleep entirely, she always imagined that there would come a moment in time when she could slow down enough to actually get a full night's sleep. Once she was finished with exams, she could sleep. Then, once she was finished with her summer coursework, she could sleep. Oh, but then she had to read all of her schoolbooks before the beginning of term to make sure she wasn't completely ignorant of the subject matter. But, once she was in the castle, there was always something else that kept her from allowing herself to relax.

Antonin had to physically drag her up to her attic bedroom to go to sleep more than a few times when she was stuck obsessively practicing a new spell. He would take her wand away, spell the door locked, and promise her that he would release her only once he was satisfied she had gotten _some_ sleep. Later, her annoyed husband would steal her books and demand she either come to bed or leave the house for good. Once or twice she imagined that wasn't the worst of fates. Certainly since running away she'd discovered that the illusion of a happy family was more difficult to bear than the reality of a harsh life on the run.

As a fugitive always searching for safe places to sleep, Hermione learned to take advantage of a warm bed when she had the chance. A small hotel on the outskirts of the city temporarily closed for renovations provided an opportunity she hadn't expected. No one seemed too worried about ensuring that all of the doors to the building were locked. Of course, considering there was a large hole in the side of one wall covered only in a thick sheet of plastic, maybe they assumed that anyone who wanted inside would get in regardless of whether or not the exterior doors were all latched. She quietly slipped in the building, climbed the stairs to the uppermost floor, and discovered a room that hadn't yet been touched at the very end of the corridor.

There was no electricity and the water was shut off, but she'd stayed in far less luxurious accommodations. She set up a series of obstacles, both out in the corridor and behind the door in the room she was borrowing, to let her know if there was someone else in the building. Being caught unaware while sleeping was always a danger she had to consider. When she was satisfied that she would have at least some warning before she was attacked by an irate Muggle or by a Death Eater finally able to catch a whiff of her scent, she laid down in the bed to rest her tired body.

It did not take long before she was escaping back into her dream world. Everything was simpler there. She didn't have to worry about the future or relive what she had done in her past. If it was possible to make it so she never had to wake up and could spend the rest of her miserable existence within her dreams, she would have done what was required in a heartbeat. At least while she was asleep she couldn't hurt anyone else.

As it often did when she was weary and wishing for someone else to at least help her carry her burdens, Hermione dreamed of the first time she ever opened her attic bedroom window. Disjointed images flooded her brain. Two weeks into her training with Antonin, she was afraid she was going to break. Her determination to remain strong and whole was impossible. What she was asking of her own body and spirit wasn't working. If the wizard was planning to demolish her will, he was succeeding.

She forced her dream to push past the worst parts of that day. It didn't matter what he did to her in the end. He was going to do what it took to fulfill his master's orders. He always did. Nothing mattered more to Antonin Dolohov than what the Dark Lord wanted. At least in those early days. Before she cut ties with him and the rest of the Death Eaters to run, she'd heard the whispers. Antonin was growing stronger as their Lord was allegedly growing weaker. Anyone with half a brain could read the writing on the wall. A day would come when they would split into factions. A challenge would be made to Voldemort.

Whether or not Antonin would succeed was still a mystery to Hermione. If he waited long enough and chose his moment carefully, she believed he would be the Dark Lord's successor. Immortality was a failed desire for the Dark Lord. With his horcruxes destroyed and his soul far too splintered to make another, he was at the mercy of his own magic. _When_ the day came that he was no longer the strongest, he would fall. All the more reason it was important that she run when she could. If Antonin failed, she would be punished right along with him. As his most prized student, he was the reason why Hermione was as ruthless as she was. It wouldn't be a far stretch to assume that Antonin possessed her entire loyalty. Once upon a time, he had.

But if Antonin succeeded, she might have been safe for a little while. Safe until he decided that she was too big of a threat. One cannot remain in power long without looking out for their own Brutus constantly over their shoulder. Antonin had every reason to fear that she would turn on him at some point. Maybe she didn't want the responsibility of leadership, but she was still a formidable opponent. Some of their comrades liked her better than him. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine that he would get rid of her when he had the chance before she could make trouble for him.

Her dream pressed on to the moment she slammed her attic bedroom door. Antonin was only steps behind her, shouting about her failures. He stood on the other side of the door making it clear that he wasn't done with her lesson. She didn't care if he broke the door down or blasted it off its hinges. Thirty seconds without seeing his face was all she needed. A minute alone and she could recharge her senses enough to the point that she could continue.

Hermione saw the tiny window above her bed. It was too narrow and small for anyone, even someone as thin as her, to slip through. Even if she wanted to try, she couldn't use it as an escape. Curious to know what would happen if she opened the window like her protector asked her to do if she needed him, she unlatched the casing and lifted the glass. A visual sweep of the area proved that no one was watching. She didn't suddenly see anyone in the streets of the bustling village looking up. It seemed like a silly waste of her time. No one was on her side anymore. If she wanted to survive, she would have to do so completely on her own.

Antonin tried to hide his surprise when she opened the door he was still banging on to demand that they go back downstairs to finish what they started. She had given herself up to her fate. There was no escape, no knight in shining armor waiting to whisk her away from the danger she was in. No, if she wanted anyone to save her, _she_ was going to have to become her own savior.

A loud knock on the front door of the cottage startled both teacher and student. Its insistence that it not be ignored compelled Antonin to pause the lesson long enough to see who could possibly be disturbing them. Hermione stood in the corner of the room, waiting to see what happened next. Had she brought the visitor? Or was it all just a coincidence? It didn't really matter. She wasn't expecting much.

"Come inside. Hermione will make you some tea."

"That's not necessary. I won't be here long."

She felt her hands begin to tremble. It was _him_. There was no way she would ever be able to forget his voice. Still unable to see who he was, she forced herself not to rush towards the door. Any show of anticipation or curiosity would arouse the suspicions of her teacher. She kept her eyes downcast to the floor. Antonin stepped back to allow their visitor entrance.

"Nonsense. I insist. Hermione, put the kettle on."

When she lifted her head to respond to Antonin's demand, all she could see were the kind, green eyes of the man who sat outside her broom cupboard keeping her safe all of those weeks. He stood in the middle of the doorway, calmly acting like his sudden appearance was perfectly normal. Flustered, she spun on her heel to comply with her teacher's demand.

If she had had her way, Hermione would have gladly continued the dream. She wanted to make it to the moment in the kitchen when she handed the wizard his tea and their fingertips brushed. The unintentional act sent a jolt straight up her arm. She wanted to dream about his amused smile, his polite manner of drawing her into the conversation like she wasn't a prisoner, his soft whisper in her ear before he left reminding her that he would come whenever she needed him. It had begun an open friendship that developed into a secret relationship that everyone knew about. Neither of them had been as careful as they imagined.

But, a loud crash in the corridor just outside her stolen hotel room jarred Hermione out of the deep sleep she'd been enjoying. Someone was coming closer to her room and they weren't even trying to be quiet about it.


	22. January 21st

January 21st

With a calm resignation to her fate, Hermione climbed out of bed, hastily put her shoes on, and began a search of the room for something to use as a weapon. It was not the first time that she had been confronted by danger while on the run and it was certainly not going to be her last. That is, unless it _was_ her last and if it was, she was strangely all right with that idea. One could only run for so long with a plan that was nothing but keep running.

She couldn't be sure what time it was. Likely very late. Outside the moon was high in the sky and the unlit hotel room was pitch black. Only her experience skulking around in dark shadows allowed her to keep her calm until her eyes adjusted enough to see in the dark. There was nothing that could be fashioned into a suitable weapon anywhere in the room. That was a lack of foresight Hermione was sure she would remedy if she somehow managed to make it out of the predicament she was in. Maybe there was still hope that the noise she was hearing was an animal seeking shelter from the elements as well.

The sound of raised voices out in the corridor dashed all her hopes. There were at least two men outside her door based on what little she could hear. Taking several deep, calming breaths, she tried to remember the lessons she learned so long ago from Antonin on how to increase her awareness without casting a spell. As much as he preferred magic, he was pragmatic enough to understand there were times that one could not simply wave their wand about. His insistence that she learn more than just magic to hone her skills had been a surprise. She'd assumed that men like him were overly dependent on their wands. He certainly was fond enough of his to brag more often than was seemly.

Finding no suitable weapon, Hermione peered out the window to judge the possibility of being able to escape that way. Three floors down to hard pavement was an option she didn't care for, but in a pinch, she would take her chances. A quick tug on the window proved that wouldn't be a possibility. Only magic or one of those power drills would get the casement opened. She was trapped. Her only hope at that point was that the men wouldn't enter the room. Hating herself for the weakness she was forced to endure, she crouched down in the dark bathroom out of sight of the door.

She wished that there was some way she could use magic without getting caught. As part of the Dark Lord's plan to hold on to control in the country, not long after they were conquered, everyone was required to register their magic in his new puppet Ministry. There was a trace on every single witch and wizard regardless of their age or their status within the regime. Antonin thundered around his house the day he was forced to go, slamming furniture and knocking pictures off of the wall. He found it the ultimate insult that he wasn't allowed to be above the registry. When she made the unwise reminder to him that the Dark Lord's Death Eaters should have a better attitude about his new laws, he hadn't hesitated to punish her for her insolence… _without_ magic, of course. The back of his hand striking her square in the mouth frightened her more than it actually hurt. Afraid to let him see the tears in her eyes, she covered her bleeding lip with her hand and ran out of the house. He'd apologized later when he was calmer but the damage had already been done.

In the early days of the Trace, several believed they could get around the restrictions by using unregistered wands. Those few powerful and disciplined enough tried to accomplish wandless magic. Azkaban's cells quickly began to overflow with the perpetrators. In hindsight, even the Dark Lord seemed to believe that maybe throwing a large portion of the population to the dementors hadn't been the greatest of ideas. The ones that emerged from the notorious prison with their wits intact became some of the most fanatic and dangerous members of the Resistance. Even after all of its time in power, the regime was still making mistakes.

Despite knowing the dangers, Hermione refused to be completely defenseless. A lot could happen to a woman alone in a dark room with strange men. She would risk everything to keep her body from being violated. More than once her path crossed those who would seek to overpower her for their own desires. Each time she left them cowering in pain. Or dead. There was a great deal about her life and actions that she knew she would one day regret. _That_ wasn't one of them. She would _never_ apologize for protecting her body. No woman should. So, fully prepared for the fact that she might be caught that night, she clutched the handle of her wand hidden in her coat pocket.

The door to the hotel room she was hiding in was forced open with a loud grunt. Chairs that Hermione had strategically placed behind the door crashed to the floor. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Heavy footsteps only meters away reminded her that she was trapped inside with no escape except _past_ the new arrivals.

"What did I tell you, Dai? Someone's been in here. Look the bed's been slept in."

"All right. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Two men, clearly security guards and neither one of them younger than sixty-five, stepped further into the hotel room. Hermione could see them in the wash of moonlight from the uncovered window. Neither of them looked like bad men. She would hate to hurt them. There was an obvious reluctance for both Muggles to get any closer to the bathroom. Maybe they subconsciously knew that they were up against a force they couldn't defeat. She hoped they didn't have families waiting for them at home.

"No, you know the procedures. 'Look, don't engage'. Once we suspect we have a trespasser, we call for help."

Hermione sighed her relief when the Muggles exited the room moments later without discovering her hiding place. If they were on their way to call the police, she had a small window of time she could get out. She pressed her ear against the door to the corridor to listen for any nearby sounds. When she was convinced that the security guards were gone, she carefully turned the doorknob. No one met her in the empty corridor. No one met her in the stairwell. She had all but convinced herself that she was about to make it out of there.

Two steps into the abandoned lobby and she discovered how very wrong she was. Maybe she should have taken a better look at the buildings in the immediate area of the hotel under renovation before she chose it for the night. A nearby police station meant the Muggle night guards had help before she was even out of the building. She didn't even have a chance to fight before an officer grabbed her from behind.


	23. January 22nd

January 22nd

Spending an entire day inside a Muggle police station was far from how Hermione wished to pass the time. Although it did solve a few problems regarding lack of heat, food, or the need to have a plan and keep moving, she knew that she couldn't remain long in custody before her presence was noted by the wrong people. Spies in the Muggle world were everywhere. She knew it would just be a matter of time before the suspicious Muggle authorities broadcast her information to interested parties who could do her a great deal of harm.

Surprisingly, everyone had been kind to her since she was arrested the night before. Or rather, _detained_ they called it. She wasn't sure what the difference was exactly. They still led her to the station in handcuffs and took away all of her personal belongings. It had been difficult to keep from shouting or physically harming the poor innocent officer in charge of digging through her pockets. One look at the wand she held in her hand made the officer's eyebrows raise. Hermione didn't miss how she cut her eyes to her partner in the corner of the room. Either they had seen wands before or they thought she might be crazy. Why else would a strange homeless woman with no identification be carrying an intricately carved stick around in her pocket?

Separated from the other prisoners for either her protection or theirs, Hermione had even been able to catch up on her sleep. There was little to keep her awake. Either she would be discovered and dragged home to her master or she wouldn't. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she was beginning not to even care what happened to her next. It was a dangerous attitude, one she would need to quickly remedy before she found herself in trouble she couldn't get out of. Complacency was an excellent way to get caught.

Because she refused to speak, the officers assumed there was something wrong with her mentally. She almost smiled at the naïveté of the Muggles when they spoke around her in hushed whispers. If they only knew what kind of person she really was, they wouldn't be so quick to judge her as harmless. Trespassing was a crime that was taken seriously, but due to her gentle nature and the fact that she hadn't caused any damage to the property, the owner of the hotel declined to press charges. She should have been released with a stern warning to stay out of empty buildings she didn't have permission to be in. Instead, she was held in a private cell for concern that she might pose a danger to herself or others if released.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the one to give her the helpful advice to say as little as possible if detained. His experience working with the Muggle government had given him a perspective about law enforcement on the other side that most of their kind didn't have. He also had powerful connections and friends. When he helped her the first time she was arrested after running away from the Dark Lord, he'd been frustrated with her that she had the arrogance to assume that she had nothing to fear from the Muggle police. She'd spent too much time as the favored _pet_ of Lord Voldemort, he told her with every syllable he spoke dripping with venom. Though not technically a part of the larger Resistance, he lived mostly on the outside of the law. Hermione knew that he was ashamed that she had been so easily turned to the Darkness. Clearly, he didn't know anything about what she endured. Maybe his opinion of her wouldn't have been so soured.

But, he was a honorable enough man to remember their history together as fighters on the same side of the war. Maybe their individual loyalties had shifted, but that didn't mean he was going to let her wander aimlessly through the country without _some_ idea of what she could do. He stated without hesitation that he would not always be around to help her if she needed it nor would he always be willing to assist.

His first rule was to never get caught. If that wasn't possible, then his second rule was to never say a word. Her reticence could keep her alive and out of more trouble. His third rule, which she also broke, was to never leave her wand in a place that could be easily uncovered by a Muggle. They wouldn't know what to do with it. Fear of the unknown could make a situation worse. She was pleased to know that at least she hadn't fucked up the fourth rule. Kingsley had been incensed when he realized anyone who picked up her beaded bag could reach inside to discover it was larger than it should have been. He made her promise him that she would risk detection long enough to seal the spell on the bag so no one but her would be able to reach into the depths. There hadn't been an opportunity to test her success until she witnessed one of the officers reach inside the bag to find very little.

Only an hour before the first twenty-four hours were up and the police would be forced to either charge her or release her, the door to the cell she had been napping in opened. The kind female officer from the night before smiled at Hermione as if she was some kind of simple child. And, she supposed based on how she had acted in the previous day, maybe the woman assumed she was. It was only slightly less annoying than being scowled at like a dangerous criminal.

"Someone's here to take you home, Miss Granger."

Hermione sat up abruptly at the sound of her name. How did the woman know who she was? She hadn't spoken a single word since she was arrested in the hotel lobby and she made certain that anything she kept in her bag that could potentially identify her was hidden. Fear coursed through every vein in her body. When she'd told herself that it didn't matter if she was caught or not, she had been very, _very_ wrong. It _did_ matter. Who was there to pick her up? What _home_ was she being returned to? None of the potential answers to her questions were the least bit comforting.

Fighting the female officer seemed like an acceptable reaction for about half a second until Hermione reconsidered. She hadn't done anything wrong. The woman was just doing her job. There was no way she could have possibly understood what was really happening. For all she knew, the addled young woman in her cell wandered away from some care home in the middle of the night. It was proof that underneath all of her damage, Hermione still had a conscience. She stood up from the uncomfortable bench she'd been happily sleeping on and followed the woman out of the cell.

Each step she took closer to the front of the station twisted Hermione's belly just a little bit more. It could be anyone waiting for her out there. Probably not the Dark Lord himself, but certainly one of his loyal Death Eaters. Antonin might be pacing the reception area. Maybe Malfoy tracked her down again. For a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, she hadn't yet discarded the coat he admitted to charming with a tracking spell. Kingsley could have heard her description from one of his Muggle mates and decided to check her out for himself. It didn't really matter who it was that was coming to claim her. She wouldn't have believed for even a moment that the one person she _wanted_ it to be would be arsed enough to care. He was most likely wrapped in a warm blanket in front of his fire entirely engrossed in one of those ridiculous mystery novels he could never get enough of.

"Here she is, Mr. Jordan. We're so pleased you stopped by. We were beginning to worry."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man with the large smile at the reception desk. If she had to make a list of all of the people living in the world that might have come to pick her up from a Welsh jail, she _never_ would have assumed that it would have been the former Quidditch commentator from her House. How long had it been since they'd even seen each other? Without hearing his last name, she wasn't sure that she would've even guessed who he was.

"I'm glad I found her too. My wife and I have been frantic since yesterday when she left. Poor Sarah has been beside herself. She's usually very good about making sure the doors are all locked."

Lee Jordan was putting on a show. For whose benefit, Hermione wasn't sure. He wasn't a Death Eater. He wasn't a member of the Resistance. In fact, he'd made a rather public split from the splintered Resistance after his best friend George Weasley was executed. Hermione hadn't heard much about him since then. How he managed to randomly appear in the exact police station she was held in the middle of the night was something she desperately wanted to know.

The glazed expressions on the few officers and staff standing in the reception area proved that Lee had them all under some kind of spell. With a bright, patronizing smile on his face, he held up her beaded bag and her wand in one hand. If she wanted to have either of those belongings returned to her possession, she knew she would have to go along with whatever farce he was playing at.

"Come on, love. Let's go home. Sarah wants to see you."

She kept her eyes focused entirely on her fellow Gryffindor. Lee called out his thanks to the officers again before grabbing her arm to lead her out the door. His grip was light until they were no longer in the line of sight of witnesses. As soon as they were out on the pavement, he squeezed her arm hard enough that she gasped.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Granger. Not unless you _make_ me. You look like you've had a rough time of it. I can offer you a hot shower and some food."

Experience taught her to be wary of anyone who wanted to help her without having a clear agenda. She knew that she might regret agreeing to follow the wizard home, but her curiosity was in charge. After simply nodding her head, Lee led her to a dark alley. A crack of Apparition and a few moments later, they were standing in front of a simple wooden door painted bright red.

"You are welcome in my home, Granger, but I warn you. My _children_ are asleep inside. If I think for even a second you're going to put them in danger, I'll not hesitate to put you down. Understand?"

She had nothing but respect for a man that cared that much for his children.


	24. January 23rd

January 23rd

A soft knock on the door to Lee Jordan's comfortable guest bedroom woke Hermione out of a sound sleep. It had been her intention once she was out of the shower the night before and dressed in clean pajamas laid out for her on the bed that she would only rest for a little while. Hardly even close her eyes. Her safety inside the Jordans' home was still uncertain. Maybe he was playing an elaborate game. Antonin could've put out an award for her capture. Everything she saw in the house on the way to the guest room on the ground floor and once inside seemed to prove that Lee wasn't hurting for money, but she knew better than most that outward appearances could be deceiving. Despite her best effort to remain awake, she'd allowed the warmth of the room and the softness of the bed to lull her into a dangerous sleep.

She was hesitant in opening the door to the corridor, unsure what to expect. Lee's behavior the night before had been bordering on bizarre. Who in their right mind invites a known Death Eater to spend the night in the same home as their wife and children? Especially one as notorious as she had been? There were numerous reasons and none of them were good. The woman on the other side of the door gave Hermione a nervous smile. At least she seemed intelligent enough to be afraid. Behind her light green eyes, she wasn't as successful at hiding her apprehension. If the woman was a witch, there was simply no way she could be unaware of just _who_ she was standing across from.

"There's fresh tea in the kitchen and I just made some eggs if you're hungry."

Hermione wasn't used to using her voice. Long periods of time completely alone meant that the sound was strange even to her own ears. Wanting nothing more than to put the other woman at ease, she tried to return the smile. A promise that she would come out for breakfast when she was dressed seemed to help. Mrs. Jordan laughed a charming nervous giggle.

"Take your time. There's a warming charm on your plate."

Less than five minutes later, Hermione was dressed in her own clothes she'd removed the night before. The bed was made and the borrowed pajamas neatly folded on the pillow. She began to search for her beaded bag until she remembered that Lee never returned it. Being without even her most meager of belongings discomforted her even more than she was already. After a couple of deep breaths intended to calm her own rising anxiety, she travelled down the short corridor towards the familiar sounds of a kitchen.

Lee was nowhere to be seen. Hermione wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. She had so many questions that she didn't imagine would be answered without him present. Mrs. Jordan gestured to an empty seat at the table with a plate of steaming eggs. Hot food, especially freshly prepared, was a luxury that she wasn't used to. Once upon a time, she prepared most of her meals in her own kitchen at home. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Not waiting for her to ask, her hostess brought the teapot over to fill up her empty mug.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jordan."

"Please call me Sarah."

Hermione nodded her acknowledgment, but stuffed a forkful of eggs into her mouth to keep from being expected to respond. Social cues and expectations were in as much disuse as Hermione's voice. The most she could hope for that meal was to make it to the end without completely insulting the other woman unintentionally. Sarah moved around the kitchen constantly, using activity as her own way to avoid a potentially uncomfortable conversation. What she could possibly be thinking about the situation she found herself in amused Hermione. She couldn't imagine it would have been a pleasant discussion to learn that her husband was bringing a dangerous criminal into their homes.

"Lee will be back shortly. He walked the girls to school around the corner."

"School?"

Even before the war was over and the Dark Lord was placed in absolute power, there had been small schools around the country preparing young witches and wizards for Hogwarts. These primaries instructed their students in all of the basic subjects they needed a foundation in before they could hope to learn magic at age eleven. Compulsory attendance at Hogwarts had been mandated early on once the war ended. Even Muggle-born students were allowed to attend the school under very strict guidelines.

As a Halfblood, a fact that very few alive were even aware of, Lord Voldemort did not prescribe to the belief of blood supremacy that so many of his early followers did. That had simply been a ploy to get more influential members of society involved in his plans to take over the wizarding world. Once Harry Potter was no longer a threat to his plans to live forever, the Dark Lord made his true feelings clear. Anyone who had any small bit of magical power was welcome in his new society provided they showed complete and total loyalty to him. It was a change in policy that angered many of the staunchest blood purists, but the Dark Lord left no room for dissension. 'Comply or die' had been his mantra.

Life for a Muggle-born student at Hogwarts had never been easy. Under the rule of the Dark Lord, it became only slightly less unbearable. Most didn't return for a second year, deciding instead to snap their wands in half and return to the obscurity and relative peace of the Muggle world. Those that were brave enough, or foolish enough depending on how one looked at it, to make it through all seven years of Hogwarts and to score favorably on their NEWTs were admitted into wizarding society with little fanfare. They were expected to always prove themselves worthy of the title of 'witch' or 'wizard'. It was exhausting, but there were benefits.

Wales was considered a neutral area. Neither Pro-Voldemort nor Pro-Resistance, a treaty had existed for almost as long as the regime, granting them special privileges from both sides for not willfully engaging with either. Their children were expected to attend Hogwarts if they wished to exist outside of the insular community of their home. If they chose not to, there were at least two small schools that Hermione was aware of that catered to the young Welsh wizards and witches. Unsure of the ages of Lee Jordan's children, she couldn't be sure if they were enrolled in one of those institutions or simply learning how to read and write.

"Just the basics right now," Sarah explained. "When they get old enough to go to Hogwarts, Lee and I will give them the choice. They get to decide what they want to do. We both have such fond memories of Hogwarts that it seems selfish to not even give them the opportunity to experience it."

"You were at Hogwarts?"

Sarah might have smiled, but Hermione instantly felt perhaps she should've been ashamed for asking.

"I was in Hufflepuff just a year after Lee. Our paths never crossed, I'm sure."

"Oh."

They were spared from any further awkwardness by Lee's return. He walked straight to his wife, pressed his lips against hers for a brief moment, and turned to face Hermione with his arm around his wife's waist. Though not entirely subtle, he was making it clear to his guest that he would protect the woman he loved if necessary. Once again, Hermione felt nothing but respect for the man.

"Sarah has a cousin who works as a liaison with the Muggle world here in Wales. Any time someone is arrested with a wand in their possession, an alarm goes off in his department. Not sure how it works. Something to do with computers. Truthfully, it's beyond me."

Lee sat down at the table across from Hermione to continue his explanation. She was thankful that he seemed eager to answer several of the questions that had been plaguing her since he picked her up from the Muggle police station the night before.

"I am a member of a security council that keeps an eye on the witches and wizards entering and leaving Wales. When he owled me a copy of your... oh, darling, what do they call those frozen photographs?"

"Mugshots."

"Yes, thank you. When I received your _mugshot_ , I wasn't sure what to do. There are rumors, even in Wales, that you've not been seen with You-Know-Who in several months. Some believe you are dead."

Hermione dropped her eyes to the last few morsels of eggs left on her plate.

"I ran away. It became… too much."

"That's what I assumed. Or rather, that's what I _hoped_."

His words encouraged her enough to look up. Many lessons over the course of her life, taught by Antonin and others, helped her to understand when she could believe someone was genuine. Nothing she saw in Lee's eyes or countenance gave any indication that he was lying. He _wanted_ to believe that there was still some good inside the girl he knew from school a lifetime earlier.

"We can't offer much. Just a place to stay for a little while until you know what you want to do next. No one will bother you here. _Your_ kind… I mean, Death Eaters don't come within our borders without our permission. Neither does the Resistance. Stay here. Rest. Maybe we can help you find your way."

A feeling and a desire that Hermione hadn't experienced in too long began to manifest itself within her chest and the itching in her eyes. Expressing emotion was weakness. It was another of Antonin's rules. Bottle up anything that could be distracting from the task at hand. Of course, he was just as human as the rest of them. Eventually, he would explode from all of the pent-up emotions. It was best to be as far away from him as possible when it happened. Knowing that she couldn't allow herself to cry in front of two practical strangers, she swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat and asked a very simple, but important question.

"Why?"

Lee sighed and took a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. To encourage her husband in what had to have been a difficult moment, Sarah placed both of her slim hands on his shoulders. He seemed to draw strength from the simple touch. Hermione choked down her own rising bitterness.

"Maybe for the love my best mate had for you when he was alive."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. More times than she could count in the innocent days of the past, she remembered catching Fred in an unguarded moment looking at her. He would usually brush it off with a joke or an exaggerated wink, but she hadn't been unaware of his feelings. Sometimes, she even found herself imagining what it might be like to _encourage_ him. Lee, in an accurate imitation of his friend, laughed and winked to lighten the mood. It didn't help.

"Or maybe I see an opportunity to help. Seems to me you haven't had a lot of that since that horrible day at Hogwarts."

She couldn't argue.


	25. January 24th

January 24th

Hermione never expected to find such peace in the happy, lively home belonging to Lee Jordan. Still feeling very much like an outsider even after over a full day and a half amongst them, she existed on the edges of the activity, silently watching the interactions between the loving family members. It was hard to see the wizard she had known as a child kiss his beloved wife or twirl one of his charming daughters around their cozy house without feeling a great deal of jealousy.

There _had_ been laughter in Hermione's home. Sometimes tears even rolled out of their eyes as a joke struck a particularly amusing note or a story retold with all of the accents and inflections of those involved was performed. Very few would have ever guessed that her husband had a talent for mimicry. There were certain sides to his personality that he never showed to anyone outside of their home. Once upon a time it made Hermione feel special. Laughter was also common in her marital bed. The one place they could ensure complete and total privacy, there had been nights they stayed up long after the rest of the world had gone to sleep to talk and laugh. Even in their most intimate of moments, they could usually find reason to laugh. A bumped head on the headboard. A slip in the sheets. A strained muscle when their activities had either gotten a little too vigorous or a little too _creative_. It might have seemed to an onlooker that they were happy.

But she understood all too well that their family had been far from a happy one. It became even more evident the longer she spent around a family that was _actually_ happy. She had been invited to join in all of the family's meals. Both of the Jordan girls, aged six and nine, were curious about their guest. The eldest whom everyone called Lizzie, was particularly so. Hermione had the distinct impression that the clever girl knew exactly who was sleeping down the corridor in their guest room. Though there was no element of fear in the bold manner in which Lizzie stared at her, she felt unnerved. Perhaps the girl was too clever for her own good.

She tried not to let the insatiable monster of envy take its hold inside her body. It was a fight she was destined to lose. How was it even possible to be so content and seemingly carefree when there was so much evil in the world? Perhaps Wales was an even more magical place than she realized. She wondered if she could find her own happiness there. Could the fresh start she was needing be found somewhere close by?

Late in the third night she was a guest, Hermione laid in her borrowed bed to think over the possibilities. It had been an all around surreal couple of days. There had been several people that had been kind to her when she was on the run. She remembered the man who bought her a meal right after New Year's. A twinge of guilt at the memory of lifting his wallet surprised her. Survival meant doing away with superficial worries and concerns about one's conscience. Had she begun reverting back to flashes of the morality her Muggle parents worked so hard to instill in her before their memories were altered? Was she forgetting what it was like to be desperate?

After breakfast, she'd had a long talk with Lee. His wife would flitter in and out of the kitchen as they spoke. It was evident that she was as curious to know what they were talking about as Hermione was to know what Lee would say next. He had been clear from the start that he wanted no trouble. Taking her from the police station before anyone else with less savory intentions could have been what he deemed a rash act, but one which he was hoping he wouldn't come to regret. Internally, Hermione hoped so as well.

"I have my girls to think about, Hermione. Please don't make me regret inviting you in my home."

She wanted to promise him that he would have no cause for remorse. It was, sadly, not a promise she was willing to make. There were too many variables. What if someone else knew that she'd been in a Cardiff Muggle police station? Lee couldn't possibly be the only person who had a spy working within their network. All it would take to discover what happened when she was picked up would be a few spells. And if the person casting them had no care for the life or sanity of the Muggles in question, they could learn a great deal. Maybe there were already some who knew she was in the Jordan home.

Once she gave him all of the assurances she was willing to give that _she_ wouldn't personally harm anyone in his family, Lee returned her wand and her beaded bag. She was grateful for the weight in her pocket reminding her that she could run any time she wanted. Understanding all too well that any use of her wand would immediately bring Ministry officials and Death Eaters within their borders, invited or not, she vowed to not put them in any danger. It was the absolute least she could do to repay them for their kindness. Their completely _undeserved_ kindness.

Sarah spent most of the rest of that first day ensuring that Hermione wanted for nothing. Recognizing a woman who hadn't enjoyed hot meals in a long time, she made excuses to keep cooking. When her guest's eyes lit up on their own when the suggestion of fresh biscuits was made, the cheerful hostess pointed her wand at the cupboards to summon the necessary ingredients. While they waited for the biscuits to bake and cool, she even washed every single piece of clothing and blanket Hermione carried inside her beaded bag. The dangerous Death Eater would have cried at the generosity if she even remembered how.

As her late-night thoughts drifted back to what her future was going to be from the recollections of the bizarre couple of days she'd experienced, she felt even more at a loss of her next steps. Returning to Hogsmeade was not an option. She knew there was only one option for leaving the Dark Lord's service entirely. It was a price she wasn't sure she was ready to pay just yet. Imagining returning to any sort of routine with the family she left behind left her almost breathless. How could she ever convince herself that they were happy and normal after spending even a single moment with the Jordan family? The lies she used to tell herself wouldn't work. She would know that they weren't a normal family and she had no doubt that she would come to resent them even more than she already did.

Staying in Wales was an attractive prospect. Within the neutral zone, perhaps she would be left alone. Lee and Sarah might even be able to help her find somewhere to stay and some kind of job to support herself. She lived under no delusions that the neighbors would likely ever fully accept her, but she didn't mind. Being alone sounded like a welcome prospect after so much time within the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. She was exhausted being around people. Maybe there was a quiet cottage in the middle of the country she could find. Ever since the woman with the farm had been kind to her, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about how lovely it would be to live somewhere similar.

But, every time she considered the possibility for even a moment she remembered the day that she finally left Hogsmeade. Not only would the Dark Lord not appreciate her running away permanently, she was certain that Antonin would never forget what it felt like to have a fork shoved in his eye. He'd already proven that he would keep searching for her no matter how long it took. Somehow violating the terms of a treaty didn't seem like a concern he would worry much about. He often felt like he was above the law. He wouldn't stop until he exacted his punishment. He would find her if she chose to stay in one place for too long.

She turned over in bed to rest on her side. Even inside the home of a family that hadn't yet tried to harm her, she kept a tight grip on her wand. There was danger everywhere. It was only a matter of time before it finally caught back up with her again. She had to be ready.


	26. January 25th

January 25th

As much as Hermione might have liked to, she knew that she couldn't remain a guest of the Jordan family forever. Not only were they in constant danger of being discovered hiding an operative of the Dark Lord guilty of dereliction of duty, she knew that beyond any potential legal ramifications for them, every day that passed meant it was more likely that a Death Eater would show up at their doorstep. Some of them still managed to possess a modicum of human decency. If one of those arrived, they _might_ let the Jordans remain unmolested. But, if Antonin was the one to pursue the visit or one of his closest allies, there was a serious possibility that no one would escape without some form of physical pain. One or two of the Jordans might even be killed.

Hermione knew she couldn't have something that severe on her conscience. Not when they had been so kind. It had been a lovely respite from the horrors that had been her life for longer than she cared to think about. Though it had taken her a couple of days to warm up to the pace and novelty of a normal family again, she discovered that she could get used to it if she allowed herself. _That_ had been her first clue that she needed to move on. Her second had been when she woke up in the middle of the night to find her back facing the door, her hand empty, and her wand laying on the floor where it had fallen. To relax even for a moment could mean her life. Or worse, one of her new friends' lives.

The third reminder that she needed to not linger much longer in the perceived safety of the house happened on her fourth night in the house. After another delicious dinner prepared by Sarah, she offered to watch the two young girls in the family's living room while the parents washed up. It seemed such a normal task, one that she'd performed a hundred times in the past for other families when she was young. Not that she was terribly _good_ at minding children. There always seemed to be a knack to it that she lacked. But, she felt reasonably confident that she could sit in the same room while Lizzie and her younger sister Posy finished their homework for the next day.

She sat on the very edge of the sofa with a book in her hands, hardly reading the words. As much as she enjoyed reading and had discovered there was often very little else to do when she was on the run, she struggled that evening to make sense of any of the print on the page. Grateful to borrow one of Sarah's books, she had been pleased to discover a few books she hadn't yet read in her collection. The simple domesticity of sitting in front of the warm fire with a book while sounds of a quill scratching on parchment behind her and dishes being washed in the next room brought a flood of memories back to Hermione that she hadn't been expecting.

Most of her nights back home had been eerily similar. Her husband was one of those rarest of masculine creatures that not only enjoyed the act of cooking for his family, but also wanted to be the one to clean up. He said that tidying up the kitchen was a simple act that he could use to relax and calm his nerves after trying days. Washing up after his mother fixed their meals had been one of his childhood chores. Even as an adult he preferred doing everything in the kitchen by hand in the 'Muggle' way. Hermione never teased him for not using magic or for liking the simple task. What wife in their right mind would actually _complain_ about her husband taking an active role in the household duties?

The quill scratching on parchment and the flip of the pages of the heavy book reminded her so much of her son completing his daily lessons that more than once she had to close her eyes tightly and breathe. Had to remind herself that she wasn't back in Hogsmeade. Her husband wasn't about to storm through the door of the kitchen to remind her how she had failed to live up to his expectations. She wasn't about to have to send her son away to his room with a silencing spell on the door to prevent him from witnessing the very worst of the rows between his parents.

"Are you sad?"

Hermione jumped when Posy's soft voice broke the trance she had been caught up in. When she opened her eyes, Lee's youngest daughter stood only inches away with concern written all over her tiny face. It had been evident from almost the first moment that she met the girls which of the two was the more sensitive. Lizzie bothered Hermione for a reason she didn't understand. Posy, on the other hand, hadn't failed to put a smile even on the war-hardened face of her Death Eater houseguest. If Hermione had had her way, she would have had a little girl just like Posy. It had been the plan. After her son, she and her husband immediately started planning for another child. Neither of them kept it a secret within the privacy of their bedroom that they wanted a daughter. Hermione hoped that a baby girl might even soften her husband's disposition. Make him less quick to anger.

But a single tumble down the stairs of their home put all of that out of reach. She hadn't told her husband she was expecting yet. There had been other babies after their son was born that hadn't survived long. She was terrified that the pregnancy they had been hoping for would end like all of the others but one. Her mother struggled with miscarriages throughout her too-short life. Whatever was the cause of her misfortunes appeared to be passed on to her daughter.

Her husband was unpredictable at the best of times. One moment they could be laughing and enjoying each other's company. The next, he could be the very monster everyone knew him to be. Their marriage hadn't been a love match. At least, not on _her_ part. It was something that was decided for her, something that she went along with because it was easier to comply than it was to die. She tried to throw herself completely into it in the beginning. Tried to convince herself that in time love could grow where respect already existed. He was on his best behavior until a month into the marriage.

It was easy to think once she was removed from the situation any length of time that she should have left him. Run away sooner from her entire life. Once a man became violent with his wife, it was always just a matter of time before it happened again. She knew there was no excuse for putting up with that kind of behavior even if it occurred so infrequently she could remember every time he was violent. It wasn't ten percent of the time or even one percent of the time. The number was so infinitesimal if she considered every day that they had been together that there wasn't even a percentage she could assign it. All she knew was that one time was too many.

Leaving was easier said than done. Especially after their son was born. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Her master mandated the marriage. How could she possibly deny her orders? The Dark Lord wouldn't accept her reasons. Many times she lay awake imagining how she would commit the murder of the man snoring next to her. She never acted on any of her fantasies. Only her fear of Antonin after she attacked him finally gave her the strength to run. Of all of the men in the world to make an enemy of, he was the _last_ she should have messed with. The man she married could keep his temper under control when it suited him. For a long time she thought he might have hurt her for the last time. It wasn't until a retort she made in jest at the wrong time angered him to the point she felt his push on her back at the top of the stairs that she realized she had been wrong.

While she recovered in St. Mungo's, he became a changed man. Always attentive, speaking in quiet tones, apologetic to the point she wanted to strangle him. She'd been numb her entire stay. Maybe it was the shock of losing her baby, maybe it was a side effect of all of the potions they kept insisting that she swallow. The only spark of emotion she experienced was when the Healer delivered the sad news that she'd been carrying the little girl they'd longed for. A tightening of her throat, a desire to cry, but no tears. They'd all been cried out those weeks in the broom cupboard. Her husband ran from the room and didn't return until the next morning still reeking of the fire whiskey he drank too much of. He didn't lay a hand on her in anger again for almost two years.

"Leave her alone, Posy. She's not _sad_."

The bossy tone of Lizzie's voice gave Hermione at least some clue why she was unnerved by the girl. She seemed to be a younger version of who she once was a million years earlier. Even their voices were alike. It might have been funny if she didn't feel a little sorrow at the loss of her own innocence. Hopefully neither of the girls would ever have to know the threat of war.

"Death Eaters can't be sad. They kill people."

Of course a clever girl like Lizzie would know who Hermione was. Or rather, _what_ she was. Hermione could feel her heart rate increasing. She didn't care for the amused curiosity she sensed in the older girl. When she put her quill down to walk towards the sofa, she had to fight the urge to run away. What did the girl want? Little Posy stared at their guest with wide, frightened eyes. Just like all little girls should stare at a dangerous person. Lizzie, however, smiled wider and sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Can I see it? Can I see your arm?"

Lizzie reached for Hermione's left arm. Before she could grab it, she stood up abruptly. She needed to get away from the girls. It was frightening to see how _excited_ Lizzie had been to get the opportunity to see a Dark Mark up close. She didn't stop until she was safely inside her borrowed bedroom with the door shut. It was abundantly clear that she had to leave the Jordan home.

A light tapping at the window startled her enough that she grabbed her wand, ready to use magic if necessary. There wasn't an owl or even a tree branch to account for the noise. Hermione crossed the room to find an intricately carved paper crane flying repeatedly into the glass. She lifted the window to retrieve the note.

 _Meet me outside when they've all gone to sleep. -DM_

She could just barely see a flash of almost white hair moving in the back garden.


	27. January 26th

January 26th

It was well after one in the morning before every member of the Jordan family was finally settled in bed. Sarah kept late hours preparing for the next day. Hermione could relate. She was often the last one to bed in her own home and the first one up. After she heard the door to the master bedroom down the corridor shut, she listened for the sounds of the lady of the house settling in to bed. Once she was convinced that everyone was in for the night, she waited almost half an hour before sneaking out the back door in the kitchen.

Lee made it clear from the very beginning that she wasn't a prisoner. She was welcome to stay in their home for as long as she wished. It had been comforting in a small way to know that she wasn't completely alone in the great big world. For too long she had been suspicious of everyone and leery of trusting anyone. Perhaps it was best that she have the reminders that evening that she shouldn't linger.

There were no security spells on the back door to Hermione's disgust. Were the Jordans really that trusting of their fellow man? How could they not be aware that they were just asking for trouble leaving their home so exposed and vulnerable? They had two young daughters to think of. It was just foolish and naive of them to ignore the dangers in their world. _Especially_ considering who their houseguest for the last few days had been.

Malfoy's presence in the back garden wasn't a surprise. She knew to expect him to find her again sooner rather than later. Whatever his reasoning behind seeking her out, he was determined to find her on his own terms. It should have bothered her more that she was less afraid of him and more curious than before. He represented all that she was running away from. Why would she bother trying to understand his greater purpose?

He was easy to locate in the darkest corner of the outdoor space the Jordan girls hadn't been able to use for months. Seated in a chair hidden from the view of the house, Malfoy was perfectly at ease when she approached him. All at once Hermione had the urge to apologize for keeping him waiting for so long, but she bit her tongue before the words came tumbling out. There was no place for polite pleasantries in their society any longer.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Far from being bothered by her rudeness, the wizard smiled and chuckled softly. She _amused_ him. Hermione felt insulted for half a second until she remembered she had long ago stopped caring what that man thought of her. Their paths might have crossed several times, but they were in completely different spheres. He had always done what he could to stay on the outside of things, to be away from the Dark Lord as much as possible. She had always done what she could to stay on the inside of things, to be as close to the Dark Lord as much as possible.

Neither option was a guarantee of complete safety and security. Outliers and associates of the Death Eaters were punished just as frequently as members of the Inner Circle. It was long whispered amongst the higher level of Death Eaters that the Malfoys would never again retain the same level of influence they enjoyed before their betrayal in the last war. Narcissa was left alive by the Dark Lord even after she lied about Harry Potter being dead in the Forbidden Forest, but only for an example of how far a respected family could fall. Lucius was still a member of the Inner Circle. His ranking, however, was quite low. Even cowardly Peter Pettigrew would have outranked him if he had managed to survive.

Draco seemed content to be far from the seat of power. Many spoke in hushed voices that he had his fill of being near the Dark Lord when he was still in Hogwarts. He'd proven himself to be a useful tracker. If he hadn't, there was no question he would have long ago been eradicated. As it was, no respectable family would allow their daughters to enter into an alliance with the Malfoys. Unless he was willing to lower himself to find a bride within the Halfblood families or even a Muggle-born, the Malfoy family was set to become one more extinct Sacred Twenty-Eight family.

"I thought you would get rid of that coat the first chance you got."

He gestured to the garment she still had wrapped tightly around her body. A flicker of amusement shone in his eyes for half a second before the mask of indifference he usually wore returned. Hermione had known all along that it was foolish to keep the coat. She should have left it in that Muggle cellar. There had been other coats in the house she could have stolen to replace it. Likely it would be yet one more mistake she made that she would come to regret.

"Sentimental attachment to it. Answer my question."

More than a flicker crossed his face as his lips morphed into a wide smile. He looked younger, almost like she remembered him from school. There was a time when he would move through the castle as if he owned the place with a grin she longed to curse off. Other girls thought he was attractive, but Hermione could never see past the cruel eleven year old she knew from first year. Even years later, as damaged and disillusioned adults, she felt the urge to remove that smile. What right did he have to be happy? Or amused?

"Your presence has been noted in Wales. Thought you would be interested to know that."

"You came all this way to _warn_ me?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. There was an elegance to even the simplest of his gestures. Instantly, she chastised herself internally for thinking any charitable thoughts about him at all. They were _not_ friends. They were merely acquaintances who appeared to have forged some sort of strange arrangement where he followed her around but didn't turn her in… _yet_. There was still opportunity for him to show his true colors.

"Antonin is very angry with you. You know he doesn't ever let anyone else know his plans, but I imagine they're not going to be pleasant."

Once upon a time Antonin trusted her enough to tell her everything. She provided an excellent sounding board for him, a confidant he could vent to when his frustrations grew too heavy. Her role as his favorite student allowed her a number of liberties no one else enjoyed. When their friendship shifted to something else, something she couldn't quite label, he stopped sharing his secrets. Perhaps he was paranoid with grand delusions that she would one day betray him. Of course, to his credit, there was some truth to his concerns. She _did_ stab him in the eye with her fork before running away from her home, her family, her Dark Lord, her entire _life_. It wasn't unreasonable to imagine that she would come back one day to finish the job she started.

"Antonin knows I'm _here_?"

She worried what would happen to the Jordan family if she was discovered living there with them even for a short time. Even in neutral Wales they would be considered enemies. Antonin followed the laws of the various treaties when it suited him. He wasn't one to be overly concerned about what was legal or not.

"In the city, but not this house. Shouldn't take him long to figure it out though. Did you really get arrested by the Muggles?"

The shrug of her shoulders was nowhere near as elegant as his had been. A quiet chuckle from him filled the night air. He actually seemed to be enjoying her company. What bizarre world had she landed in?

"He's probably already been to the Muggle police station you were held at demanding answers. No doubt the Ministry of Magic is about to have an incident on their hands."

"Yes, well, my former teacher has never cared much for bureaucrats."

"No, your… _teacher_ never has. It would not surprise me in the slightest if he killed a couple of the Muggles."

Hermione wished that he was exaggerating, but she knew better. Antonin never worried about getting his hands dirty with Muggle blood. And, as he proved the night they first encountered one another in the Department of Mysteries, he had never had an issue with killing children. She had to get away from the Jordans. Every second she lingered she put them in even more danger. It would be wrong to repay their kindness with violence.

"Do you really think that you can keep outrunning him, Granger? That he will ever give up?"

She sighed, the weight of his words settling on her slim shoulders. Of course Antonin would never stop. When he set his mind to something, he did not give up. He would want to punish her for her insolence.

"No, but I have to try. I can't go back, Malfoy. I can't… I can't do it anymore."

"I understand. All too well."

The soft touch of the wizard's hand on her arm startled Hermione. She stared down at the gloved hand and didn't know what to do, what to say. Was he actually attempting to _comfort_ her? With wide eyes and unable to speak, she wrenched her arm from his gentle grasp. She ran from the garden, not stopping until she was gasping for air far from the Jordan family's home.


	28. January 27th

_Author's Note: I_ promise _that the identity of her protector will be revealed very soon... like within the next week or two. ;)_

* * *

January 27th

Remaining in Wales was no longer possible. As much as she hated to do so, Hermione gave up on her foolish dream that she could somehow figure out a way to stay in the neutral region in peace. She wandered around the city for over a day trying to make some kind of sense of her next move. Left with no other options, she knew she would have to leave.

It was something of a miracle that she hadn't been caught by Antonin or any of the other Death Eaters while she stayed in the same place for so long. In all of the months since she'd been on the run, she hadn't remained in one spot for more than a couple of days. Not even London where it was very easy to slip in amongst the Muggles to hide when necessary.

Draco Malfoy actually seeking her out and taking the time to _help_ her was another miracle. Her thoughts hadn't been far from their nighttime meeting in the garden since it occurred. She didn't trust him. No matter what he said or did, she wasn't sure she ever would. He still represented the life she was desperate to leave behind. She couldn't afford to humanize him. He was every bit as much a monster as the rest of them, herself included.

She found a train station and bought a ticket back to London with most of what little money she had remaining. Enough time had passed since her last visit that she didn't think anyone would be expecting her there. Traveling further than the capital city was ideal, but she needed a plan first. Once back in the city she would figure out what to do next.

Her entire life had become just a series of short-term plans, each less effective than the last. Without money or allies, she wouldn't be able to keep up the pace she was at for much longer. The better part of a year had passed on the run. It was better than most. She'd lost count the number of Death Eaters, both new recruits and veterans, that had lost heart over the years and been tempted to do what she was doing. Most were caught within a matter of days. At least she could take some comfort in the knowledge that she'd been somewhat successful where others had failed.

During her train ride back to London, she considered her options again. Fleeing the country would always be her best bet. She'd tried the hiding within the borders of the country until they gave up looking for her, but that clearly hadn't worked. Almost nine months had passed since she first ran and Antonin was still determined to catch her and do what exactly? Drag her back to the Dark Lord to face her punishment? Kill her in inventive and painful ways? Force her to return to the family she abandoned? None of them sounded enjoyable. The possibility was always present that he had plans for her she hadn't imagined yet. _That_ filled her with more dread than anything else.

If she had her wish, she would return to France. Back to the small house where she spent the best weeks of her life. It felt a lifetime ago, but she would never forget that short respite from the horror her existence had become. More than a few times she voiced her desire to her companion to freeze time and stay right there with him in that moment forever. And she'd actually meant it. Nothing about her life, before or since, had been as wonderful.

They were in France _theoretically_ conducting an investigation to uncover a pocket of Resistance members that had fled the country. The Dark Lord didn't want any of his subjects to run away from him. It was an important mission that she took quite seriously at first. Some of the Resistance were former Dumbledore's Army members. She wanted to prove to them that there was a place for them back home. If _she_ , 'Harry Potter's Mudblood', could find favor with the new regime, it was possible for each of them to as well. Too many had already been killed or publicly executed. Hermione wanted nothing more than to save them from the same fate.

It was the first opportunity she had to prove her worth without Antonin breathing down her neck. All previous triumphs had been credited to him because of his guidance and leadership. She wanted to show her master, the Dark Lord, that she had been trained well, that the rumors stating she was only playing a part to stay alive weren't true.

When the Death Eaters assigned to go to France assembled for the first time to take the portkey to their destination, she'd been annoyed to see her protector was one of the chosen. The bold manner in which he smiled at her as they grasped the old tin can with Allie, Ron, and three other new recruits angered her more than it flattered. If his plan was to distract her while they had work to do, he was going to be severely disappointed. She leveled him with a glare that made it clear she was there to work.

He'd been on his best behavior for the first three days. Not once did he make an inappropriate remark or even look at her with anything less than complete professionalism. If he made certain that he was always closest to her when they clashed with the foolish Resistance, he didn't make a big show of it. On the third night after they all shared a bottle of fire whiskey to celebrate the capture or death of those they were seeking, Hermione snuck away from the fire. As pleased as she was that she'd accomplished her mission, knowing that she had been forced to thrash people who had once been on her side hadn't sat well with her conscience. She stood in the secluded French countryside looking up at the bright and beautiful stars allowing her mind to wander to thoughts better left unthought.

"Wandering off on your own is a good way to get yourself killed."

Perhaps his words came from a place of actual concern, but Hermione didn't want to hear them. She hadn't truly been alone for longer than a few minutes in years. Every moment of her life was planned, scripted, manipulated. Beyond just the Dark Lord and her teacher, she had countless others who felt it was their mission to make certain that she wasn't doing anything she shouldn't be. Death Eaters and those that supported them were a suspicious lot. No matter what she did, no matter how many of their enemies she subdued, they didn't trust her. There was always the assumption that she would eventually betray them all. Maybe they were right.

"I needed a few minutes to breathe… _alone_."

Instead of being offended by her obvious desire that he leave her in peace, her protector chuckled. It annoyed her that she found the sound pleasing. Even as far removed from the broom cupboard in Hogwarts as possible, she was still taken back to the days, _weeks_ he kept guard outside her door. Without him, there was simply no way to know what might have happened to her in those first chaotic days of the new regime. Likely _exactly_ what happened to most of the other witches even suspected of aiding the enemies. Just the thought sent a chill up her spine.

He moved to stand directly behind her as she continued to stare up at the stars. Fearing that she was shivering because of the chilly night air, the wizard enveloped her in his arms, covering them both with the heavy fabric of his cloak. She considered pushing him away, telling him to go back to their comrades, but that was the furthest desire of her heart. Leaning back against his chest, she sighed when his lips kissed the top of her head.

There had been no other kisses up until that point beyond polite, chaste ones to her cheek in greetings or farewells. Though it was certainly never stated outright, Hermione knew there was a mild jealousy on Antonin's part where he was concerned. In all of the time that she lived in her teacher's home learning everything he had to teach her, he'd never once made demands on her body. Not even when it was clear he would not only _not_ kick her out of his bed, but gladly welcome her into it. The frequency with which her protector and friend casually dropped by Antonin's house to sip tea in the kitchen with his prized student was an annoyance he didn't try to hide. To offer the proper amount of respect due the master of the house, there had been nothing beyond the most innocent of touches.

Even though she carried the Mark of the Dark Lord on her own arm and it had been placed there by her _choice_ , she continued to find it odd that the dangerous men she surrounded herself with had the capacity for more than just violence and degradation. Years locked up in Azkaban hadn't even dulled their most inane human appetites. Were they all simply moving through life desiring nothing more than just the opportunity to connect on a deeper level with another? She remembered believing anyone who would even consider becoming a Death Eater must have had no soul and only an appetite for mayhem. Understanding that no one was wholly good or wholly evil was still a concept she struggled with.

"We don't have to go back tomorrow with the others. They can take the prisoners on their own."

"Why would we stay?"

She suspected she knew the answer before he even had a chance to say it, but she wanted to be certain. Wanted him to actually say the words they'd only danced around in the past. His arms loosened their hold on her body. She lamented the loss instantly. When he placed his hands on her shoulders and carefully spun her in place so that she was facing him, she could feel her heart rate increase. The light of the moon illuminated his eyes just enough for her to see how dark they'd become.

Their first kiss was startling and exhilarating all at once. With perfect confidence that she wouldn't push him away, he placed his hands on her upper back and pulled her closer to his lean chest. His lips were soft, never demanding. The level of restraint that he was showing was nothing less than remarkable. She could feel how much he wanted her in just the touch of his hands. He ended the kiss long before she was ready. Staring down at her with a smirk she longed to feel against her mouth, he answered.

"To be completely alone, of course."

As he moved to resume their affectionate act, Hermione was startled awake by the sudden lurch of the stopping train. She'd arrived in London. All thoughts of her past were pushed to the back of her mind. She didn't have the luxury to revel in memories. Not yet. Not when her present was still so uncertain.


	29. January 28th

January 28th

There was little for Hermione to do in London other than wander the streets. This was a task that was best left for the warmer months, but she had to make due with what little she had. Action was almost constant in the capital city. With almost nine million residents, something was always happening. One just had to know where to look.

It was dangerous to expose herself as often as she did. Truthfully, if she really wanted to be safe, she would find a remote area and hole herself up in an abandoned building. Leave only for quick trips into neighboring villages for something to eat. But, that sort of existence seemed terribly boring. Maybe she liked the idea of the danger she put herself in. Never knowing when she turned a corner if she would run straight into someone who would recognize her could be thrilling.

Antonin once accused her of having a thirst for danger. She'd shrugged her shoulders and replied that she was easily bored. It also didn't help that her childhood had been spent with Harry Potter who was an absolute magnet for dangerous situations. Perhaps if she'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw like the Sorting Hat initially wanted, she might have made friends with those rare students who enjoyed quietly sitting in the library having no adventures. But, for a reason she still didn't quite understand, she asked the Sorting Hat to put her in Gryffindor.

Sunday nights weren't typically nights when the pubs in the city overflowed with drunken patrons. There was _probably_ less chance of someone recognizing her. Wizarding society in the United Kingdom was much smaller than many likely realized. Decades of war and unrest and uncertainty hadn't helped rebuild the population either. That had been one of the main reasons why the Dark Lord insisted that each of his followers marry a suitable prospect and begin breeding the next generation of his followers into existence. There had been limited success, but even then, she didn't think there would likely be a wizard slumming amongst the Muggles who wouldn't be willing to look the other way.

She chose a location as far from the last London pub she'd visited as possible. Running into the kindhearted man she robbed wasn't ideal. Sure, she'd have the ability to get away from him if necessary, but she really didn't want to run the risk of using magic unless she absolutely must. Antonin could still be searching for her in Wales if she was lucky.

As she sat down at the end of the bar in a fairly seedy pub, she tried not to think too much about the chaos she probably left behind. Treaty or not, Antonin could very well end up harming the Jordans. Even those _suspected_ of aiding a fugitive could be in serious trouble. Somehow her trail would likely lead back to them. She has half-tempted to reveal herself just to keep them from harm. The thought made her chuckle to herself. Maybe it _was_ possible for her to change. There might be hope for her after all. Altruism was hardly something she had a great deal of personal experience with. She'd grown too selfish over the years.

Quickly, however, she thought better of turning herself in. The uncertainty of what Antonin had in mind for her when he finally had her within his clutches was too much to risk. He hadn't gotten his reputation as being cruel and savage in error. He'd cultivated that persona, fed it and coaxed it into being. Years in Azkaban once threatened to turn him completely mad, but he'd clung to the last bits of sanity he could. The twisted manner in which his mind began to work when he was with the dementors feeding on his happiness and joy became a well-sharpened weapon outside of the infamous prison.

She was right to fear him. No one who knew anything about her former teacher would blame her for being afraid enough to keep running even when there was nowhere she could run. Eventually, he would catch up with her. That was an expectation she lived with. Once upon a time she might have been able to nurture the hope within that assured her she would make it against all odds. The last bit of optimism she possessed had been maliciously ripped away.

After digging into her beaded bag for enough money to buy a pint from the man behind the bar, Hermione stared into the glass, tracing patterns in the condensation with her fingertips. As much as she might have wished to gulp the liquid down, she had to pace herself. Unless she was able to convince one of the other patrons to fund the rest of her night, she had to make the drink last. No one would allow her to remain inside in the warmth if she wasn't a paying customer. Life could get difficult without money. Not for the first time she cursed her lack of it.

When she first ran away, she had a great deal of money at her disposal. Months, years even, of careful saving and hiding of much of her money in an empty box tucked under the floorboards in her attic allowed her the freedom of paying for her lodging and food for the first few months. In the beginning, when she started hoarding the money, hoping her husband never caught on to the small sums that seemed to be missing each month from their bank vault, she'd been planning on running with their son.

The thought of her only child remaining in that house constantly being influenced by the man she'd been forced to marry was difficult to dwell on. Most of her husband's anger and cruelty was directed at her, not their son. Hermione didn't believe for a second that he would ever hurt their child, especially not after the heartbreak of losing their daughter. But, she didn't want to imagine what kind of man he would grow into with a Death Eater as a father and a Death Eater as a mother. Likely, he would follow in their footsteps. Her husband would've been pleased. She wanted so much more for him.

Ignoring her concerns about running out of her drink too soon, Hermione began to gulp it all down. She longed for the haze that intoxication could bring. Thinking about the son she left behind, what a horrible mother she turned out to be, only made her feel worse. A _good_ mother would have never left their child behind in an unhappy house with a violent father. Without her there to take the brunt of her husband's anger, what if he started taking it out on the one who remained? She didn't want to think about the possibilities.

"Allow me to buy you another one."

Hermione almost dropped her glass when the masculine voice spoke just outside of her ear. Her mind had been hundreds of miles away to a village in Scotland. She hadn't even realized that one of the other poor souls in the rundown pub had gotten near her barstool. At first, she was tempted to tell him to bugger off, but stopped herself. Maybe a little flirting and a few suggestive looks in his direction might get her in the drunken state she desired.

The Muggle wasn't terribly unattractive, if she was honest with herself. In fact, there was a certain amount of confidence to him that she found appealing. His smile was friendly, kind. She'd spent too many years surrounded by men who only smiled in that feral, deranged manner that promised more pain than pleasure. When she returned his grin with one of her own and invited him to sit down, an idea formed. Perhaps, if she played her part well enough, she might not have to worry about finding a warm bed to sleep in that night. Besides, it _had_ been a while since she'd allowed herself to get close enough to a man to scratch her primal itches and alcohol certainly wasn't the only way a person could distract their minds from unpleasant thoughts.

"This hardly seems the sort of place to find a beautiful woman alone."

She granted him her most innocent of blushing smiles. Sometimes she looked in the mirror and felt a hundred years old. It was exhilarating to hear she wasn't as repulsive and hideous as she felt. Her husband had always been sparing with his compliments. Before her attack on Antonin meant she had to abandon her family for her own safety, she hadn't heard a kind word from him in a very long time.

"You think I'm beautiful?"

His sudden nervousness only endeared him further to Hermione. He was clearly one of those mythical nice men she'd heard about and never met. She could eat him alive. Flustered, with bright red cheeks, he quickly ordered another round of drinks before he had the courage to respond.

"Well… _yes._ Of course."

She liked the Muggle. Not even bothering to remember his name or much of anything that he told her about himself, she swallowed glass after glass of his offered alcohol. She granted him the encouraging smiles, the soft touches of his arm, and the flirtatious giggles that only encouraged him to keep buying.

When she lost count of the number of drinks she'd consumed and was beginning to feel a sense of ease and relaxation that she hadn't experienced in longer than she could remember, she grew bolder with the squeeze of his thigh. There could be no doubt in the Muggle's mind that she would follow him to his flat or any hotel room he wanted to pay for. Survival wasn't always ethical, but sometimes it had the opportunity for pleasure. As she leaned over to whisper in his ear that she thought it was time they found somewhere a little less public, the door to the pub opened abruptly letting in a blast of cold air.

A tall, lean man with shockingly pale hair entered the pub. She almost gasped as she watched him unwrap the heavy scarf he had around his neck. What was Malfoy doing there? Was he finally coming to tell her _exactly_ why he kept following her? She'd almost forgotten her plan to go home with the Muggle. Only when her drunken eyes focused on the newcomer and he finished the removal of the scarf did she have the sinking realization that it wasn't Malfoy at all. Just some faceless stranger with the same color hair.

She tried to ignore her disappointment for the rest of the night.


	30. January 29th

January 29th

Sneaking out of a strange flat in the wee hours of the morning was easier said than done. Hermione had enjoyed her evening and appreciated that the Muggle hadn't been in any hurry to kick her out of his warm home when they were too tired for another round between his sheets. It had even been kind of nice laying in the comfortable bed with a warm, masculine body spooned up behind hers. She wasn't sure the last time she had enjoyed that simple pleasure.

He truly was a nice bloke. All gentlemanly manners and an eager desire to please. It was a shame that he had to cross her path. He deserved better than the dark cloud she carried with her wherever she went. She could have gotten used to the innocence of a man who didn't know what the world was really like outside those doors. An entire society existed outside of his knowledge. There were times she lamented the loss of her ignorance. How different would her life have been if she hadn't been willing to embrace her magic? Perhaps she would have lived a normal life with both of her parents still in the country. She could've gone to university and fallen in love with a nice boy just like the one who invited her home the night before. Maybe they would've had children and she would've been a good mum.

She couldn't afford to allow her thoughts to linger on what could not be. It didn't matter what _could_ have been. All that mattered was what _was_. Living in a fantasy world was even more dangerous than living in the past.

Careful not to jostle the sleeping man, Hermione slid out of his embrace. She stopped before she went any further just to make sure the sudden change didn't wake him out of his deep slumber. Their _activities_ the night before had been exhausting to say the least. A small smirk crept up on her lips at the flash of memories. One night stands could be enjoyable, if done correctly. There had been a time in her life when she hadn't hesitated to jump in the bed of an attractive man, wizard or Muggle, who smiled at her in just the right way for no other reason than it was simply _fun_ to do so. It had been a diverting way to keep her mind off of the unpleasantness of the rest of her life. And besides, she knew how much it bothered Antonin that she would climb in a stranger's bed, but kept her distance from his. Annoying and frustrating him was simply another perk.

The Muggle slept on with all of the innocence and carelessness of a being who had never known real danger or true fear. She envied him. Envied how he could continue to sleep while a murderer crawled out of his bed. If he knew half of the depraved acts she'd committed over her time as a Death Eater, he would've never had the courage to bring another pretty girl he met in a pub home with him again. Part of her thought that he _should_ know. If for no other reason than he shouldn't so trusting. The world was a scary place. Maybe he needed to learn that before he did something foolish and got himself killed.

Her gaze fell on his discarded trousers lying in the middle of the floor. A bulge in the back pocket proved he hadn't attempted to hide his wallet from the stranger he brought home. Feeling it was her duty to show him how unwise it was to be so trusting and naive, Hermione cautiously put both of her bare feet on the cold hardwood floors. Satisfied that he was still sound asleep, she tiptoed to the garment to rifle through the leather wallet. She took every last pound he carried, and dropped the wallet back on top of his trousers. It was important that he realized he'd been robbed. Perhaps he would be more careful the next time he approached a woman in a pub.

As much as she would've enjoyed lingering long enough to make use of his shower, she couldn't risk it. She'd already stayed too long as it was. Beyond the fact that she had stolen all of his money, she put him in danger every second she remained. What if someone had seen her the night before? London was a large city, but she had truly shit luck. It always seemed that when she wasn't expecting to cross paths with a person she knew, she did. The moment she was dressed and certain that she had left nothing of hers behind, Hermione snuck out the front door.

With nothing else to do with her time, she began to wander the streets again. The Muggle had been a pleasant distraction. There were times, usually when she was desperate for food or a little bit of warmth, that she considered making it a habit to do what she had done the night before. Chatting up harmless Muggles in pubs in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep was easy. But, each time she considered making her old hobby a profession, she stopped herself. She wasn't desperate enough _yet_ to go that far. Besides, she'd already been married to a man she didn't love at her master's orders. What was that, if it wasn't prostitution on a more permanent basis? She didn't have the stomach to fall so low. Not yet.

She didn't know where she was headed or what she was going to do when she arrived. No one paid her any mind. Nothing about her was remarkable. She tried to do all that she could not to stand out. Less chance of getting in trouble that way. The sun was long gone when she realized where she'd accidentally wandered. Maybe it was a force of habit, a silly mistake that could get her recaptured if she wasn't careful. As soon as she knew where she was, she spun around to head in the opposite direction.

"Hermione?"

The question was hissed at her from the window of a flat on the third floor of the rundown building. She closed her eyes and sighed. What was wrong with her? Was she _wanting_ to get caught? Before she could make up her mind to respond or run away, the resident who recognized her had enough time to Apparate close enough to grab her arm. Spinning her around, Hermione was forced to meet the surprised and disappointed eyes of Alecto Carrow.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

Alecto, keeping a tight grip on the other witch's arm, frantically searched up and down the street with wide, worried eyes. Seeing no one, she spun in place to bring them both to the safety of her flat. There had been a time in Hermione's life when she spent a great deal of time in the older woman's flat avoiding her responsibilities. An unconventional friendship had blossomed between the two years earlier when they bonded over their mutual frustrations with Antonin. A jilted lover of his in her foolish, younger days, Alecto had grown to despise him and was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear when Hermione needed to vent. She never would have expected to become _friends_ with Alecto, but somehow, the unthinkable happened.

Once inside the flat, Alecto ran her hands over Hermione's face, searching for any marks or wounds. It was, unfortunately, not the first time she'd done the same. When she was satisfied that there was nothing _physically_ wrong with her friend, Alecto wrapped her arms around the younger woman and hugged her tight. They hadn't seen each other in months. Not since she was sent to search for Hermione. Ordered to use whatever means necessary to bring her back to Hogsmeade to face her punishment from their Dark Lord, she'd _almost_ been successful. Hermione didn't want to imagine what kind of trouble her friend had gotten in when she failed. Even if the Dark Lord didn't hurt her, she knew that Antonin wasn't apt to be kind.

"I'd heard you were in Wales."

"I was."

Alecto sighed and released her hold. She led them both over to sit on her threadbare sofa. Certainly not anything special, Hermione loved her flat for the simple reason that it was _hers_. She didn't have to share it with anyone, not even a husband forced upon her for the sole purpose of breeding new life into the Death Eater ranks. A childhood bout of spattergroit meant that she would never be able to be a mother. Small blessing in Hermione's mind.

"Antonin's been causing problems there. Disregarding the treaty. The Dark Lord is not pleased."

Hermione desperately hoped the Jordans were all right. If anything happened to their kind, loving family simply because she had taken advantage of their kindness, she… she didn't know what she'd do. Probably nothing beyond being a bit sad. There wasn't much else she could do. Lee was the one who made the conscious decision to take her out of the Muggle police station and bring her into his home. _He_ was responsible for whatever happened. Didn't he know that being selfless was dangerous?

"It's not safe to be here, Hermione. What were you thinking?"

"Why not? Do you have a boyfriend I don't know about, Allie? Is Rabastan Lestrange going to jump out of a cupboard? Have you _finally_ gotten Felix Travers in your bed? That wizard has turned playing 'hard to get' into something of an art form, hasn't he?"

Realizing she was being teased, Alecto scoffed and chuckled. The longer Hermione sat inside the warmth of the flat, the more exhausted she became. She wanted nothing more than to lay down on the sofa and sleep. Maybe, if she was really persuasive, she could talk Alecto into letting her stay for a night or two. Somehow, she got the feeling that she wouldn't be betrayed unless under specific orders from their master. There were always loopholes to exploit.

"It's a really bad time to be in London, love. There's going to be a meeting tomorrow in one of the back rooms of The Leaky Cauldron."

"A meeting? About what?"

"Not sure. All I know is that attendance is _not_ optional and several are coming in from all over. Russia, Germany, Canada…"

"France?"

Alecto stopped at the seemingly innocuous question. She slowly nodded her head. Hermione was intrigued against her better judgment. It was rare that all of the, for lack of a better term, _ambassadors_ returned at the same time. Something big was likely happening. She almost wished she was still in the Inner Circle, witness to everything.

"I'm leaving for Yorkshire tonight to see my mum. You can stay here if you need to. Just until I get back tomorrow."

"No, Allie. It's too dangerous for you."

"Nonsense. If anyone catches you here, tell the truth that you know where I keep the spare key. Besides, you're not wrong. I _haven't_ been able to get Felix in my bed yet. I haven't given up hope though."

Her playful wink made Hermione laugh. At least she didn't have to worry about freezing in the streets for one more night. And she knew for a fact that Alecto's shower had been charmed so that the hot water never ran out.


	31. January 30th

_Author's Note: Extremely early chapter because I'm down with a terrible case of the flu. Tomorrow's update may be early too. I'm off to sleep for possibly days._

* * *

January 30th

Curiosity was something of a two-edged sword. Over the years of her life, Hermione had experienced the euphoria of quenching her curious urges as well as the pitfalls of being too inquisitive. There was danger in wanting to know more information than was readily offered. Though she had some success in her younger years keeping her best friends alive thanks to the knowledge she'd hunted for and gathered, there were certainly times she wished she hadn't been so damned eager to uncover every last tiny detail.

She _knew_ that it wasn't wise to be too interested in what was happening at the Leaky Cauldron that night. Alecto hadn't minced words when she told her that she needed to stay as far away from the gathering as possible. There were too many unpredictable and caustic variables to contend with. If the Dark Lord suspected that she was nearby and she was somehow captured, he _might_ believe that she was coming back to repent for her disobedience. Depending on his mood, she could either be welcomed warmly back into the fold or she would be made an example of. Neither option sounded attractive.

But, she also thought it strange that they were gathering in London. Why? The Dark Lord hadn't strayed far from Hogwarts in a very long time. When the war was lost and he reigned supreme, he chose the ancient school as his headquarters, his _court_. Lord Voldemort desired having the children close by. He wanted to shape their ideals, their thoughts into something that he could manipulate. Control the children and one controls the world. Over time, it just became a necessity that he remain where he was. Though no one was foolish enough to say so out loud, they all knew he was weakening to an alarming degree.

Would the Dark Lord even be a part of the meeting? She couldn't imagine that he was. Rarely could she remember there being a time in the past when he had sent out invitations to his Death Eaters to attend a meeting in advance. Their notice was usually only a burning of their Dark Mark and moments to Apparate to wherever their master was calling from. To bring in those he sent out to other countries as a representative of his government was even more curious.

If she was perfectly honest with herself, she was tempted to go to the Leaky Cauldron for no other reason than to attempt to set her eyes on the Dark Lord's representative to France. It had been a long time since their paths crossed, since they last were within speaking distance. Even longer since the last time they were close enough to touch. Theirs had not been a happy story. So few had been in those days.

When their master made the determination that it was time that they stopped behaving like a conquering force and begin the business of actually growing and improving their society, he had had very strict orders for his most faithful of followers. Marry and breed. He was intelligent enough to understand that the most fervent support he would receive would come from those who were raised within close proximity to power. Those they'd managed to subjugate continued to grow their families. Some of them would be loyal, some of them would be recruits to the Resistance. It was better that the children of his Death Eaters outnumber the children of those living underneath their thumbs.

Some of the Death Eaters hadn't hesitated to marry when it was ordered of them. Especially the younger ones. With all of the emphasis of the previous several years placed on fighting the Resistance and ensuring the bloody acts of the regime weren't in vain, there had been very little time for any of the pleasures of the most domestic kind. There had been _plenty_ of opportunities to get caught up in the carnal pleasures, however. The Dark Lord began to find their debauched revels and 'live for the moment' attitudes unpalatable. He wanted stability, a world that wouldn't crumble.

Hermione had been one of the last holdouts. At first, she believed that his orders wouldn't apply to her. After all, she was one his favorites. Often he allowed her to sit on the floor at his feet while every other member of the Inner Circle was forced to remain upright. There had been a time when she actually _enjoyed_ being little more than his pet. She was faithful and loyal. Never questioned his orders. Sought out his approval. She killed and maimed just for the sake of his pleasure.

Besides, the only person she had any desire at all to marry was already married. It didn't matter that his wife had left him decades earlier when he was first arrested by the Ministry of Magic. She'd taken their three small children and fled to another country. When he'd broken out of Azkaban during the mass breakouts of the nineties, he'd been horrified to learn that she hadn't stayed. The embarrassment of having a known Death Eater as a husband had been too much for her. She was afraid of what their children would experience remaining in the country with the stigma of their father hanging over their heads.

When Hermione was informed that she would also have to enter into the bonds of matrimony with another loyal Death Eater, she was incensed. Not only was she afraid that she would be less valuable to her Dark Lord's eyes when she was filled with some bastard, but she didn't want to be paired up with just _anyone_. Her protector had had the same idea. He wanted to offer what sanctuary to her that he could. He'd pled his case to the Dark Lord. Begged him to allow him to set aside the wife that abandoned him for Hermione.

It had all been a waste of breath. Instead of allowing the divorce _in absentia_ , Lord Voldemort ordered him to leave the country to find his wife and family. He needed to set an example to the rest of them of a stable, loving family. It didn't matter that his wife cursed his name or that his children feared and reviled him. When he was _ordered_ to put aside his foolish hopes of marrying the woman he loved, he couldn't do anything but leave. _Comply or die_.

So, she had been left to marry a man she did not and could not love. There were no other options. Not even Ron. Of course, she would've rather shot an _Avada_ straight to her own heart than even entertain the idea of marrying her altered ex-boyfriend. His rather thorough training and reprogramming under the tutelage of Rabastan Lestrange turned him into a dangerous shadow of the wizard he once was. Never again would he be anything like the funny, Quidditch-mad child she used to adore.

A replacement husband was _appointed_. Her new husband had been thrilled with the Dark Lord's refusal to allow Hermione to marry the one she wanted. With her as his wife, his status rose exponentially in the ranks. She, however, had been less than pleased. What woman loved being nothing more than an opportunity for her husband to get ahead? She resented his eagerness to wed her, to _bed_ her. She determined to get pregnant as quickly as possible. Not only to please her master, but also in a foolish hope that her new husband would leave her alone.

Only one of her wishes came true. The Dark Lord set them up as an example of how all Death Eaters should behave. They were taking their orders seriously. Because of their loyalty, the regime would last for generations. Unfortunately, her thickening waist and swollen breasts did little to dampen the ardor of her infatuated mate. If anything, he found her even more attractive ripe with his child.

Alecto's warning that she stay out of London and away from the Leaky Cauldron fell on deaf ears. It was idiotic to go _towards_ a gathering of her former brethren, insane even. But, she wanted to catch a glimpse of what was happening. To call all of the Death Eaters together was no small feat. Curiously, she hadn't felt a burn in her Mark. Had all Death Eaters except her been summoned?

She found a dark, hidden corner a short distance from the famous tavern to hide. No one would believe she would be foolish enough to be that close. Perhaps that would be enough to keep her protected. It wasn't long after her arrival that the assembly of the most feared and dangerous men and women in the country began. She saw most of the familiar faces: Alecto, Ron, Corban. When her husband appeared on the street, she felt her lip curl up in disgust. There was no one alive she hated more.

Through all of the arrivals, one face she longed to see was missing. Any number of reasons could explain his absence. Alecto might have heard incorrectly. He might have already been inside when she got there. Maybe he used the floo. Whatever it was, she was disappointed. Where was he? Had something happened to him while she was away? _No_ , she thought, _Alecto would've told me._

She couldn't be sure how many hours she sat in the cold waiting for the meeting to end. Long enough for her limbs to feel stiff and her cheeks to burn with the freezing air maliciously scraping across her face. If she allowed herself to stop and question why she was still waiting, she'd have to tell herself she was just wasting time. And for what? To _maybe_ catch a glimpse of a man who once meant more to her than breathing?

The bells around the city began their midnight toll, jarring her back to reality. She needed to get as far away from their meeting as possible. Her legs were still stiff from her inactivity in the cold. Her movements weren't nearly fast enough. The door to the Leaky Cauldron opened to release one of the attendees. She couldn't get away fast enough. A strong hand caught her upper arm, squeezed, and pulled her back into a shadowy corner.

Light from a nearby lamppost was only just able to illuminate the amused features of notorious Death Eater Augustus Rookwood.

"Now this is a pleasant surprise. Never expected to run into you out here, Madam Dolohov."


	32. January 31st

January 31st

Hermione wrenched her arm out of Augustus' grip with an annoyed huff. With her hand free she slapped at his slightly pudgy stomach. It was just barely beginning to show the hints of a little extra weight that always seemed to affect those nearing middle age. The slap wasn't hard enough to hurt, of course. Just enough to make him laugh.

" _Don't_ call me that, Augie."

"It's your name, is it not?"

She narrowed her eyes to glare at him. Far from being frightened of her angry expression, he just laughed again. Augustus laughed a lot. It was one of his traits that was most endearing and most obnoxious. Sometimes he wanted to joke around and laugh when she was absolutely not in the mood. Making the conscious decision to be serious, he removed all hints of mirth from his face to stare at her with concern.

"It's not safe for you to be out here. You realize your husband is inside?"

Thinking about Antonin being in the same _country_ was difficult enough. She loathed the man every bit as much as she respected him. To remember the parts of him that she didn't completely despise, she had to think of him as two people: her teacher and her husband. Perhaps it wouldn't make sense to anyone else if she tried to explain, but it worked for her. When her _husband_ frustrated her enough to make her seriously contemplate murdering him, she pushed aside all that she hated to focus on him only as her teacher and revered mentor. Her mind could get messy and confusing at times. No one understood that better than she did.

"Why is everyone here? What's going on?"

"Hermione, you need to get somewhere safe before Antonin discovers you're out here. He might already suspect. Subtlety isn't exactly Allie's strength. She told me she thought you'd be nearby. He probably saw us talking inside."

Anyone who didn't know Antonin Dolohov on a personal level might be surprised to learn that he not only had a fiery temper that terrified his enemies, but he also struggled with fierce and all-consuming jealousy. A great deal set him off. Before they were ordered to marry each other, he was always angry when she would leave the house they lived in together without him. There had been no reason to move out of his home after she'd proven herself to be a loyal Death Eater. He had plenty of space and he certainly wasn't in a rush to fill it with the presence of another witch. Hermione stayed because it was easy. When another young recruit moved into the attic and she took the spare bedroom next to Antonin's, they became almost like peers. She still respected him and had a great deal to learn from him. He, however, had selfish reasons for not suggesting she find different accommodations.

"Why is everyone here?"

She wasn't going to be deterred in getting her answers. _Something_ big was going on, she could feel it. Even Augustus seemed out of sorts and uncomfortable. He rarely had a single moment when he wasn't completely confident. It was a subtle difference in his bearing, something that most people would have never even picked up on. But, Hermione wasn't 'most people'.

"You really need to leave. It's not safe. Do you _want_ to go back home with Antonin? Because he's determined to find you."

"He wants to find me to kill me, not bring me back home."

The expression on her old friend's face was difficult to decipher. He wrinkled up his forehead, tilted his head slightly, and just stared at her without speaking. Almost as if he was confused by the very words that had come out of her mouth. There was something bothering him, something that he wasn't eager to speak about. Hermione could only imagine.

"I don't think he wants to kill you."

She scoffed. Clearly, he hadn't heard the story of her dramatic escape from the clutches of her madman husband. It all became too much for her one day. Their son had just had his birthday. _Eleven_. He'd been excited for weeks about the party that his parents were throwing for him. All of his little mates were invited, and thanks to the Dark Lord's insistence that his Death Eaters have as many children as possible, there were many. She'd been in the kitchen when her irate husband came storming in, angry about something she'd done or failed to do. She was forgetting the details. He'd grabbed her arm. Like he'd done a thousand times before. Except that time, she was tired.

Not wishing to allow her mind to go down that treacherous path, Hermione shook her head and muttered to herself to stop dwelling on the past. She met Augustus' worried eyes with a determination that made it clear she would not be persuaded to give up her questions.

"I wasn't invited tonight. Why? My arm didn't burn."

"Hermione, I think you should…"

"No, Augie! Tell me."

Her voice was carrying further than their hiding place. Fearful that she was about to give up their position, Augustus pulled her closer to him and frantically searched the immediate area for eavesdroppers. They were playing a dangerous game. If Antonin suspected he was hiding the whereabouts of his wife from him, he wouldn't be pleased. And when Antonin wasn't _pleased,_ he was frightening. Only when he was satisfied that no one was around did he sigh and turn his attention back to her.

"This isn't the best place to have this discussion."

"Then let's leave. Let's go somewhere you can actually talk to me."

"Hermione…"

"Damn it, Augie! Stop. Tell me."

He made a quick plan. And like he always did, he didn't feel the need to let Hermione in on the details. He pointed his wand at her head and muttered an incantation that made her flinch. She didn't _think_ he would hurt her, but she couldn't be sure. When she felt the hair on her head begin to grow longer at an alarming pace, she grabbed the ends to see he'd also adjusted the shade. Blonde had never been great for her coloring. She was about to ask what he was doing when he scooped her up like she weighed no more than a small child and threw her body over his shoulder. Her first instinct was to kick and scream and demand that he let her go. Augustus patted her arse in an overly familiar manner that would've gotten him a slap to the face or a kick to the bollocks if she'd been capable.

"Keep up that act, sweet. It'll serve you well."

She continued to struggle with him up until the door to the tavern opened and she had the sickening realization that he'd actually brought her _inside_ the Leaky Cauldron. Loud, raucous voices that she knew all too well could be heard all over the bustling main room. There was a great deal of laughter and that was never a good sign when the space was filled with Death Eaters. What was Augustus doing? She thought she could trust him. Clearly, she'd been wrong.

"What'd you have there, Gus?"

Hermione recognized the voice belonging to Rabastan Lestrange. There was a note of amusement in it that didn't bode well for her situation. Before Augustus responded, his large hand slapped her arse again and he began squeezing and pinching it. She felt humiliated and violated all at once.

"Just a pretty little poppet I found outside. Stupid Muggle didn't watch where she was going. Think I might have to teach her a lesson."

The sudden burst of amused laughter from several of the attendees was harsh to Hermione's ears. She was grateful for the long curtain of unnaturally blond hair covering her red face. Her fear raged with her good senses. If she was spotted by her husband or any of his loyal comrades, she would worry about it then. Getting away from Augustus seemed to be her best option. When she renewed her struggles to get out of his grasp, he tightened his grip and laughed.

"She's got a bit of spirit in her, doesn't she?" Rabastan's laughter was chilling. "Perhaps when you've taught her a lesson, you'll be kind enough to share."

"If there's anything left of her, I promise, Rabby. You'll be the first I owl."

Augustus pushed past the crowd of Death Eaters to make his way the staircase that led to the private rooms. If she hadn't have been so terribly frightened, she might have seen the sense in bringing her into the midst of the animals. Who would suspect that she was there with them? No one. But, Hermione wasn't able to think clearly. Her brain felt fuzzy and she was so very tired.

"Great show down there, love. You did exactly as you should've."

He didn't put her down until they were inside his room and the door was completely shut and properly warded. Carefully, Augustus laid her down on top of the large bed dominating the space. It was so warm and soft that Hermione thought she might be able to fall asleep right there even without knowing all of the answers to her questions. Augustus placed the back of his hand on her cheeks, then her forehead.

"You're burning up, Hermione."

She couldn't argue with the man. Even if the room was warm and the fire was blazing in the grate, her entire body was chilled. At least her feverish thoughts made a bit of sense. It was difficult for her to concentrate.

"Here. Drink this."

At first she was tempted to push the vial away. What if this was all a ruse on Augustus' part? What if Antonin had gotten to him? She didn't _think_ he would ever trade loyalties, but stranger things had happened. But, the bed was so soft and the room was so warm. She felt _safe_ for the first time in a long time. Augustus coaxed her into drinking the contents of the vial and instantly she felt a heaviness in her eyes. Before she fell deep asleep, she thought she felt him kiss her forehead and promise that no one would come in that door as long as he was there.


	33. February 1st

February 1st

She had terrible feverish dreams for what felt like days. Augustus hadn't been wrong when he said she wasn't well. Maybe the combination of sitting in the cold for so long trying to figure out what was happening inside and months of poor nutrition and stress was to blame. It was all bound to catch up with her eventually. At least she was fortunate enough to fall ill in the presence of one of the few people alive she trusted implicitly. The alternative to being found in the streets by a less-than-savory person or being somehow returned to her husband was better than she could've hoped for.

Augustus would protect her with his life. That was never a question when her suspicious mind wasn't burning with sickness. An almost reluctant recruit to the Death Eaters at first, he became an invaluable asset with his position as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. Well-liked by just about everyone who met him, he had been an unlikely Death Eater. His best friend, Corban Yaxley, was the one to approach him about picking the more dangerous side of the conflict. He'd been nervous about creating any waves at all with a young wife and a new baby to consider. With a little persuasion and the promise of a more secure future for his growing family, he began passing classified information to Igor Karkaroff. He'd been careful. Only Karkaroff's cowardice was responsible for his outing as a spy.

Fifteen years in Azkaban changed him. Many times Hermione wished she would've known him when he was young. But, he'd been a valuable part of her life regardless of how haunted his past. She lost count the number of times he physically saved her life and the number of times his kindness had been one of the only things making her life worth living. He was always ready with a smile when she needed encouragement, a joke when she needed a laugh, a sympathetic ear when she thought she was in danger of exploding.

Ron could never understand her friendship with Augustus. His hatred for the man was absolute. Not even Augustus could blame him either. He'd taken the loss of his older brother Fred very hard. When George was executed just a short time later, he blamed Augustus for that as well. His reasoning was that maybe the twins together would've come to the inevitable conclusion that it was better to comply than die. George was too far gone in his grief to see the sense in resisting the urge to fight.

The Weasleys were a family like so many others, split right down the middle. Arthur had all but given up any hope after his beloved Molly was put to death by Voldemort himself for killing his prized pet Bellatrix Lestrange. He didn't have the heart much for anything at all. Though he continued to live in their family home in the Resistance stronghold of Devon, he never participated in their activities. Bill had a family to think about. He never stood in the way of the Resistance, but he also never aided them. Percy ran off to Romania with Charlie the first chance they both could after they were powerless to save George's life or Ron from becoming the enemy. They were known for sneaking into the country from time to time to wreak a bit of havoc.

And Ginny had become almost as fanatic with the Resistance as Hermione had with the Death Eaters. Unwilling to just roll over and comply with the Dark Lord's commands after her Harry was killed, she made it her life's mission to fight against the very people her brother willingly joined. Her reputation was impressive. Even Antonin had a high opinion of her. He always liked to say it would give him great pleasure and great pain to defeat an enemy as formidable as Ginny. Hermione's path hadn't crossed hers in years. She sincerely hoped it remained so.

Her dreams, as she shivered and sweated in the Leaky Cauldron bed, were as disjointed and confusing as her waking life. Each of the Weasley family members kept flitting in and out of them. Ginny warned her that she would see her soon. It wasn't spoken in an encouraging tone either. More like a warning. Of course, even in the midst of her fever, she tried to rationalize her irrational thoughts. Maybe she was just missing the camaraderie that she used to experience with her friends in the past. She couldn't help but long for the days before her best friend was killed by her master. Life was simpler back then.

Fears of what was happening with the Death Eaters in the tavern below morphed into frightening nightmares. All possibilities were present in her dreams. As she tried to focus on the individual scenarios, none of them particularly pleasant at all, the details fell through the cracks of her mind. Like holding water in her cupped hands.

It struck her as odd that she didn't hear the sound of the Dark Lord's voice in the short period of time that she was carried in the room on Augustus' shoulder. Not even a hint of a whisper. Years at his side conditioned her to hear the sound no matter where she was or what she was doing. Often when she was present in the same room as her master she _felt_ his magical power emanating from his skin. She always knew when he'd come closer to her. There was nothing indicating he'd even been in that room.

Was Antonin finally leading the Death Eaters in a coup d'état? He'd been considering his options for as long as Hermione had been living in his house. Even prior to their marriage he would make thinly veiled remarks about their master's power waning and what might happen when he was no longer fit to lead. Others might have had the abilities to overthrow the Dark Lord, but none had the courage it required. Antonin had little to fear. Except, of course, for his mad wife holding an ordinary fork.

She had so many questions she longed to ask of Augustus, but she couldn't formulate them into coherent strings of words when she was conscious. And, unfortunately, she was never able to stay awake very long. Mere hours could have passed or weeks. Her concept of time was sadly lacking. She desired to get better, to be able to satisfy her curiosity. Augustus wouldn't lie to her. Of that, she was entirely certain. He might not like telling her what he knew. He might even get angry with her for asking impertinent questions she didn't need to understand. In the end, however, he would share everything he knew.

Hermione forced her body to rest. She feared her husband would find her if she remained ill. Staying too long in one place was dangerous. With her mind still active, she gave over her full trust to the wizard who always promised that he'd keep her protected. After all, he had done a good job of it so far.

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 _ **Author's Note** : Augie's name has been in the character list from the first day this story was published. I'm surprised so few of you guessed he was the one keeping her protected. ;)_


	34. February 2nd

_Author's Note: Guest Reviewer Frekles - I think you might be confusing characters. Because I can't PM you, I've responded to your review on my Tumblr. My Tumblr is **Canimallow dot Tumblr dot com**_

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February 2nd

A slight buzzing in Hermione's ears finally woke her up from her deep sleep. Hardly loud enough to be heard, it was just harsh enough to be annoying. She didn't want to open her eyes. The bed was so warm and soft. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she missed the simple pleasure of sleeping in a bed every night. Moving just a fraction to stretch her stiff limbs, she realized at some point in her ordeal, Augustus dressed her in one of his soft, well-worn vests. It made her smile to herself. Leave it to Augie to not waste an opportunity to see her naked.

She snuggled deeper into the covers, relishing the familiar scents that clung to the fabric: the oranges he ate every day, the sweet tobacco from the cigars he smoked when he was alone, the peppermint he used unsuccessfully to hide the fact that he'd been smoking. Though she hadn't had cause to be close enough to smell him since before her son was born, she would never forget his scent or how it always seemed to calm her down.

The more inured to the faint buzz she became, the easier it was to pick up on the other sounds in the room. A soft cough. The rustling of pages. The crunch of a loud bite. Breathing. She'd heard them all before. If she closed her eyes again and forgot all of the events of the last little more than a decade, she could almost imagine she was back in the small seaside house in Cornwall. _Almost_.

Carefully, she rolled over on to her side to look at the other half of the large bed. Augustus sat propped against several pillows taking bites from a bright red apple as he read a tattered, old book. He read every free moment he could find. It had been one of the traits of his that endeared him to her the most. Where she preferred to read books about magic to increase her knowledge, he devoured every single Muggle mystery novel he could find. _Sometimes_ he read for academic reasons, but more often than not, he preferred using his skills of deduction and logic to attempt to solve the myriad of murders committed by fictional people in a world without magic that he didn't fully understand. Based on the ratty cover depicting an aristocratic-looking family around the turn of the twentieth century, she highly doubted he was studying a new spell.

"The butler did it."

Augustus jumped slightly at the unexpected sound of her voice. Hermione bit back a smile. He also had a terrible habit of getting far too engrossed far too easily. Maybe his time away in France had been a detriment to his self-preservation instincts. Thinking over what she said, he gave her an indulgent smile and scoffed.

"No, I highly doubt that. He's been a loyal, old chap. Wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"Trust me. He did it."

Determined to prove her wrong, he flipped to the back of the book. After a quick perusal of the end contents, he visibly deflated. She fought the urge to laugh at his disappointment. Hadn't he read enough of his silly mysteries to know that if there was a butler anywhere involved in the plot, the likelihood that he was the murderer was almost absolute? Augustus slammed the book shut with a scowl.

"Is there _anything_ you don't already know, love?"

It was said in jest and likely without much thought, but Hermione's heart clenched at the harmless endearment. She didn't bring attention to how strange it was to hear him say that word after so many years. The moment they were having was far too enjoyable to ruin. It didn't really matter anyway. So many years had passed. Neither of them were even the same person they used to be. Instead of focusing on the particular word he used, she responded to his entire question.

"Yes. I don't know how long I've been here. What day is it?"

"It's Friday evening. I brought you up here just after midnight on Wednesday."

Almost three full days. Hermione tried to sit up. It was dangerous to stay so long in the same place. And Antonin had been there just a short time earlier. What if he came back? No matter how many years passed, no matter how long they remained married, he would always suspect Augustus first. Certain jealousies didn't diminish with time, they grew stronger. Augustus tossed his book and the core of his apple on to the side table next to the bed. His strong hands gently pushed her back onto the mattress long before she had a chance to move far.

"You stay right where you are. You're not well yet."

"I can't stay, Augie. It's not safe."

"And where do you plan to go from here?"

She couldn't answer his simple question because she didn't have the first clue. The only plan she had was to try to figure out a way to get out of the Leaky Cauldron without being discovered. It seemed impossible. Augustus' quick thinking might have gotten her in, but she highly doubted a similar plan would work to get her out. She was afraid that Antonin was waiting outside the door to the room. What if his suspicious mind thought she was in there? Of course, there was the very real possibility that he would've already kicked the door down or blasted it off its hinges if he even _suspected_.

"That's what I thought. You're still weak, Hermione. It would be even more unsafe for you to try to leave without being well. You might get sick again and I wouldn't be there to take care of you."

Arguing with his solid logic was a waste of time and breath. She sighed, partly displeased that she wouldn't be leaving any time soon and partly upset with herself for not being as upset as she should've been. Running from Antonin all those months had been a lonely endeavor. She was enjoying the company of an old friend. Even if it did make her a bit sad. And remind her of all that had not been and could not be.

"How have you been able to keep me a secret up here? Has anyone bothered you?"

"No, not at all. Half of the ones at the meeting were already very intoxicated when I dragged you in. The other half doesn't care enough about anything beyond their own pathetic problems to worry about what I'm up to."

"What about Antonin?"

She _hated_ saying her husband's name in front of Augustus. There had never been an opportunity to really bring closure to their past thanks to the man she was ordered to marry. It had been a sore subject, one that was simply easier to ignore than to address years later. Not long after Augustus was ordered by the Dark Lord to track down his estranged wife and turn his dysfunctional family into a model unit for the regime, he'd been given a temporary assignment in France to liaise with the French Ministry that had eventually turned permanent. Neither of them were ignorant of the fact that the permanence was likely as a result of Antonin's suggestion to their master.

Augustus sighed when she asked. Almost as if her utterance broke the spell that was around them, crashing them back to reality. He loathed Antonin for very different reasons than she did. Their history hadn't been kind long before Hermione was even born. She didn't know the full story and neither man ever seemed eager enough to share, but she knew there was something secret that shaped their hatred of each other decades earlier. Time had certainly not improved it either.

"He's the only one that bothered me."

Worried about his admission, she tried to sit up in bed. He, once again, carefully pushed her back down. Augustus gestured to the room with his hand.

"Can't you hear the infernal buzzing?" She nodded that she could. "I had to cast charms to block out the actual sounds inside this room and replace them with… well, _ahem_ , something different."

She felt her cheeks burn as she considered the options. Was Augustus trying to make it seem like he was locked up in a room committing indecent acts? It almost made her laugh. There had been plenty of times in the past when they didn't need any charms to make it _seem_ like something inappropriate was happening behind locked doors. Seeing the redness in her face, Augustus laughed.

"Not _that_ , love. Anyone standing outside with their ear pressed against the door will hear screaming and pleas for mercy. Screams of passion would only encourage him to think you might be in here. When he knocked on the door the other night and demanded to know what was happening, I told him that I was simply enjoying one of the local Muggles. You know how protective France has become of their Muggle population. Can't hardly curse one without getting in some sort of bother with the Ministry."

He waved off the idea that there was anything wrong at all with being frustrated that he wasn't as free to commit a bit of torture as he liked. Once upon a time, Hermione might have been horrified by the very idea. Her feelings, however, had been altered remarkably. Though she never found the sport of Muggle hunting enjoyable, she understood the importance of releasing a bit of tension from time to time. They all had their vices. None of them were blameless.

She felt her eyes begin to grow heavy again even as her stomach rumbled at its lack of food. The desire to eat was keeping her awake, but not for much longer. Going as long as she had with infrequent meals, she knew how to turn her hunger signals off long enough to keep going a little bit further. Amused by the sound, Augustus pointed his wand at a nearby table to summon a tray with a hot, clear soup.

"Wasn't sure when you might wake up, but I knew you'd be hungry. Eat this and then you need to get some more sleep."

Arguing about the obvious was useless. Each spoonful of the delectable liquid grew heavier and heavier. By the end of the bowl, she had no more strength to lift the utensil. Augustus gently removed it from her hand and helped her hold a vial of some foul potion. Within moments of imbibing the medication, she laid her head down on the pillow and slept entirely without dreams.


	35. February 3rd

February 3rd

It was either very late when Hermione woke up again or very early. All of the lights in the room were extinguished, no sounds could be heard wafting from the public room downstairs, and Augustus' soft snores on the other side of the large bed were easily heard. She smiled at the once-familiar sound. There was a time that she would tease him about being difficult to sleep next to and he'd argue until he was angry that he absolutely did _not_ snore. He was a deep sleeper, a train could go through his room while he slept and he wouldn't even notice.

Careful not to jostle the bed too much, she rolled over on her side to take a look at the wizard who had, once again, taken it upon himself to keep her protected from the dangers of the world outside. It had been a shock to her when she discovered that the man who selflessly sat outside her broom cupboard was none other than one of the most feared escapees from Azkaban Prison. She remembered seeing his face the first time in the edition of the Daily Prophet issued the morning after the mass breakout. He'd looked just as deranged as Bellatrix and Antonin in his portrait. If she had known what an impact he would've made on her life and in such a positive manner, she wouldn't have believed it.

Old enough to be her father, she knew their relationship hadn't made a lot of sense to those on the outside looking in. She'd always been attracted to men that were much older. Even in second year she had that embarrassing crush on Gilderoy Lockhart and she still cringed when she thought about what a fool she made of herself the next year when she had Remus Lupin as her professor. There was something about older men that she preferred to the boys her age. Maturity, no doubt, but also something else. She felt more comfortable with them, freer to be herself. How many times in her adolescence had she been shamed by Ron or any of the other boys for being too interested in reading and not interested enough in silly pursuits like Quidditch or makeup charms?

Augustus made her feel like an equal from the first day they spoke. He made her feel _valued_. Perhaps that was something that young wizards, and witches too, needed to learn as they grew older. Too often she simply felt like she was annoying or exasperating or simply a convenience for the boys she took a fancy to in school. She was an afterthought. The assumption was that she would always be available when _they_ needed her. No one appeared to care much about her well-being and security until she was locked in a broom cupboard with a Death Eater bodyguard.

They would've driven each other completely mad if their relationship had been allowed to continue. At first, it was fun to sneak around. She would cherish the weeks they spent in France for as long as she lived. When they thought no one was aware of what they were doing, they'd sneak down to his house on the coast of Cornwall. They'd spend the days exploring the countryside, picking bouquets of the bluebells that came to symbolize their limited time together, and the nights tangled in the sheets calling out for more, more, _more_ of the other. As much as she loved him, even to that very day, she knew that daily interactions would ruin the novelty of their relationship. He tended to leave his socks laying about the house and it was always possible to tell when he'd made himself something to eat in the kitchen based on the crumbs and rubbish he left behind. She was sure that would frustrate her and he wouldn't appreciate her annoying habits as well.

Perhaps it was best that he was ordered to France to repair his marriage. Her memories sustained her at times when she feared nothing else would. How miserable would it have been to have ruined what moments she held precious because of prolonged close proximity? It had been heartbreaking to have their engagement nullified and for her choice of husband changed, but she recognized that it all could've been so much worse. What was the old trite Muggle saying? _'Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.'_ It was, however, small comfort.

"You're staring. Why?"

Though Augustus' voice was gruff and heavy with sleep, his amusement was still evident. Hermione had been so lost in the memories of her mind that she hadn't even realized he had stopped snoring. She could only just see the small smile on his lips as he looked back at her. It was mildly embarrassing to be caught staring, but she didn't worry about it too much. After all, she _had_ been doing exactly as he accused.

"I was just thinking how bizarre it is to be back in the same bed as you are again."

His chuckle made her smile again. If she ignored the screaming in the back of her mind that she was in danger and this wouldn't last, she could _almost_ imagine that no time had passed since the days when she used to sneak out of her teacher's house, long before they were married, to meet Augustus for a clandestine meeting at The Three Broomsticks or The Leaky Cauldron or one of a dozen other little inns they liked. There had been whole weekends spent entirely in bed. Not just for sleeping or for more pleasurable activities, but for long, deep conversations that she cherished.

"Remembering the good old days, are you?"

"It's difficult for me to think about life before I ran away from Antonin, to be honest."

"I can imagine. Are you rethinking your decision to leave?"

She'd considered running back to Hogsmeade to beg her husband's forgiveness more times than she was comfortable admitting even to herself. Life as a fugitive had been difficult. No matter what she had done to Antonin, a part of her believed that he would always accept her back. Maybe at first she would have to endure his punishments, his cold, calculating hatred, but eventually, he'd be desperate for their life to return to normal. It was _almost_ an attractive idea until she remembered that their normal was hardly healthy or safe. Their relationship would only grow more dangerous and toxic. As much as she longed to come in out of the cold, both figuratively and literally, she knew it was a terrible idea. Eventually, she'd end up dead at her demented husband's hands. Of that, she had little doubt.

"Not exactly. It might be easier to go back to him, but I just don't think I can live that way any longer."

Augustus' hand brushed her hair away from her face. She jumped at the unexpected touch. In the darkness, she hadn't even been aware that he'd moved his entire body closer to hers. Feeling him so close made her feel giddy and frightened all at the same time. Even contemplating returning to a semblance of their old relationship was a bad idea. She hoped that she hadn't given him the wrong idea. Despite the fact that her body was too tired from so recently being ill, she didn't want to open doors that had long ago been shut and bolted. Her heart couldn't take it again.

"I have to go back to France in a few hours."

"I wish you could take me with you."

The words came out of her mouth before she could put a halt to them. Augustus leaned across the space between them on the mattress to gently kiss her forehead. When she realized he wasn't about to try to escalate his affections any further, she was both relieved and disappointed.

"I wish I could too, but…"

"It's too dangerous and a terrible idea."

His nod was the only response he was willing to give. Wanting to get away from him before she made a move that she would most likely come to regret later, Hermione ignored the aching in her body to sit up and remove the covers. A clear sadness crossed Augustus' face when it was obvious she was leaving. Not caring that he was watching her every movement, she crossed the room to where her discarded clothing had been neatly folded and laid in a pile on a chair.

"I've stayed too long. I have to get moving."

"Where will you go?"

She shrugged her shoulders, not even the faintest hint of a clue what she would do next. Put as much distance between herself and the last known location of Antonin Dolohov was a certainty. Augustus moved to the edge of the bed to sit with his feet on the floor. He appeared as if he wanted to do nothing more than reach for her to bring her back into his bed, but he didn't make a move. With a wave of his wand, a small bag flew through the air straight into his hands. When Hermione met his eye again, he tossed it into her hand.

"I converted some money at the bank yesterday while you were sleeping. That should keep you in a warm bed for a little while at least."

If she could remember how to cry, she would've at his generosity. Several thousand Muggle pounds were rolled into a tight ball inside the bag. As long as she wasn't too extravagant in her choice of lodging, she could be sure of not needing to be out in the elements again for a very long time. No more barns, at least. A key caught her attention at the bottom of the canvas bag. She dug inside to pull it out to show Augustus.

"That's to my house in Cornwall. No one ever goes there. I wouldn't be surprised if Antonin's investigated to make certain I didn't already have you stashed away there. It should be safe."

"I don't know, Augie."

"Just think about it. It's protected and as long as I'm in France, no one would have any reason to suspect you were there."

It was too good to be true. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago. As much as she might have loved to sneak off to his small house and hide in the familiar environment, her husband wasn't ignorant enough of the location to not suspect she might be there eventually. She could see it being entirely too easy to get complacent and lazy there. Though she would hold on to the key, she didn't anticipate ever using it.

Wanting the answer to at least one of her questions before she snuck out of the building, she held out the dried bluebell. Augustus didn't seem surprised at all to see it. At least she was certain that it hadn't all been a lie.

"Why should I trust Malfoy?"

"I can't tell you all of the details yet, Hermione, but _something_ is happening. Something that will make our lives better. When you see him next, listen to what Malfoy has to tell you."

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all I know, love. But, you can trust him."

He would give her no more answers. When he set his mind to it, the former Unspeakable could be frustratingly tight-lipped.


	36. February 4th

February 4th

The hour was growing late when Hermione finally checked into her latest hotel room. No longer in London, she hoped that she could have the chance to enjoy a few more days of rest in a small inn just outside of the city. Thanks to Augustus' generous donation to her fugitive fund, she was able to splurge a little on a room that actually appeared as if it had been cleaned sometime within the last week. She knew it would be foolish to waste all of her funds staying in places she truly couldn't afford, but she was still a bit weak from her illness.

As she inspected the room to make certain there weren't any unpleasant surprises waiting for her, she thought back on her eventful day. When it was obvious Augustus wouldn't tell her anything more than what he already had, she'd rolled over on her side and gone back to sleep. It had been painfully obvious by the hopeful glint in his eyes that he wouldn't have minded them reacquainting themselves with the more pleasurable aspects of their previous relationship. Though her mind had gone straight to thoughts about how much she would've enjoyed ignoring the shouts of warning from her inner self, she didn't have the energy, physically or emotionally, to open that closed door once more.

When they woke up in mid-morning, neither of them in a huge hurry to get up, Augustus insisted she eat her fill of a large breakfast waiting outside the door to the room. He was expected back in France by his wife sometime that day, but he wanted to put off that unpleasant and odious task as long as possible. There had been a great deal of love in his marriage in the beginning. He used to believe that nothing would ever be so horrible that they couldn't remain as blissfully naive as they had when they first took their vows. Knowing that she wanted nothing to do with him following his conviction and imprisonment had been a blow. More than once he admitted that one of the few things keeping his mind and sanity intact in Azkaban was the depressing thoughts of how he'd disappointed his family and his worries that he would never have the opportunity to make it up to them. Those hadn't exactly been the cheerful, happy memories that the dementors favored.

While Hermione had to learn to navigate a completely different kind of relationship with her former teacher when she was ordered to marry him, Augustus had to learn how to exist with a woman who not only reviled him, but also taught their children to fear and hate him. The years had not been kind to either of them. Violetta Rookwood would rather die a painful death than to embrace her disgraced husband as she had when they were newlyweds. Only her fear of the Dark Lord allowed Augustus inside her home.

After breakfast, her protector gave Hermione a summary of his plans to get her out of the Leaky Cauldron without raising anyone's suspicions. A galleon in this hand and a galleon in that hand could potentially bribe any witnesses to remain silent if they realized who had been holed up in his room, but it was best that there not be any witnesses at all. Antonin already kept a suspicious eye on his comrade. Any reason at all to suspect that he'd been in contact with his wife would be disastrous. Augustus' loyalty to the Dark Lord would likely be called into question. Very few of the Inner Circle survived even the rumors of disloyalty. So, Augustus fashioned a plan that made Hermione roll her eyes even as she could respect the merits of his ideas.

He had thrown her over his shoulder again to bring her back downstairs. Days had passed since he was observed carrying her up to his room. If he didn't give anyone at least the opportunity to see her exit, his actions would be dissected and discussed. Anything at all that might make him seem disloyal had to be avoided. The Dark Lord was no longer just simply punishing his followers. He'd begun targeting their families as well. Augustus had three sons he loved dearly, even if they could hardly stand to be in the same room with their father. He couldn't bear the thought that they would be harmed. Or his growing brood of grandchildren.

Hermione didn't care for the bloodstained blanket she was wrapped in before she was hefted over his shoulder. It was confining and just a little too real for her tastes. Where Augustus had been able to procure the copious amount of blood with which he soaked the blanket, she didn't want to know. Lying perfectly still as he carried her, she appeared to be nothing more than the remnants of the Muggle girl he'd snatched off the street days earlier. It wasn't uncommon for those in their circle to spend several days with a chosen victim simply for the fun of it. Tom, the elderly proprietor of the well-known establishment, always turned a blind eye to the worst of the atrocities committed by his paying patrons. His life was safer that way.

Once outside in the hidden doorway to Diagon Alley, Augustus Disapparated them both far away to the living room of his Cornish home. His insistence that she stay there was ignored. She knew it would only be a matter of time before her husband or one of his blindly loyal associates came by for a peek around. She said her goodbyes to her former lover. The _moment_ she was satisfied that he was truly gone, she walked out the front door and headed for the nearest village.

He wouldn't be happy to know that she bought a bus ticket back to the area they just left. But, Hermione didn't answer to any man any longer. She was her own person. Whether or not that got her killed or returned to a life of misery in Hogsmeade, wasn't the point of the matter. She wanted to make her own choices. Hadn't that been the very reason she risked the irrational wrath of her husband to run?

The kind Muggle woman running the inn had been pleased to accept enough money for Hermione to sleep in the same room for the next three nights. She didn't ask any questions. A solitary woman arriving with no luggage late at night must not have been an unfamiliar sight in her line of work. With a warm smile, she promised her that she would be left undisturbed during her stay. Maybe, like the woman with the small farm, she suspected Hermione's origins were less than happy.

She slipped beneath the covers of the bed with a grateful sigh. Even the short walk to the village bus station and then to the inn had worn her out. She had to start taking better care of herself. If she got ill again, there was no telling what would happen. Illness made her weak. Antonin could practically sense weakness. Her body needed more sleep to continue her recovery. Maybe, hopefully, once she was well again, she'd be able to come up with a better plan.


	37. February 5th

February 5th

The Muggle running the front desk of the inn was true to her word. At least for the first full day that Hermione made use of her establishment. She didn't even bother getting out of bed until her body was wide awake and she could no longer keep her eyes shut. The rest had been good, refreshing. Perhaps her illness had been nothing more than a simple cold or a mild flu. Augustus forced her to drink several foul-tasting potions in her stay in his room. Perhaps, with his help, she wouldn't have to worry about a relapse.

She wasn't sure of the exact time when she forced herself to get out of bed. Late. The sun had been down for awhile. Most of the ambient noises one expected to find within and around a small inn were mostly silent. If there were other guests, they seemed to be in bed themselves or at least kind enough to keep their noise down to a minimum. Only vaguely remembering taking a shower at Alecto's flat, she peeled off of her clothes to climb into the shower in the bathroom.

Some of her fear had dissipated in the previous week. Not entirely, of course, but at least partially. Being so close to Antonin and _not_ being discovered was a heady feeling. She pushed aside the reminder that he had, in fact, approached Augustus' room to demand what was happening within. He'd been only meters away from his wife and hadn't even realized it. They hadn't been that near to the other since the day she stabbed him in the eye. Not since their son's birthday. It felt a lifetime ago.

There were times she knew she was unfair to Antonin. For years, they were simply trying to make the best out of a difficult situation. Neither one of them could be completely happy with their living arrangements. She loved another and he was daily faced with the mortification that the woman he loved didn't reciprocate the feelings. It didn't take a genius to figure out why he often took his frustrations out on her. Perhaps if she'd been better about creating the illusion that she loved him, they might have both been happier. At minimum, she might have come away with less scars and fewer bruises. But, she often had to remind herself, she couldn't control another person's actions.

As her teacher and her former mentor, Hermione respected no one else as much as she respected Antonin. That was, perhaps, why their relationship was so damned complicated. If they could have only kept their interactions on a professional level. He was, without a doubt, the best teacher she'd ever had. Even the brilliant professors she was fortunate to study under at Hogwarts were no match for his intellect and his teaching. None of them, not even Professor McGonagall, encouraged her to strive as hard as he did. There were no topics that were taboo, no spells he wouldn't let her attempt, no question he wouldn't answer. Instead of being frustrated with her seemingly endless desire to learn, he appreciated it and cultivated it.

She knew he thought of her as more than just a student early on living in his house. Beyond the remark that he wouldn't force her into his bed, but she might find herself there of her own free will, she picked up the subtle hints and clues that he was leaving. Nothing would've made him more pleased than for them to forge a permanent alliance. They could have been the ultimate Death Eater power couple or whatever foolish term she'd heard a thousand years earlier when she was a young Muggle-born. Living under the same roof had its pitfalls. Long hours and close proximity was bound to become a problem at some point.

Part of her wished that she could have loved Antonin as he loved her. Maybe their lives would've been less chaotic, less miserable. There were times that she tried to transform her feelings for him into something more. Each time she failed. He frightened her more than he excited her. When she thought about the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, he hadn't been a contender. She loved Augustus and foolishly believed that getting to be with him would make her happy. Years after the choice was taken out of her hands, she understood that she had been too young and naive at the time to truly understand.

One of the first times she had any inkling that her teacher desired her was only weeks after she was removed from the broom cupboard and placed in his care. He'd already begun the laborious task of reprogramming her mind. Hermione was no idiot. She knew that she had been manipulated, possibly even brainwashed. Thoughts she would _never_ have had before when she was still a young Gryffindor with two best friends who believed she could do her part to make the wizarding world a better place often took root inside her mind.

Survival was a funny thing. Those who didn't have to worry constantly about whether or not their next action or their next statement would result in their cruel and painful death really had no room to judge. She knew there were those living within the bosom of the Resistance who despised her very existence. Aberforth Dumbledore called her a traitor weeks earlier. He wasn't wrong. She became a traitor, not to the Resistance, but to the person Hermione Granger used to be.

Antonin had been pleased with her progress that day. Not once did he have to punish her for questioning his authority over her body and her mind. They had been working on physical sparring. No wands. Only hands and feet. He had the unpopular opinion amongst the members of the Inner Circle that magic wasn't the only weapon they had at their disposal. There were times when a wand could be easily removed from a person's hand or even damaged beyond repair. If a person relied too heavily on their wand, they could easily end up defeated.

She wasn't nearly as strong as her teacher. He was several inches taller and outweighed her by several stone. There were tricks to competing with an opponent of a larger size. He'd been pleased when she was able to catch him off-guard enough to kick him in the back of his knee. Antonin went sprawling to the ground. Just as she was threatening to grow a little too cocky in celebration, his hand grabbed her ankle and he pulled her on top of his body. She hadn't been entirely innocent in the ways of men. There had been a few stolen encounters in the privacy of the castle with Viktor and then with Cormac. Seeing his eyes grow almost black and feeling the swelling in his trousers, Hermione knew that she held her own sort of power over the man. His voice grew deeper and husky.

"Just say the word, Hermione."

Turning the taps off of the shower, she tried to forget how easy it had almost been to allow Antonin to possess her in more ways than one. She didn't want to think about the past, but without much to look forward to in her future, she struggled not looking backwards. It was sheer madness to get wrapped up too much in events she could not change. If she allowed herself to think back on the more _pleasant_ aspects of her life with Antonin, she feared that the hardships she was experiencing on the run would encourage her to turn back to him. Maybe he wouldn't kill her. Maybe he wouldn't even hurt her, but she wanted so much more from life than what he could offer.

Wrapped in a towel, she exited the bathroom to retrieve her beaded bag in the other room. She was only a couple of steps out the door when she caught sight of the smirking blond lounging on the side of the bed she hadn't slept on. Rolling her eyes, she didn't say a word. Simply opened her bag to pull out clean clothes.

"I'm really surprised you haven't gotten rid of that coat yet, Granger. It's almost as if you _want_ me to keep finding you."

She wasn't in the mood for his teasing, slightly-flirtatious tone. Finding what she needed, she returned to the bathroom to dress in private. Emerging a couple of minutes later, she was annoyed to find that Malfoy hadn't moved from the bed yet.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Rookwood said you had some questions for me. So, here I am. What do you want to know?"


	38. February 6th

February 6th

Hermione thought over what Malfoy just offered. What was the catch? She hadn't survived in their world as long as she had by being foolish and overly trusting. A Death Eater didn't simply give out information because they were asked nicely. There had to be something in it for Malfoy, something worth risking Antonin's wrath. If he ever learned that the tracker had a method to find his estranged wife whenever he desired and he _didn't_ share that knowledge, he'd be in serious trouble.

The clock next to the bed showed the time to be just after midnight. She had nowhere to go. Her only plans had been to slip back beneath the covers with one of her stolen books until she was tired enough to sleep again. There was no way she'd ever get inside the bed with someone like Malfoy on it. That sent the wrong message. It was too familiar. Even as her traitorous mind decided there were worse people to share an intimate space with, she pushed aside all inappropriate thoughts and sat in an empty chair.

"You spoke to Augie? When?"

He claimed he was returning to France. Had he lied about that? If so, to what purpose? She worried that everything had all been part of some sick game, some horrible lie. Augustus was unpredictable. Just because he hadn't thrown her to the Dark Lord's feet didn't mean he wasn't planning on it. He hated France and couldn't stand living with his wife. Maybe if he betrayed Hermione, he would be allow to come back on a more permanent basis _alone_.

"When he was hiding you in his room at the Leaky Cauldron. I tracked your coat. Imagine my surprise to find you safely snuggled up in the bed of your former lover."

His teasing was wearing on her nerves. She preferred his business-like, impersonal tone on all previous visits. Had something changed since she saw him in Wales? They weren't magically friends just because he hadn't turned her in yet. She could hardly stand to be near him. He was a reminder of a past she was trying to forget.

"I was sick. Augie was taking care of me."

Draco raised both of his hands, palms out, with a laugh. He was still the smug bastard he'd always been, to Hermione's anger. His family's crash in power and respectability hadn't affected him as much as she assumed it would. Or, perhaps most likely, he was as skilled as she at putting on a convincing show.

"What you do in the privacy of your own room is none of my concern. I just merely found it _interesting_."

It was childish to roll her eyes, but Hermione didn't care. There was a time in her life when that had been her usual response to anything that came out of his mouth. That and hiding in an empty classroom to cry alone when he'd been particularly nasty. Years later, when they were both adults, she was embarrassed by how easily he had been able to control her reactions. Malfoy knew just what strings to pluck to play her like a fine-tuned instrument. He hadn't been foolish enough to try since the war ended and their places in society became vastly different. Did he see her now as so pathetic and weak that he could go back to his previous behavior?

She hoped not. There had been moments, _brief_ moments, in his visits that made her actually look forward to seeing him again. Maybe he had changed into a decent human being. Or, maybe all of her isolation was simply causing her to finally go round the bend. After all, she'd been threatening to go completely mad for years.

"But in all seriousness, Granger, what do you want to know?"

"Why have you been searching for me if it's not because you want to take me back to Antonin or the Dark Lord?"

He shrugged his shoulders. It was a far more elegant gesture than she'd ever been able to accomplish with the same movements.

"You may not be aware of the power you still possess."

Hermione scoffed. If ever there was a more powerless person than she, she'd be surprised. Everything that she once held dear had been stripped away from her. Even her magic was useless. She couldn't even use it without fear of Antonin finding where she was hiding. Maybe once upon a time, she had power, but no longer.

"There are a number of people who are dissatisfied with how the Dark Lord is running the country."

"I'm aware of those in the Resistance. I've spent half of my life fighting them."

"Not the Resistance, Granger. More and more of the average citizens are growing weary with business as usual. Is that how the Muggle saying goes?"

Hermione was startled to hear that it wasn't just some extremist group on the fringes of society who were dissatisfied with how their world had been shaped during the years following the end of the war. They'd built a practical Utopia! How could anyone be unhappy? The _only_ reason she'd run away from the center of power was because of her disintegrating marriage. That was a _private_ matter, not a consequence of all of the hard work that had been done over the years to build up their society to heights that had previously been unknown. She feared there was little hope to be had for a collection of people who had grown so lazy and complacent. Lord Voldemort supplied all of their needs. In exchange, all they had to do was remain loyal. How was that a difficult concept?

"What could they possibly have to complain about? The Dark Lord has been exceedingly generous."

"I fear your closeness to the Dark Lord may have skewed your vision of how happy and satisfied the rest of the world is."

The chill in his tone was undeniable. Gone was the cheeky playfulness from earlier. His grey eyes flashed with what could only be described as fury. It startled Hermione. For the briefest of moments, she was afraid of the man in her room again. He made her question what she knew to be fact and she didn't like it at all. How could he claim to know more about the world they lived in when he spent a majority of his time running around the country and abroad searching for those he was ordered to find?

"There's a growing movement to replace the Dark Lord."

To openly make such a statement was a dangerous offense. Either Draco trusted her to remain silent or he, rightfully so, knew she wasn't foolish enough to approach one of her former comrades just to file a report on his words. Instead, she chose to encourage the conversation further. Maybe he knew something else she didn't.

"Isn't that what that meeting in London was about? Antonin gathering the support he needs to overthrow the Dark Lord?"

"That _is_ what that meeting was about, even if no one was brave enough to speak that plainly, but no, that's not what I'm talking about. There's another group who believes they would be better for our government."

He was dancing around his true meaning. There was no reason to remain silent unless… unless he was talking about the Resistance. Had he really fallen so low that he was willing to throw his lot in with the deplorable rabble that wanted to undo all of the good they'd done? The Resistance was dangerous. Even speaking to them was a crime. Not that it was a hardship to avoid falling into that trap. _Nothing_ they had to say was worth hearing.

"You said I still have power. What did you mean by that?"

"Many of us remember who you were and what you were like before you became the Dark Lord's pet. Some wonder if you might be persuaded to join…"

"The _Resistance_?"

She spat the word out. It was bitter on her tongue. Clearly amused by her expression, Draco rose to his feet with a smile. His countenance was vastly improved. Some of the hardness that had developed over the years melted away.

He crossed the room to where she still sat. Leaning down, he placed a polite, chaste kiss on her cheek. Before he headed for the door, he removed a stack of parchment from inside his robes. She accepted the offering, immediately setting it down on the table next to her chair. Their conversation was _not_ over yet.

"You're just going to leave? Without answering me?"

"Yes, I am." His grin widened. "I still haven't decided if I can trust you yet."

Malfoy existed her room moments later. Utterly frustrated by his lack of cooperation, Hermione growled and stomped back to her bed. When it was clear she wouldn't be able to sleep in her current agitated state, she grabbed her coat and headed outside. It was past time to drop it into a rubbish bin.


	39. February 7th

February 7th

Many times over the course of the next day and night, Hermione found her thoughts drifting back to her coat still lying in the rubbish bin outside. She knew she had made the right decision in one second and then she would berate herself for a fool the next. Each time she started to climb out of bed to rush out the door to retrieve it, she forced herself to stop. Having a way for Lord Voldemort's most gifted tracker to find her whenever he wished was dangerous.

Draco Malfoy was still an unknown variable in her life at that point. He might make claims that he wasn't tracking her because he was ordered to do so, but that didn't mean he was telling the truth. They all had a thorough education in deception at the behest of their master. Telling a lie was second nature to his Death Eaters. There were times when they were forced to hide the truth from those too weak to understand that everything they did was for their best interest. Perhaps Malfoy was just utilizing his training.

It still bothered her immensely that Draco claimed he wasn't sure if he could trust _her_ yet. She was the one on the run from the very master they had both pledged their lives to. If she was captured and returned to Hogsmeade and to her husband, she would be in serious trouble. Not just with Antonin either. The Dark Lord did not take kindly to those he suspected of trying to defect.

She would never forget the mission she was sent on years earlier with Thorfinn Rowle where they tracked down and brutally punished Amycus Carrow for his cowardice. In truth, she hadn't been _too_ bothered by the task. Even though she was already cultivating a close relationship with his older sister, Hermione wanted Amycus dead. From the first day when she was dragged out of the broom cupboard, she longed for the moment she could stand over his prostrate and trembling form to deliver the same kind of _justice_ he demanded. Terrified of what was going to happen to her next, she would never forget how he asked the Dark Lord for permission to cast the Cruciatus Curse on her until her body shut down.

Though she had to wait for the perfect moment, had to bide her time until she had the opportunity, when she and Thorfinn tracked him to a rundown cottage abandoned by Muggles years earlier, she was satisfied with the taste of his screams. Even if the Dark Lord had not given them permission to make an example out of their fugitive comrade, Hermione would've done as she wished. It would have been easy to beg forgiveness after the task was completed. Her master rarely punished her for her deeds, no matter how violent and grotesque.

" _Crucio_!"

The curse was cast with a coolness that surprised even Hermione. She showed no mercy. Not even when Thorfinn suggested it would be kinder to put the miserable git out of his misery with an Avada. Not even when Amycus begged her to stop, begged her to take his life between his shuddering sobs and gasps for breath. Not even when his ramblings and shrieks proved he had gone past the point of madness. Not even when the air became thick with the stench of his body releasing his fluids. Only when the carcass stopped flinching or moving at all did she lower her wand.

"Fuck, Princess. That was…"

" _Exactly_ what he suggested be done to me when I was thrown at the Dark Lord's feet."

There was a great deal of respect and fear in Rowle's countenance when she cut off his statement. No doubt he was going to utter something about her unnecessary cruelty. It would hardly be the first time and certainly not the last. His was a counsel that she had come to appreciate over the years. Instead, the massive blond knew when to keep his mouth shut. If anyone alive knew the power of blood lust over a person's compunctions and morality, it was the wizard Hermione was half-convinced was descended from a line of Viking berserkers. What else could explain his single-mindedness in the heat of battle? Or his rage and fury?

Knowing that she might very well have as brutal a death as Amycus' awaiting her back in Hogsmeade, she knew that she needed to be vigilant where Draco Malfoy was concerned. He could be trying to lure her into a trap. Trying to force her into claiming out loud that her loyalties were no longer with the Dark Lord. She had no master beyond her own survival. There was no room for another when that one was so demanding.

Her gaze fell on the stack of parchment Draco handed her the night before. Or was it morning? She could hardly keep the days and hours straight. When one didn't have a schedule to keep, it was easy to forget the date. In her frustration with the pale-haired man and constant waffling on whether or not she should keep the coat that would allow him to visit her again, she'd forgotten about the offering. It was most unlike her to ignore the opportunity to catch up on the events going on in the world she was running from.

She'd known without looking at them that they were copies of the Daily Prophet and possibly even an edition or two from the paper the Resistance somehow managed to put out sporadically. All magical printing presses were supposedly under the control of the Death Eaters and the regime they represented, but occasionally, a rebel with a quill was able to get through their security. They were usually uncovered quickly, but not before significant damage was done. The biggest danger their government faced was an educated public.

Knowing that reading the newspapers was likely going to be the only thing that could calm her mind down, Hermione climbed out of bed, picked up the stack, and crawled back in under the covers before unfolding them. She couldn't remember when she last was able to steal a Daily Prophet. Months, at least. Whatever was inside the pages must have been important for Draco to leave them. He wasn't the kind of person to do something without thought or reason.

The first headline she read on the front page made her stomach twist into knots. A picture of the family that had been on her mind almost constantly for days stared back at her with an unnerving sereneness she knew wasn't reality. At least, not any longer. Taken months before she ever darkened their doorstep if the shorter length of Sarah's hair was any indication, the Jordan family's last family portrait had been lovely. It was a shame that there would be no more in the future.

Antonin somehow managed to discover they had given her a place to hide, a place to relax and _almost_ feel normal again. Even though it was clearly a violation of the treaty the Dark Lord made with the witches and wizards of Wales, he'd gone straight to their home. She didn't need to read the accompanying articles to know what happened. Likely, they were all full of propaganda and lies anyway. Antonin probably demanded to know where she had gone and when they didn't answer, he became angry.

Little Posy was still in the Welsh equivalent of St. Mungo's. Hermione desperately hoped that it was as good as the original. She knew all too well how damaging her husband's spells could be, especially to small children. Sarah was dead. Lizzie was able to walk away with minor injuries. Lee was locked up in Azkaban. All blame for the incident was put squarely on Lee's shoulders. _Of course it was_. To admit that a Death Eater, one as powerful and influential as Antonin, was at fault could be a death sentence for the journalist who wrote it and the editor that dared to print it.

She flipped through the rest of the papers with a heavy heart. When she finally had the courage to read the articles, she couldn't bear the truth. Or even the version of the truth that was considered acceptable by the regime. It was all her fault. A good woman was dead and a family was ruined because of her decision to accept their kindness. How would she get past that?

Because she would need answers and she didn't have the first clue where to get them, Hermione rushed out the door of her room without even bothering to put on a heavier jumper or her shoes. She headed straight for the rubbish bin she'd thrown her coat in. Maybe it would take another week or so, but eventually Draco would seek her out again. She lifted the lid to the bin, careful not to let it clang loudly.

It was empty. Her coat was long gone. If there was another way to get Malfoy's attention, she didn't know what it was.


	40. February 8th

February 8th

Sleep was an impossibility for Hermione. Even as she tried desperately to take advantage of the last full day and night she had access to the rented room, she couldn't get her mind to shut itself off. In her time as a Death Eater, she had done many truly awful things that she knew she would one day have to answer for. Whether or not there was a Heaven or a Hell or a God or a Maker, she didn't know. She'd heard too many people claim to have seen a hint of the afterlife to believe that nothing happened when they died.

There had been days in her life when she was every bit as cruel as Antonin. _Worse_ , even. She had more than a few times surpassed her teacher in her own depravity. It had been intoxicating to be cruel and violent. She had known there was Darkness in her from a young age. Not to the extent that she discovered under her husband's tutelage, of course, but still there nonetheless. As a _weird_ girl living amongst Muggles and not understanding what it was that made her so different from the other children, she'd been ostracized, ridiculed, left out of just about everything.

She wasn't proud of how she lashed out at the children in the neighborhood she grew up in. Sometimes she didn't even mean to hurt them. It just sort of _happened_. Later, when she was older and in Hogwarts, she confided in her favorite professor what she had done in the past. Professor McGonagall had pursed her lips into a thin line and stared down at her prized student with a concerned glance through her glasses. Hermione was certain that she was about to be told that she no longer deserved to be a witch and her wand would be snapped in moments. The Transfiguration professor simply sighed. It was a common confession amongst those students who were Muggle-born. Children were cruel, especially to those they deemed _other_. Accidental magical outbursts were to be expected, but certainly not condoned.

Maybe if Harry had known what she was capable of, he would have let the mountain troll crush her into tiny bits their first year. He was the ideal Gryffindor, brave and noble and entirely unable to see anything in shades of grey. Everything to him was either black or white, good or evil. If he'd known that she would one day be so easily corrupted…

Hermione shook her head to try to dislodge the growing disparaging thoughts plaguing her weary mind. She didn't want to think about Harry. It was too hard. Not only would he be ashamed of her, thoughts about him could put her survival in jeopardy. She was struggling enough as it was.

She couldn't be certain if her extreme feeling of guilt about her responsibility in the destruction of the Jordan family was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it proved she still possessed a modicum of humanity deep down inside her battered and bruised shell somewhere. As much as her training and then her dark deeds were designed to make her impervious to human emotions and that inconvenient thing known as her conscience, there was still something of who she used to be in existence. And on the other hand, it was dangerous to even contemplate putting someone else or their family ahead of her need to remain alive. If she didn't put her needs first, who else would?

Rumors had existed for years that she was a bit touched in the head. Perhaps they'd always been there from the very beginning. She didn't know. Antonin kept her so isolated in those first few years and by the time she was free to move about as she pleased, her reputation as being an enemy no one wanted to have was well-known. Wagging tongues usually fell silent when she entered a room. The older she grew, the longer she spent on the run, the more she wondered if there wasn't some truth to the rumors. Did crazy people ever know when they were crazy?

She kicked the thin blankets off of her to rise from the bed once more. Retrieving the stack of newspapers that Malfoy left behind, Hermione sat down on the hard floor to review them for yet another time. Not only were there articles about from the Daily Prophet, he'd slipped in a few from the independent Welsh wizarding newspaper. Though they weren't as heavily regulated as the Daily Prophet, there were enough allies of the regime manning the printing press that nothing was ever _too_ salacious or harmful to the Dark Lord and his followers imbedded amongst the ink.

Lee wasn't born in Wales. Hermione couldn't remember where he said he grew up, but she knew that he had only adopted the area as his home after marrying Sarah. Maybe because he wasn't born and raised in Wales there wasn't as much loyalty afforded him by the Welsh press. Maybe it was the fact that Sarah was a well-known and well-liked member of a prominent family. She'd been there her entire life. It made sense that she would be written about as being an innocent victim and her husband a crazed maniac.

There had been no mention of Antonin's presence anywhere in any of the articles. The press made it sound like Lee had suddenly decided to attack his family. Kill his wife. Injure his little girls. He was being locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life and nothing on Earth would have convinced Hermione that he was guilty. She'd been there when he threatened her life if she so much as looked at his family in a less than civil manner. She'd watched him kiss his wife and smile at her as she walked around the room. Though she hadn't been nearly as blessed as the Jordans in her own domestic life, she knew a couple madly in love when she saw one.

How the story was tilted on its edge to make it seem like it _wasn't_ a result of an angry Death Eater didn't take a lot to imagine. Part of being in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle was almost unlimited power. It had the tendency to cause a person to grow a bit bold with its influence. She'd been the guilty party on several occasions. As much as she firmly believed she wanted nothing to do with claiming the seat of power for her own, she understood how intoxicating, how tempting it was. She even understood how her husband could see his own wife as a threat to his chances of securing the coveted prize. Something about such immense power messed with a person's mind. Antonin would have no qualms using his own threats and influence to make the tragedy appear to be nothing more than a domestic squabble. No one would question him. And if they did, he knew exactly how to take care of them as well.

Every single person who helped Hermione would end up the same. Of that, she had no doubt. Her husband was a jealous and proud man. He wouldn't stop searching for her until he found her and either killed her or dragged her back to the prison that was their home in Hogsmeade. Which was the worst of the two punishments remained to be seen. Whoever stood in his way of fulfilling his goal would find themselves in similar circumstances to the Jordans. She couldn't afford to accept any help. Not from anyone. Not from Alecto. Or Augustus. Not even from a kind Muggle living alone on a farm with her dog. Hermione's presence was as good as a death sentence.

Knowing she had read everything that she could several times, Hermione gathered up all of the papers into a single pile. Maybe it was unhealthy to cling to remnants of the destruction her actions could cause to innocent people she actually managed to care about, but she didn't care. She pushed every single scrap of parchment into her beaded bag. Even if she never read them again, she needed to keep them as a reminder. She couldn't accept assistance from anyone. She couldn't trust anyone.


	41. February 9th

_Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of you lovely readers who take the time to let me know you're enjoying this story! I don't say thank you enough. Reviews are how we fanfiction writers get "paid", so I absolutely cherish and adore every single one. So, thank you. My day is always brighter and honestly, I've been needing that lately. ;)_

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February 9th

Hermione was reluctant to leave the comfort of the hotel room she had made a temporary home in, but she knew she couldn't remain forever. It was dangerous to remain too long in the same place. She'd learned that lesson the hard way several times. There were enough spies scattered around the country that nowhere she went was safe for very long. Someone was always willing to report they'd seen a fugitive for the right price or for the simple peace of mind that came with not being on the wrong side of frightening Death Eaters.

Unsure where to go next, she waited until the last possible moment to leave the safety of the room. It had been tempting to ask the friendly Muggle at the front desk if she could extend her stay, but she knew it was the wrong decision. Augustus' money had to last her an indefinite amount of time. She couldn't afford to waste it on something as frivolous as a roof over her head. The stay in the inn had been exactly what she needed to recover from her illness. Once she was back to full health, she knew she needed to get moving.

Every time she had been in doubt of what to do next, she just started walking. It was as good a plan as any. With all of her belongings packed away in the security of her beaded bag, she stepped out of the small inn and began a trip to no set destination. Returning to the city was always a possibility. It was easier to hide in the large crowds of Muggles. It was _also_ easier to be spotted by the wrong people if she ventured into well-traveled areas.

Dropping by Alecto's flat had been a foolish idea. She could've put her friend in a great deal of danger. Antonin hadn't cared much for the witch for many years. Once their ill-fated romance fizzled out in a spectacularly dramatic fashion, neither of them had much use for the other. It wouldn't take much encouragement for him to get his revenge. He rarely felt guilty when he punished a fellow Death Eater. Besides, each time she crossed Alecto's path, it would get harder and harder for her to stand up to any potential interrogations by the Dark Lord. Though he hadn't been utilizing his Legilimency skills as frequently in the previous few years, there was always the possibility that he'd find out she was complicit in keeping Hermione's whereabouts a secret.

Her mind travelled back to the papers she had tucked away in her bag with the rest of her worldly possessions. She still didn't understand Draco Malfoy's motivation in giving them to her that night he dropped by her hotel room uninvited. What did he care about the aftermath of her trip to Wales? He had never been friends with Lee or with Sarah. Neither of them were likely even on his radar at Hogwarts, except during Quidditich matches. Even then he wasn't likely to give much thought to those not in his own House.

And his mysterious statement about how he wasn't sure he could trust her yet. She had the feeling that he was about to confide in her that there was a movement to bring down the regime she'd dedicated more than half of her life to ensuring remained strong and supreme. His notions that there were regular citizens dissatisfied with the Dark Lord and all that he had done for them in his benevolence as he rebuilt their country into something that they could be proud of were hard to swallow. Those who were foolish enough to openly rebel against them by being a member of the hated Resistance deserved what they got. How could they live each day with a clean conscience knowing they were traitors? It wasn't hard to comprehend that the Resistance wanted to overthrow the Dark Lord. They'd been wanting to do that since Harry was killed. But the regular citizens quietly demanding change? She just didn't buy it. Either they were delusional or simply filled with the hate that the Resistance was so keen to spread to anyone willing to listen to their lies.

What was he playing at? For a moment she almost thought he was going to invite her to join him at the next Resistance meeting. Wouldn't that have been amusing? She was one of the most hated people alive to them. And Ron. They were the two worst traitors. Ginny Weasley had even tried to fight her older brother on multiple occasions because she was so disgusted with the choices he'd made to stay alive. He'd been in the perfect place to harm her, but he always made sure his curses just barely missed. Maybe there was still a shred of familial loyalty in there somewhere. Perhaps Rabastan hadn't been successful in knocking out all of his blood traitor tendencies in his reprogramming. Sometimes Ron could be a bit emotional.

She had a dozen questions for Malfoy that she feared she would never know the answer to. His mysterious behavior was both intriguing and infuriating. Why had he suddenly begun seeking her out after she had been on the run for months? She knew, based on the newspapers she had been able to steal and the rare person she knew who would actually speak to her, that her supposed defection from the Dark Lord's Inner Circle was not openly discussed. It would be bad for morale for it to be known that one of Lord Voldemort's top followers was disillusioned with her choices. Roddy's escape had been a big enough scandal they surely didn't want to repeat. People might actually begin to believe there were problems with their leaders if they became aware that there was dissension.

His timing had been suspicious. They hardly spoke to each other when they were both playing the parts of good, little, loyal Death Eaters. She knew without needing confirmation that he only continued to be a part of their organization because he had no choice. After his mother's betrayal and deception the day of the final battle, his family's ranking in society plummeted. His father's bizarre behavior over the months that the Dark Lord was a guest in their home had also not been forgotten. Everyone knew that Lucius drank too much. It was impairing his judgment. The Malfoys were forgotten by society and yet, still unable to walk away from the Dark Lord. He wanted them close by to serve as an example for everyone else how _not_ to behave.

Perhaps Draco's reasoning for getting involved with the Resistance made a little bit of sense. He would never rise high up in the ranks. None of the respectable families wanted him anywhere near their daughters. Tracking was the only task he could really perform because most of the other jobs and positions were taken. It was fortunate for him that he was talented. Even if he wasn't, he would've been allowed to continue for no other reason than no one knew what to do with him. Some might have even hoped he would get lost on a mission and never return.

Was he trying to warn her that she was doing nothing but putting other people in danger? And if so, to what purpose? He seemed to think that she might be interested in joining forces with those who would overthrown her master. What could possibly give him that idea? She had been a loyal Death Eater from the moment she was given the choice to comply or die. Lord Voldemort wanted her as a pet he could parade around to show how benevolent and generous he was to those that willingly chose to serve him.

She couldn't get her mind off of the wrecked Jordan family. So much loss. So much pain. They would never be together again. The little girls would never see their parents again. What would happen to them? Assuming that Posy was able to even leave the hospital at some point, what kind of life would they have? Sarah had been so kind. She'd not _once_ treated Hermione like she was anything less than a valued guest who was actually wanted. The kindness she'd received in those all-too-brief days would never leave her mind. No one had been that kind. And how did she repay them? By bringing death and destruction into their home.

Hermione wiped at her tired, burning eyes. It had been so long since she was moved to tears that she stared at the drops of liquid clinging to the tips of her fingers. Emotions were weaknesses. Antonin taught her that lesson over and over again. He would be ashamed to see her openly crying on the pavement where anyone could see.

She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't keep running like she'd been doing. She was exhausted. Perhaps it was time that she faced the consequences of her decisions. Directing her steps to the nearest bus station, she made the choice she hadn't been able to make, the one she _should_ have made long before Lee Jordan ever welcomed her into his home.

She was going back to Hogsmeade.


	42. February 10th

February 10th

The walk from the bus stop nearest Hogsmeade was a long and freezing journey. Hermione didn't want to risk being spotted by anyone she knew on the way to the village so she kept mostly off the beaten paths. With several inches of snow laying on the ground, she was chilled through before she'd gotten very far. Spending all night on an uncomfortable bus and thus being physically exhausted to begin with certainly wasn't helping matters. As soon as she made the decision to return to her home, she headed straight for a station to purchase a ticket. Perhaps she was foolish, but she didn't want anyone else to be killed because of her. So much for her plans to place her survival above everything else.

Using magic to Apparate directly to her living room was an option she initially considered. At the very least it would save her from expending so much energy in the journey. Before she removed her wand from its hiding place in her pocket and made a decision she couldn't back down from, she reconsidered. Antonin would be on the offensive if he sensed her use her wand. He would likely track her down to the very spot she was in and assume that she was there to cause trouble. There was a very real possibility that no matter how she stepped back into her husband's life she would come to a sticky, painful end, of course, but she decided that calmly walking through her front door had the best option for success.

He wouldn't be expecting her to return on her own. Throwing him off-balance could be useful. She really didn't have the energy to fight her husband. Not only was she still not at complete strength from the bizarre illness she experienced in London, but it had also been months since she had cause to use magic for any extended period of time. Basically, she was rusty. She wouldn't stand a chance against a man who honed his skills on a daily basis with discipline and regular practice.

Yet again she regretted throwing her heavy winter coat in the rubbish bin. It would have come in handy for her slog through the snow and ice. Even with multiple layers of jumpers on, Hermione was freezing. At least if Antonin made the decision to kill her on the spot, she'd most likely end up somewhere quite warm. It was a thought that cheered her more than it should have.

Just as she had done when she was on the bus to Scotland, she used the time walking towards the village to reconsider Draco Malfoy's motives in leaving her with that stack of newspapers. He wasn't a man to do something without a clear reason behind it. Was he trying to anger her to the point that she had to take action? Long years might have been born and died since she was last the idealistic Gryffindor she had been, but there was still a spark inside of her that grew brighter with her ire that there were people, _good_ people, who were suffering because of her very existence.

There was simply no way to save Sarah. Not even she was brave or foolish enough to attempt the darkest of all arts. Necromancy terrified Hermione in ways that nothing else did. It seemed irrational to fear the dead. How could they hurt her when they were long gone? But, the sinking dread that she would be forced to one day explain to Harry why she had chosen the path she had when so many others gave their lives instead terrified her. Even imagining the possibility of an army of those she personally killed rising up from their graves to punish her wasn't as scary. _That_ she deserved. Maybe the undead ripping her apart limb from limb would be a death she could be proud of. Seeing Harry's bright green eyes staring back at her with disappointment and accusation would be so much worse.

No, saving Sarah wasn't a possibility, but saving Lee was. She had influence as Lord Voldemort's favorite. In the past, she'd used it to her advantage many times. Rarely had he ever forced her to do something she didn't wish to do. Denying her choice of husband had been one of the few times he hadn't allowed her to do what she wanted. If she could promise her husband that she would be the perfect, meek, helpless little wife he always longed for, maybe he would allow her to live long enough to beg a favor from their master. Getting Lee out of Azkaban and back to his girls was the absolute least she could do for the man whose life she ruined.

The closer she got to Hogsmeade, the more nervous she became. As much as she thought she knew her husband, Antonin could be unpredictable. He _might_ be willing to allow her to return to their home with little difficulty. After all, he was a man who enjoyed routines and who liked to know exactly where his wife was at all times. She was a powerful ally to have in his quest to eventually overthrow the Dark Lord even if he probably worried that she would one day eclipse his perceived power. In his mind, he was entitled to his position when their master became too incapacitated to continue. It was his turn. He _deserved_ to be the next Dark Lord.

Hermione pulled her hat down as far on her head as possible and positioned her scarf as much over her face as she could. The average citizen wouldn't bother to mess with her if they recognized her. Death Eaters, however, were another story. Beyond just her husband, she also had to worry about the potential of one of her former comrades getting it in their thick skull that she would be a prize to offer to the Dark Lord. Most of them would sell their own grandmothers for the slightest bit of influence.

Students from the castle swarmed over the village. She hadn't been aware that it was Saturday. Dates didn't matter when one was on the run. Having the excited young witches and wizards rushing through the snow with their loud, happy voices helped conceal her presence. No one paid her any attention. The villagers usually kept a sharp eye on the young ones just in case there was trouble.

With each step Hermione took closer and closer to the home she'd shared with Antonin for many years, she grew afraid. Perhaps it was foolish to just waltz in the front door as if nothing had ever happened. All of the privations and hardships she'd faced over the previous nine months would be for nothing if she just gave up. But, if she was completely honest with herself, she was tired of running. She wouldn't last much longer on her own.

Only meters from her home she stopped behind a large snow-covered hedge in front of her neighbors' home. Standing at the front door of her house was her son, happily chatting with and embracing his father. One thing she could never deny about Antonin was his love for their only child. It was one of his few positive qualities. She was surprised to see him away from the castle. He wasn't old enough to join the other students, but assuming the high level his father held in their government, he likely received special privileges. If Antonin Dolohov wanted his first year son to be allowed to visit him on a Hogsmeade Saturday, there was no one who was going to stand in his way.

Her son being home added a complication she wasn't anticipating. At the very least she didn't think that Antonin would strike her down immediately if their child was present. It was an awful reality she lived in if she had to use her son as a human shield, but she would do what was necessary to live to see another day. Antonin would kill himself before he ever harmed their son. She would use that to her advantage if she must.

Just as she worked up the courage to move closer to her home, Hermione was stopped in her tracks. A body appeared out of nowhere at her back to reach out and cover her mouth. She froze, afraid that she'd been discovered by a less-than-friendly Death Eater. There were plenty within the ranks who had it out for her. The momentary fear subsiding, she prepared herself to fight back until the familiar voice whispered in her ear stilled her movements.

"Thought I might find you here, Granger."

Without a warning, Draco Malfoy Disapparated them both away from the area. Where they were headed was anyone's guess. Hermione didn't have the first clue.


	43. February 11th

February 11th

Hermione lay in her bunk listening to the sound of Draco Malfoy snoring softly in his sleep. So much had happened since he snuck up behind her to keep her from running back to her husband that her head was still spinning. She rolled over on her side to look at her surroundings again.

It had been years since she last used the old tent she shared with the boys during their horcrux hunt. Perhaps it had been sentimental to take it back from the nameless Snatcher who claimed it the night they were all caught and she had her first experience with the Cruciatus Curse, but she didn't care. As soon as she heard rumors that the cretin was bragging about owning it, she confronted him. By then, she was a favorite of the Dark Lord and had proven herself dangerous. Not wishing to make an influential enemy, he handed it over without a struggle.

The tent sat in a cupboard for years before she'd even look at it. Deciding she needed to face her past and stop running from it, she and Antonin used it to take their son camping when he was five. Other than a couple of uses when they went to the Quidditch World Cup as a supposedly happy family, it had been neglected. But, she made certain it was one of the first items she packed when she knew she had to run.

Of course, the problem with having a magical tent was needing magic to pitch it. Yes, it was theoretically possible to put it up without magic, but she didn't seem to possess enough hands or the necessary wingspan to do it by herself. Malfoy found it amusing to learn she carried around a perfectly safe shelter with her everywhere she went. He'd had fond memories of sleeping in tents as a young child. Knowing he wouldn't have to bother with the ridiculous peacocks his father always insisted on bringing with them everywhere they went was a relief. He didn't waste any time setting it up in the middle of a forest Hermione was unfamiliar with and casting the necessary charms to keep them concealed.

She still wasn't completely sure why they were in the woods. He said they were waiting on someone, but he refused to provide any clues beyond that. Not knowing who to expect wasn't something Hermione was comfortable with. It could be _anyone_. Considering he stopped her right before she could reveal herself to her husband, she didn't _think_ Malfoy was waiting for a Death Eater to come collect her from the tent. More than a few times since she was rudely Side-Along Apparated without her permission she had been tempted to run.

Unbeknownst to her, she had been the subject of some kind of test. Again, Malfoy wouldn't give her any hints about his plans or even what the bloody hell he was talking about. The moment they landed far away from Hogsmeade, she fought to get out of his tight grip and began demanding to know what he was doing. The wizard had the gall to actually laugh at her! He wasn't frightened by her threats in the slightest. Only seemed to find them amusing.

"Relax, Granger. You're not in any danger."

"And I'm supposed to just trust you when you say that?"

Magically, they were evenly and well-matched. That was, of course, assuming that she wasn't _as_ out of practice as she assumed she was. But, no matter how powerful she might be, she couldn't risk using magic. Not when Antonin was still searching for her with the singleminded obsession of his that she knew all too well. Malfoy could use all of the magic he wanted. As a tracker, he would be expected to use magic out in the middle of nowhere in the course of performing his duties.

Physically, she could hurt him. She could make him bleed, possibly even break a few bones. Her training had been very thorough and Antonin was a stickler for making certain his students learned how to defend themselves without the use of magic. But, she knew that even if she got a few good hits in or a kick or two, Malfoy would be able to best her. He was taller and outweighed her and as much as she hated to admit that there were any biological differences, she knew that as a man, he had strength she didn't possess.

Her best bet for surviving was to just go along with what he said until she had the opportunity to escape. She had no doubts that he would be able to find her again later, but it didn't matter. She was living moment to moment. The future was a problem she would worry about later. Immediate survival was all that mattered.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I could've announced your whereabouts to your husband. I'm sure Antonin would've been very pleased to learn about your coat. I could've told him where you were at any time."

"And why didn't you?"

Completely ignoring her question, he continued on with the same irritating smirk on his lips she wanted to scrape off with her fingernails. Despite having been intrigued by the wizard several times since the New Year, she was beginning to remember why and how much she hated them when they were in school. No one could blame her for allowing the loneliness of being a fugitive to get to her for a minute. She might have even found Marcus Flint to be diverting company and the man found regular bathing to be an annoyance.

"Or I could've told him about your private suite with Rook. I'm sure he would've _loved_ to know you were hidden away with your ex-lover. Or, maybe… _current_ lover?"

He was enjoying himself and she hated him. For years she had watched as Draco Malfoy stood around on the outsides of the influential circles and tried to make as few waves as possible. He seemed to have no ambition to improve his lot in life or his family's position in society. So different from the obnoxious prat who used to go on and on about how his father was an important man. The arrogance that always seemed to permeate his aura dissipated after the end of the war. Not that he ever seemed shy or weak. He just seemed _different_. His behavior in the woods was so similar to how he used to behave at Hogwarts that she could almost imagine they were back in school before the entire world changed.

"I already told you, Malfoy. I was _sick_."

"Rook's never seemed like a good nursemaid to me. How exactly did he help you get better?"

Not caring that he held the power and her curiosity about _why_ he essentially kidnapped her hadn't yet been sated, Hermione stomped away. His laughter rang in her ears. She kept walking. When she'd made it no further than a few meters, Malfoy stopped her forward progress with another grip of her arm. She tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn't release his hold.

"Do you have somewhere important to be?"

"Yes, anywhere you're not."

She knew it was childish. Something about the wizard made her revert back to the adolescent she once was. It was ridiculous and immature. Almost like grasping for slivers of a childhood lost forever. Not at all offended, her companion only laughed again. It was beginning to be a habit with him. The only difference from his laughter when they were at Hogwarts together was the distinct lack of cruelty in it. He was laughing, but she didn't think he was laughing _at_ her. Small difference.

"Don't leave."

"Are you going to tell me why you dragged me here against my will?"

His smirk slipped, but didn't disappear completely. Malfoy cleared his throat.

"I gave you those newspapers because I wanted to see what you would do when you found out what happened to the Jordans."

In all of the excitement, she'd almost forgotten about her purpose for returning to Hogsmeade. As awful as it sounded, she had been able to push thoughts about the ruined family to the back of her mind while she dealt with the present concerns she had. It was the only way she could continue to keep surviving. Moment by moment. Now that she was reminded of their fate, she sighed.

"I found it very interesting that you went back to your home. Were you planning on turning yourself in to Antonin? To make certain that he didn't hurt anyone else in his search for you? Or to see if he could get Lee Jordan released?"

"You were waiting for me there. How did you know I'd show up?"

"I didn't. I simply hoped you would."

His words struck a funny chord within her. She didn't understand anything that was happening and he had never been the kind of person to freely give out information. Malfoy played his cards close. He would only tell her what he wanted her to know. It was infuriating, but at least it was something.

"And now that you know I did?"

"Not sure yet, Granger. You passed the first test. There are still more to come."

"What tests? What is the purpose, Malfoy?"

She was losing her patience. He knew it and didn't care. The smirk morphed into a full blown grin.

"To find out if you can be trusted, of course."


	44. February 12th

February 12th

Sitting idly by in the tent with Draco Malfoy and remaining silent wasn't a prospect that Hermione relished much in. She _needed_ to know more. Her very survival was on the line. If she made a mistake by trusting him, or at minimum not _not_ trusting him, everything she had struggled to do for the better part of the previous year would have been for nothing. She would be dead or she would be back in her Hogsmeade home living the life she had been desperate to escape from. One of those options sounded better to her, but she wouldn't come right out and admit it, even to herself.

As their second full day of camping out in the mysterious woods began, her curiosity got the better of her. She needed answers or she was going to run. Draco insisted that she sit at the small dining table while he cooked them both breakfast. Only the bizarre spectacle of watching the former Pureblood prince with house-elves at his disposal crack eggs and fry up bacon kept her attention on something other than the damned test she wanted to know more about.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Draco chuckled and turned to smirk at her over his shoulder. She found the reaction _interesting_. Usually he was so guarded and formal that to actually see a bit of the mask she knew he'd spent his lifetime perfecting slipping was slightly disconcerting. Who knew Malfoy was actually human?

"If I didn't learn, Granger, I would've starved."

The reminder that not only had their former house-elf Dobby been inadvertently freed by his father but that the two remaining elderly house-elves they had after the war were taken away from his family struck Hermione. It was easy to forget. So much time had passed since those tumultuous days when the Dark Lord's regime was just beginning its revolution of their society. She hadn't had reason to even feel sorry for the family that stood idly by while a member of their own tortured her and threatened to hand her broken body over to the werewolf that terrorized their country when it suited him.

She nodded her head, but didn't say anything in response to his simple statement. Draco, no, _Malfoy's_ eyes lingered on her for a few more uncomfortable seconds before he turned back around to the task at hand. Hermione kept her thoughts about how far the mighty had fallen to herself. If there was one lesson she could still remember vividly from her Muggle father, it was to _never_ anger or insult someone who handled her food.

Several minutes later when Malfoy carried over two plates piled high with steaming eggs and crispy bacon, she couldn't stop the loud grumbling of her stomach. It was an uncouth sound that only made the wizard laugh. Hermione was reluctant to admit to herself that she was beginning to find this version of the spoiled prat from school not _as_ unlikeable as he had been. Far from admitting that she might have misjudged him, she brushed off the bizarre thought as being a result of extreme hunger.

"You're not poisoning me with this, are you?"

The wizard chuckled again. Whether or not she liked the fact that she amused him, she was unsure. He leaned forward across the table to stab at her eggs with his fork. After he consumed a mouthful of eggs and stole a piece of her bacon, she relaxed. Unless he had an antidote for poison or had somehow built up an immunity to it over the years, she would be safe. Perishing in a plate of breakfast seemed a rather ignoble way to go. She hoped that her death would be at least a little more climactic.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes. Unused to a hot meal except for the few times she was able to purchase one from a pub or someone took pity on her, she often resorted to eating cold food out of tins. She would take advantage of hospitality wherever she could. Even if it did come from Malfoy.

"What did you mean when you said I was being tested?"

The question came tumbling out of her mouth between bites. She'd allowed her curiosity to linger dormant too long. Malfoy finished chewing the food in his mouth and wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering with a smile. Something about the question _amused_ him. Hermione wasn't sure if she liked the effect she appeared to be having on him or not. It was all so very, very weird.

"I left the newspapers with you because I wanted to see how you would react. Wanted to see if you would keep running like you have been or if you'd actually try to do something about it."

He returned to his breakfast. She was far from satisfied with his answer. When she confronted him immediately after being practically kidnapped, he'd given her almost the exact same reasoning.

"You said that you _hoped_ I would go to Antonin. Why?"

In what was surely a show of his power over her, Malfoy left her waiting for a response for almost a full minute. He chewed the food in his mouth, filled up another forkful, and ate the next bite. Hermione was growing impatient. If he didn't start giving her answers, she would run. Ignorance was not bliss in her circumstances. Trying to keep her from knowing the truth could be dangerous. There were so many unknowns in her life.

"Because it would prove that you weren't too far gone."

She felt her chest tighten. Unable to continue holding her fork steady due to the trembling of her hands, she set the utensil down in her plate and hid her hand in her lap. Why did his words have such an effect on her? For years, no one really seemed to care much about her well-being, about her psyche. Was he admitting that he actually cared whether or not she was the psychopath her training and experiences made her out to be? Is that why he had taken such pains to keep track of her and find her in the first place? Realizing her mind was going down a treacherous path, there was simply no way that Malfoy cared what happened to her, she shook her head and ceased that line of thinking.

"I'd hoped there was still some humanity left in you. It appears I was right."

Hermione wasn't so sure he was correct in his assumptions, but she didn't rush to contradict him. After all, it was a nice thought. No truth to it, of course, but nice nonetheless.

"I'm afraid I must admit that there were many who weren't so convinced you would pass, Granger."

Malfoy sounded as if he had regret in his tone. Almost as if it bothered him that anyone would question his beliefs. He was a man who wasn't used to being wrong. It didn't mean he meant more by what he said than he did. In an effort to change the subject, she asked another question.

"Will you tell me now who we are waiting for?"

His entire countenance was improved when he smiled, she decided. Used to seeing his brooding, morose expressions, she found it odd to see him so pleased. Perhaps in another world, another time, they might have both been dealt a better hand. Maybe they could've lived in a simpler world and actually known happiness. How very sad that reality wasn't always what one wished.

"If I tell you, Granger, you'll run the first chance you get."

She might still run. Nothing about his reply comforted Hermione in the slightest. Why would she run from the person they were waiting for? She felt a twisting in her stomach, never a good sign.

"But, if I keep you guessing, your famous curiosity will keep you right where I want you. Some parts of us don't ever change."

Malfoy had the nerve to wink.

"Your desire to know everything is still there."


	45. February 13th

February 13th

They were still waiting for their mysterious guest late into the next night. Though he might have tried to make it appear that he was still calm, Hermione could tell that Malfoy was getting worried. Each of them had been using the relative peace and security of the tent in the middle of the woods to catch up on much-needed sleep. Hermione was grateful to not be alone. It made resting so much easier when she knew there was someone else nearby. Even if it was _Malfoy_.

He apparently travelled extensively. She'd known somewhat what his duties were, what no doubt odious tasks he performed for the Dark Lord, but she didn't know everything. Frankly, she'd never cared. When she was reaching for as much influence as she could and trying to forget her more idealistic past, he was a reminder of a time that would never be again. She tried to ignore his existence as much as possible. Then, when she was on the run for her life, she gave him no thought at all. Not until New Year's when he rudely interrupted her evening.

While they waited, he took advantage of being able to remain in one place to relax. The mattresses in their respective bunks were hardly luxurious, but they'd each slept in less fashionable accommodations. When she finally understood he wasn't going to answer her question about who they were waiting for no matter how many times she asked, she resorted instead to asking him about his job as a tracker.

Most of the time it was assumed that when he was out he was chasing down renegades. Either Resistance members or defected Death Eaters or even a stray random citizen or two who thought they didn't have to actually pay their exorbitant taxes. But honestly, no one really cared where he went or what he did as long as he was discreet. The Dark Lord and his Inner Circle rested easier when the younger Malfoy was away. Like her, it seemed that he was always running and moving from place to place. _Unlike_ her, he had a large, comfortable home with two parents who were happy to open their house to him whenever he was near. Her parents were a part of her history better left undisturbed.

She wasn't sure what time it was when he could no longer sit still. Late. Or very, very early. The sun had been down for hours and the chill in the tent had grown pronounced enough that she'd added extra firewood to the fireplace and put on a heavy jumper over the two she was already wearing. Malfoy's nervousness was evident if his pacing of the tent was any indication. She had never seen him so rattled. Not since the day of the Final Battle when Harry saved his life from the Fiendfyre.

"If you're going to pace, would you mind doing it quietly? I'm trying to sleep."

He didn't even retort with a snarky comeback. Most unlike him. She started to get worried too. Any person who would willingly meet with a couple of known Death Eaters, one on the run and one whose status was so low most didn't even want to associate with him, had to be dangerous. Hermione ran through her mind every single person it could possibly be to try to determine how much trouble she might conceivably be in when they finally did make their appearance. None of the names eased her discomfort.

When it was obvious he wasn't going to respond, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. There was no sense wasting a warm bed. Long minutes passed as she still couldn't fall asleep. Malfoy was being too distracting. She rolled over on her side and put the pillow over her head. Still didn't help. Deciding that maybe they both needed a cup of stolen chamomile tea, she climbed out of the bunk and crossed to the small kitchen.

Before the tea kettle Malfoy graciously filled with the tip of his wand was even steaming, they both jumped at the sudden appearance of a bright, wispy bit of smoke charging into the tent. It might have been a long time since she'd actually seen one, but Hermione recognized a patronus when she saw one. Whatever it was dissipated before she got a good look at the form. She'd been so startled that she hadn't even had the presence of mind to determine the shape.

Her traveling companion's shoulders relaxed. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. Whoever was announcing their arrival calmed him down considerably. She felt slightly more at ease as well. At the very least, she knew that it wasn't a Death Eater. None of them could cast a patronus worth a damn. It was all part of their chosen profession and the darkness that was required to fulfill one's oath to the Dark Lord. Once upon a time she'd been able to cast one. A happy, carefree otter. Her poor decisions and the blackening of her soul ripped that ability from her. No matter how many times she had tried over the years, she hadn't been successful. Clearly, there wasn't much about her life that was joyful enough. Knowing that they were about to see someone who _hadn't_ allowed Darkness to take root in their soul took away some of Hermione's anxiety.

Draco raised his wand to point it at the flap in their tent. A few whispered incantations later, she could _feel_ the change in the magical wards. She had to trust that Malfoy was allowing someone trustworthy inside their tent. There was no longer any place for her to run.

"Guess you'll finally be able to stop being so mysterious?"

The tent flap opened just as she finished uttering her mocking question. Whatever calm she'd managed to develop in those previous few minutes disappeared the second she saw the cruel grin splashed across William Wood's face. There was no warmth or pleasure in the expression. The brother of the first man she killed only had eyes for her.

Perhaps she finally had her answer for who it was that hired Draco Malfoy to track her down. It made sense. Malfoy was something of a renegade, neither fully on the side of the Death Eaters nor on the side of the Resistance. Hated by both sides, it wasn't inconceivable to imagine that he would seek out the other side for additional work. Maybe Wood had been exploiting his unique set of skills to ensure a day would come when he could finally exact his revenge.

As much as she knew she deserved it and often longed for death, Hermione wasn't going down without a fight. She ripped the wand she kept hidden in her pocket out. Wood's grin only increased. Clearly, he was a man who enjoyed a good fight. She would give him one.

"Put your wand away, Hermione. We don't want your _beloved_ husband to know where you're at."

The sound of a new voice, one she hadn't heard in a very long time, shocked Hermione enough to take her eyes off of the potentially unstable man. A woman stood in the entrance of the tent. Her bright red mane of hair could only belong to Ginny Weasley. Far from being encouraged by the younger witch's presence, the fugitive Death Eater had rarely been so frightened.


	46. February 14th

February 14th

The years had been kind to Ginny Weasley. Too often when Hermione thought about the witch that had once been her friend, she thought only of the fragile, small girl she used to be. Somehow it was too difficult to reconcile the fierce woman standing only feet away with the image she'd carried around for so long. Despite having a rather _eventful_ life, she had grown into a strikingly attractive woman. She was the kind of witch who turned heads without much effort. Certainly _not_ like Hermione. Attempting to ignore the flare of jealousy that crept up, Hermione continued her survey of the practical stranger.

Underage at the time of the Final Battle, she hadn't been an active fighter. Sure, she snuck out of the Room of Requirement the first chance she could to get in on the action, but not as much as she had hoped. It must have been frustrating to see her entire family in danger, including the wizard she was in love with, and be unable to do anything. Her older brothers had been incensed when they discovered her outside of the protection of the room. Ginny didn't care. She wanted to be a part of protecting their world from the onslaught of the Darkness she was convinced in her soul would overtake it with Lord Voldemort's victory.

Hermione could still hear the sounds of the girl's cries when Harry fell to the floor of the Great Hall dead. It was not a resonance easily forgotten. Rarely did one have the chance to hear a person break down entirely. How she managed to make it out of the castle and off its grounds before she was captured had been a mystery. No doubt one of her older brothers picked her up and threw her over their shoulder. She hadn't been in any rush to leave the room where her boyfriend lay dead.

"Are you here to kill me?"

It was an honest question. Anyone in her position would've been a fool not to ask it. The cold laughter from William Wood caused the hair to stand up on the back of her neck. If it was left up to him, she would already be dead. Ginny turned her full focus on the likely unhinged man standing next to her. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, squeezed it and rubbed it lightly. It was an intimate gesture that served to calm the man down. He was still a loose cannon, but Ginny had a measure of control over him. Apparently, the redhead hadn't been wasting her life pining after the wizard she lost. Hermione was glad. Life was too damn short to remain faithful to a ghost.

"Believe it or not, Hermione, we're not here to harm you."

No matter how convincing her tone might have been, she _did_ have trouble believing Ginny. Years earlier when the Resistance began to make serious strides in becoming more than just an annoyance to the regime, Antonin forbade Hermione from engaging directly with those who had once been her friends. Initially furious that he would dare tell her what to do, she declared that she wouldn't be ordered about by her husband and would be doing as she damn well pleased. Understanding that she was completely serious in her threats, Antonin tried a different tactic. He went directly to their master to tell him how dangerous he thought it would be to have her near the Resistance. Because he was such a trusted follower, the Dark Lord upheld the orders he gave his wife. No longer could she ignore them.

Her husband's concern had been that she would eventually have to come face to face with Ginny Weasley at some point. No one was one hundred percent certain how the leadership of the Resistance worked. There was some speculation that Ginny was only the face of the Resistance while Aberforth Dumbledore was the true holder of the power behind the scenes. Rumors that Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't underground in the Muggle world were also prevalent. Maybe he was the one calling all of the shots.

It didn't matter to Antonin. He feared that emotions and passion would get in the way if his wife, the mother of his only child, crossed paths with the witch that rallied the troops. She was a fearsome foe, one that he would've gladly faced in battle. Hermione might have been flattered that he cared enough about her safety to keep her sheltered if it didn't mean she was on restricted duty. She wasn't afraid of Ginny or any of the others.

"Why are you here then?"

"I'm here to see if I think there's any of the Hermione you used to be still inside you somewhere or if you're a brainless, soulless Death Eater. Will is here because he's a prat who didn't listen to me when I told him to stay home."

Ginny had never been the kind of person to tiptoe around the point she wanted to make. Hermione could respect that about her. Similar in many ways to her mother, she said what was on her mind with little thought to how it might be perceived or how she might sound to others listening. It was a trait that could be both charming and infuriating at the same time.

"Draco has probably already given you a hint what we're trying to do."

"Overthrow the Dark Lord?"

She snorted and smiled a true grin. It completely changed her entire persona. Hermione might not be the only one of them that still carried a bit of their old selves deep down inside after all. Seeing even a glimpse of her old friend was encouraging.

"Something like that. We have an ally from your side that _insisted_ we make certain you remained safe. Powerful friend you have, Hermione. Didn't want you harmed. It was a condition made in exchange for their help."

Hermione found that information surprising. Who would possibly care what happened to her if the upcoming planned revolution was a success? She'd certainly burned more bridges than she'd built.

"I won't lie. I was a bit reluctant to agree to the terms. You'll understand if I was a bit leery of willingly helping you. Still am, honestly. You have quite a reputation. One that has been well-deserved."

Nothing she said could be argued. Hermione knew it was true. As much as she might have wished to get angry at the younger woman's words, she couldn't. Ginny was just being honest. Sometimes it was easy to ignore the truth when the truth was painful.

"Have you seen my brother recently?"

She shook her head. Even before she stabbed her husband in the eye with a fork and had to make a quick getaway from the life she'd built, she hadn't had much to do with her former best friend and sort-of almost ex-boyfriend. Their lives took very different paths.

Ron had changed irrevocably under Rabastan's tutelage. Of course, she had done the same under Antonin's. Except, there was something different about him. She had become brutal and dangerous and calculating because she _had_ to be, had to keep up with the other Death Eaters or they would eat her alive. There weren't any other Muggle-borns in the Inner Circle or even in the lowest ranks. Not even a single Muggle-born Snatcher. An exception had been made for her that many resented. She had to work twice as hard to prove herself. Ron, however, had been welcomed with open arms because _finally_ the once-proud Weasley name was being redeemed. The attention had gone to his head, if she was perfectly honest. He'd changed in many different ways to the point that she would politely nod at him if in the same room, but nothing more.

"Do you think he'd ever change his mind?"

Hermione didn't hesitate to shake her head again. No, he'd found the position he longed for. Truthfully, she knew his parents, especially his late mother, would be ashamed of his actions. They did _not_ raise him that way.

"I'm not surprised. My brother's finally found something he's good at, hasn't he?" Ginny sighed, sadness etched across her face. "Must be difficult to want to go back to the shadows and be obscure again. He wouldn't like that."

She was resigned to her brother's fate. After all, there was nothing that she could do to change the desires of a grown man. Ron made his choices. Allowing herself only a few moments to wallow in self-pity, Ginny shook her head and raised her eyes back to meet Hermione's. In an instant she was all business again.

"You have a great deal of influence, Hermione. We want you to use it to keep your little mates in masks from interfering with our plans to overthrow Lord You-Know-What."

Hermione didn't understand at all how she could possibly help. Being on the run and away from the center of the action meant that she didn't have many opportunities to speak to her former comrades, let alone influence them to stay out of a possible civil war.

"But, we're still not certain about your loyalties yet. Until Draco says you can be trusted, we aren't asking you for anything."

Ignoring the offended expression that appeared on Hermione's face against her will, Ginny stepped across the small living space of the tent to actually hug Draco. That had been unexpected. She hadn't been aware that they were _that_ friendly. When William Wood shook Draco's hand like they were old, friendly acquaintances, she thought she might have lost her mind. Everything was a dream. Only when Oliver's older brother glared in her direction as he exited the tent was she reminded that everything was very real. It seemed unlikely that they would ever get past their differences.

She was hesitant in her movements at first, but Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione before she left. Startled by the affectionate gesture, she didn't return it until it was almost too late. Both witches stood in the dimness of the lanterns inside of the tent simply clinging to the other for several long moments. It felt bizarre and completely natural. She'd missed her friend.

Draco walked their remaining guest out of the tent. What they spoke about in the brief few minutes they stood outside the tent together was anyone's guess. Hermione wasn't even sure she wanted to know. He returned only after ensuring all of the enchantments he'd pulled down earlier were back up. Finished with his task, he spun around with the same amused grin that she was beginning to find not-so-terrible.

"Alone again, it seems."


	47. February 15th

_Author's Note: Guest, yes, email notifications haven't been working for everyone for a few days. It's a website issue affecting all writers/stories. Some are getting notified, but not all. FFN tends to have bugs every once in a while. I think it may be fixed now, but who knows? That's why I always announce updates on my Tumblr. Just in case there's a problem with the site._

* * *

February 15th

As much as Hermione knew it was dangerous to remain where she was, something she didn't understand was compelling her to stay with Malfoy. After several days alone with the wizard in her tent, he had yet to satisfy all of her curiosities. In fact, he hadn't explained himself at all. She hoped he would explain more about his association with the Resistance and why he seemed so friendly with the military leader of the rebel group that had been a thorn in their master's side since almost immediately after the war ended. Or, rather, the end of the _official_ war.

The Resistance had been the regime's fiercest opponent for an entire generation. Countless witches and wizards had been born into a world that had continually been in some state of conflict. There were always bursts of activity, of course. After careful planning and hoarding of resources, the members of the undisciplined rebel group could wreak a little havoc in their country. Never too much. They were usually subdued before they were terribly successful.

Most of the time the Dark Lord's followers didn't meet the Resistance members in open combat. The largest of their cells were cleared out in the early days of their government. Hermione had been present at a few of what Antonin referred to as 'cleansings'. He never allowed her to go to the really dangerous of them, the ones that her safety couldn't be guaranteed. Even as nothing more than his student and a potential puppet for the Dark Lord, she had been protected. Killing her would've been a boon to the morale of the ragtag group of dissidents who needed to be squashed. He wanted her safe. At the time, she hadn't been aware that his reasonings behind the decision were more personal than professional.

Over time, the Resistance grew smarter, more cunning. No longer filled with just brash Gryffindors who dreamt of glory and didn't give a damn about effective battle plans. When their ranks began to swell with former Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and even a surprisingly large number of Slytherins, their tactics became much more effective. They began to rely more on guerrilla warfare, on being sneaky and secretive.

Trackers like Malfoy became a necessary part of the regime. The Dark Lord needed people who could fade into the background, who could find that which had been hidden. Spies were usually uncovered. How they seemed to always be found was still a mystery. Rumors existed that they had one amongst them that could read the essence of a person's very soul with only a quick glance. It was an archaic form of magic that hadn't been used in centuries. Whoever this mystery sort-of Seer was had never been discovered. When a broken and battered people searched for a savior, it wasn't unusual for them to make legends from fantasy.

Hermione was more apt to believe the Resistance had just gotten lucky. Or that the spies sent by the Dark Lord's forces were simply incompetent. It was difficult to fully immerse someone in another culture, another society without there being a few noticeable hiccups. She wouldn't have lasted long with them. Not even if she claimed that she'd renounced her previous life with the Death Eaters.

Not long after Ginny and William Wood exited the tent, a much calmer Draco climbed into his bunk and went to sleep. His anxiety from earlier in the evening when he feared that their planned meeting would not happen disappeared. Despite Hermione still sitting up at the kitchen table wondering what in the bloody hell had just happened, he was back to softly snoring in his sleep within a short time. She sat up longer, an hour or so, just sipping at her cold chamomile tea and staring at the enigmatic wizard.

Somehow he managed to ignore every single question Hermione asked the entire next day after the visit. And she asked _a lot_. Either he had the patience of a saint or he enjoyed torturing her. She was more inclined to believe the latter. Each time she would ask a question he wouldn't answer, an infuriating smirk would creep up on his face. The expression helped soften his too-serious visage, but she still hated it. Besides, what did it matter that she found the almost-smile handsome? It was a ridiculous thought, one she needed to stop.

Almost an entire day after Ginny left, Hermione was no closer to understanding what was happening than she had been days earlier. As she laid in her own bunk deciding what she was going to do next, she listened to the sounds the wizard made preparing himself for bed. Nothing he'd done since he constructed the tent had been completed with much haste. It was as if he was simply taking the opportunity to move slowly. She could understand the appeal. When she was living in Hogsmeade with her family and doing all that she could to be a 'good, little Death Eater', she constantly felt like there was never enough time, like she was moving constantly. It had _almost_ been a pleasant change of pace when she went on the run.

"May I ask you a question?"

Draco's unexpected request startled Hermione enough that she wasn't sure how to answer. After almost constant questions from her that he refused to answer, it was tempting to tell him 'no'. But, perhaps it could also be a way for her to finally get at least _some_ answers. She hadn't gotten as far as she had without using her brain or begging for information. In a similar manner to his, Hermione felt the corner of her mouth curl up into a smirk.

"Only if I can ask you one first that you _have_ to answer."

It was a fair enough request. If anything, she was being generous. She could've demanded he answer _all_ of her questions first. Draco caught her eye from where he stood by the kitchen sink and granted her one of the first true smiles she thought she had ever seen from him. Even when they were hardly older than children running about the castle she hadn't seen him so open.

"All right, Granger. Ask _one_ question and I promise to answer it."

He didn't even seem nervous about what she might ask. Perhaps after the continuous barrage of questions the previous day he wasn't worried. Likely he assumed that she would ask one that she'd already asked. If that was the case, it was apparent that he might one day be persuaded to answer them all. Before she blurted out the first inquiry that came to mind, Hermione considered her options.

"Why are you working with the Resistance?"

His smile never even faltered. Draco set the teacup he'd been washing down on a towel next to the sink to dry. The seconds it took to turn back around felt much longer than they probably were in reality. She was anxious for _something._ It didn't really matter what. Anything at that point would've made her feel like they were making progress in their unconventional relationship. Acquaintance? Partnership?

"I remember what the world used to look like, Hermione."

The use of her first name sounded strange to her ears, but she didn't dwell too much on it. She was more interested in the content of his statement. Far from answering the question, he did not seem as if he was finished.

"It wasn't perfect. There were plenty of problems, but it wasn't like it is now. People were freer to move around, freer to do what they wished, say what they wanted. No one had to worry that they would be executed if they had a different idea of how the Ministry should be run or what Hogwarts should teach."

She shifted in her bunk, suddenly uncomfortable. While it wasn't official policy to execute those who publicly, or privately, shared their own beliefs that might not match up with what was deemed 'correct', she knew there were severe consequences. Dissension was dangerous. People lost their jobs, their homes, their families. Those who were deemed especially problematic were imprisoned and even put to death, if the circumstances called for it. She hadn't ever had reason to question whether or not what they were doing was wrong. The Dark Lord's vision must be protected from those that would seek to destroy it.

"My family is a joke now. We're only allowed to even live because of the Dark Lord's _mercy_. Really, it's just a way to keep others in line who might decide to go against him. 'Look at the Malfoys. You don't want to end up like them, do you?'"

Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"I wanted more from my life than to be a joke."

It was perhaps the most honest answer she believed she would ever get from the man. Of course she could understand his attraction to the possibility of a life he could be proud of again. Deciding that he had more than answered her question, for the meantime anyway, she sighed.

"All right. Ask your question."

"Why does Will hate you so much?"

Even Muggles who had no clue about the history of the magical world and had never heard the name Hermione Granger would have been able to tell that the Scottish man so easily calmed by Ginny Weasley detested the very ground the fugitive Death Eater walked upon. It was no surprise that Draco caught on rather quickly to the animosity. Because he had been so honest, she made the decision to do the same.

"His younger brother was the first person I ever killed."

A low whistle escaped from Draco's lips. He didn't press her for details, but she found the admission to be freeing.

"Antonin trapped him in a cave in Hogsmeade during a raid. I'd been hanging back, trying to stay out of the thick of the fighting. Thought maybe I'd be able to make it through the entire raid without hurting anyone. Antonin made me kill him. It was… I didn't really want to do it, but I did. Now William Wood is just looking for an excuse to pay me back in kind."

"I never realized Will had a brother."

"He was the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor our first three years at school."

"Oh! The one who was so passionate and easy to wind up?"

They both chuckled at the memory. It helped a little to remember the man she killed in a more innocent time.

"What was his name? I don't remember most of the students from the other Houses."

"Oliver."

Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at her when she muttered the name. Not caring for the scrutiny, Hermione climbed out of the bunk.

"Oliver? Isn't that your…"

She'd lingered too long with the tracker. Not even bothering to stop to pull them on, Hermione grabbed her boots in her hand and checked to make sure her beaded bag was still stashed in her pocket. The tent had been chilly enough even with a fire that she'd been wearing all of her heavy jumpers already. With no winter coat any longer, she didn't have to worry about grabbing it on her way out of the flap of the tent.

Ignoring Draco's pleas to stop, she continued walking away into the night. She needed to get as far away from him as possible.


	48. February 16th

February 16th

Even moving at a brisk pace, Hermione was only able to get a few dozen meters away from the tent before Draco stopped her by grabbing her arm. Unlike the men in her past who used to squeeze her limbs to a painful degree in order to get her to do as they wanted her, his touch was light, almost hesitant. He knew that she wasn't an enemy to be easily discounted. Free to use her magic or not, she could hurt him.

"Hermione, please don't go."

She could only remember a handful of times in the course of their entire acquaintance that he had used her first name. It was easier to fall back into the old habits from their school years. Much more impersonal and perhaps a little safer. The gentle tone of his voice as he pleaded with her yet again not to rush off into the night surprised her enough that she stopped moving.

"I don't see any reason to remain here, Malf… _Draco_."

If he was going to make the interaction more personal, she could at least have the courtesy to do the same. After several days of being alone in the woods, it really shouldn't be such a difficult task. He didn't remove his hand from her arm. The touch was still light. Part of Hermione wanted to brush his hand away, the other wanted him to stay right where he was. Her conflicting feelings towards the wizard were another reason why she knew she needed to get moving far away. She'd stayed too long. Gotten too comfortable. Her reasons for remaining as long as she had didn't make any sense at all, not even inside her own brain.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Draco stepped closer, his hand sliding down her arm to rest on her elbow. Afraid of what she would see if she looked up, Hermione kept her eyes focused firmly on the buttons on his chest. She didn't want to admit that she was upset, that a simple question was enough to get her to run away.

"I assure you, you don't have the power to upset me."

Except he did. It was a foolish statement to make that had no basis in reality. Any remembrance of the day that she was forced to kill Oliver Wood for no other reason than Antonin told her to do so made her cringe and wish to hide away. For the rest of her life, no matter how long or short it might be, she would never be able to think about the former Quidditch Captain without wanting the ground to open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

"We've all had to do certain tasks that were unpleasant."

The diplomatic manner in which he mentioned the murders they were ordered to commit as Death Eaters almost made her laugh. _Almost_. Neither one of them were blameless. Anyone who carried the Mark of the Dark Lord on their arm had at some point bathed in the blood of their enemies. Or in the blood of the innocents. Sometimes they were the same. She knew it wasn't logical to fixate so much on one single murder in her past. Many more had followed Oliver. More than she knew she could ever put a number to. Maybe those who claimed they could remember the face of every single person they ever killed existed, but Hermione wasn't one of them.

She shook her head to try to stem the flow of the more unpleasant memories that always cropped up when she allowed her mind to travel down dangerous paths to her past. A day would come when she would have to answer for every single drop of blood she spilled. It was a daunting thought that terrified her more than she wanted to admit.

"I've stayed here too long. I'm not even sure why."

Hermione was able to turn halfway around from Draco before he stopped her again. This time his touch was firmer. Though far from being painful, he asserted his strength, a promise that he would use it to his advantage if necessary, clear. Knowing that he wouldn't let her go unless she took the time to actually hear him out, she sighed and spun back around.

"Where are you going to go next?"

"I'm not sure."

"You can't just keep wandering around waiting for someone to catch you."

Arguing with Draco Malfoy about her safety was not how she wanted to continue the evening. Especially not when it sounded like he might actually care what happened to her. She considered, once again, throwing his hand off her arm and running. If she kept going, eventually he would give up.

"And what is my alternative? Stay here in the woods with _you_? You won't even answer my questions about what's happening."

She was exhausted already of the tests she knew she was being subjected to. Even Ginny tried her own when she was there. Bringing William Wood hadn't been an accident. Nothing Ginny did _wasn't_ calculated. The awkward, uncomfortable hug at the end of the visit? Just another test. Whether or not Hermione passed was a mystery. She still didn't understand the reason. For the briefest of moments she might have almost been successful in convincing herself that her old friend still cared about her, but the feeling was fleeting. Neither of them would ever be the same people again. The affectionate gesture felt hollow and wrong. Ginny was still her enemy no matter how many times she wrapped her arms around the older witch in an imitation of fondness.

Draco sighed and removed his hand from her arm. The loss of the simple human touch startled Hermione. She didn't realize how starved she was for any amount of attention. Over nine months on the run was messing with her already addled brain. It was no wonder she couldn't make sound decisions.

"It's _complicated_ , Hermione."

She was all too familiar with that kind of response. It was what was used by those that wanted her to just shut up. Her entire life she'd heard others brush off her inquiries and concerns with those few words. Annoyed that he had the audacity, she snorted and rolled her eyes.

"If you don't trust me by now, Malfoy, you never will."

For a moment it seemed like he was going to try to argue with her, but he stopped himself. It would have been a waste of breath. She was fairly certain that there wasn't anything he could say that could get her to stay there a moment longer. Not even if he finally told her everything that she wanted to know about the Resistance, about why he was so intent on following her and finding her wherever she went. She'd stayed long enough. _Too_ long. Her next destination might not have been known. All she knew was that he was an impediment to her freedom. He was likely to get her killed. She didn't want anything to do with the group she'd spent so many years fighting against.

"Is there nothing I can say that will get you to stay?"

"No, there's not. Besides, I don't even know why you _want_ me to stay. You haven't told me anything."

The familiar burn of frustration began to make its way up from her stomach. Sighing, clearly understanding that he was going to get no further, Draco reached into the pocket of his trousers. She worried for a moment that he was about to use his wand to force her to stay. When he held out a scrap of parchment for her to take, she relaxed. He had to practically press it into her hand before she would touch it.

"There's an address on that. Go to it. Maybe it will be enough to prove to you that I'm on your side."

He seemed desperate to get her to listen to his words. Knowing that he wouldn't let her walk away without some kind of assurance that she would consider going to the place he asked, she tucked the parchment into her beaded bag. She would look at it later. _Maybe_. Once carefully stowed away, she turned from the tracker and resumed her escape from the woods. He didn't reach for her again or even try to follow. Just before she was out of earshot, she heard his last words.

"Try not to think too harshly of me when you get there."


	49. February 17th

February 17th

She had to keep moving. Remaining still wasn't an option. Regardless of how tired she was, Hermione didn't stop moving until she was many, many miles away from the campsite she shared with Draco. With _Malfoy_. It wouldn't do for her to get too friendly with a man she couldn't trust. And she couldn't afford to trust anyone.

Malfoy was the kind of man who could sweet-talk the knickers off a nun. He might not have ever tried to turn his charm on her personally, but she knew the type all too well. She'd known several of them. Even lost her own knickers to a few. He must have inherited his charm from his father. Lucius was, more often than not, in the bottom of a bottle, but there had been a time when he was very persuasive. From time to time when he was sober and in desperate circumstances, the elder Malfoy still could be. He'd attempted to turn the charm on her a few times to garner a bit of influence from either her as Antonin's wife or from her as the Dark Lord's favorite pet. A couple of times she'd even been benevolent enough to help him. When it wasn't too burdensome or inconvenient, of course.

She loathed Lucius. Thought he was pathetic and less than a man. Something in him had broken long ago. Probably even before Harry was killed and the Dark Lord was still in residence in his opulent manor. Hermione would never forgive the coward for the part he played in her torture that night so many years earlier. An inactive participant merely existing on the sidelines was still participating by not stopping the atrocities from happening. An innocent bystander was very rarely innocent.

No, Draco definitely got his charm from his father. Very little about Narcissa was charming or pleasant. Maybe there had been a time long ago when she'd been a much more carefree and likable woman, but Hermione surely had never seen it. Anyone who could boast of batty Bellatrix Lestrange as a sibling had to possess their own special sorts of issues. Draco's mother rarely ventured outside their manor or its grounds. She wasn't welcome in polite society. Not since she openly deceived the Dark Lord. She was fortunate enough that she hadn't been publicly and painfully executed for her crimes.

Hermione wasn't sure why her mind kept going back to thoughts of the disgraced Malfoy family. Their son was one thing, but the parents another completely. Long after she had grown weary enough that she had to climb in the backseat of a seemingly abandoned car on the edge of a small village for a few hours of rest, her mind was focused on the man she'd run from the night before. She wondered why he didn't even attempt to use any of that prodigious charm he possessed to try to get her to stay longer when it was clear that's what he wanted. Was she not worth it to him to even try?

Disgusted with herself for feeling the least bit sad or offended, she pulled the scrap of parchment out of her pocket to examine it for the countless time. Just as he'd told her when he first handed it over, it was an address. To what, she didn't have the first clue. It could be anything. All she knew was, for some reason, Draco wanted her to go to Devon.

All she really knew about Devon was that a large portion of it was a Resistance stronghold. The Weasleys were from the area. It was no secret that because of their family, many of those who wanted to tear down the current government set up stakes near their family home. Arthur refused to join in with the traitorous activities. His reluctance to aid his three children active in open rebellion against the Dark Lord was well-known. He didn't even speak to Charlie or Percy or his only daughter. It saddened Hermione that he couldn't even have the comfort of his surviving children all being together because several of them were so dead-set on watching the world burn around them. If Molly had survived, she would've been horrified how they abandoned their father. Or, she would've been the spark Arthur needed to keep up the fight.

Hermione didn't want to go anywhere near the Resistance. Without being able to use her magic, she would be completely at their mercy. That wasn't a place she wanted to be. It didn't matter that Draco had practically begged her to go. She didn't feel any measure of peace about listening to him. Even if he had plenty of opportunities to hurt her and he hadn't, did _not_ mean he was on her side. How could he expect her to trust him when he wouldn't even answer her questions?

"If it seems like a trap, it probably is."

She muttered the words she'd learned in a valuable lesson many years earlier. During a mission to flush out more Resistance members long before she was married and Antonin orchestrated it with the Dark Lord that she wasn't put in harm's way, she had been paired up with Rodolphus Lestrange to investigate an empty building in Edinburgh that was rumored to be a known hiding place. She had been thankful to be with Roddy instead of some of the more reckless Death Eaters. After so many years married to a legitimately insane woman who enjoyed making him miserable and years stuck in Azkaban, the soft spoken wizard finally had reason to live. All unnecessary risks were avoided.

It was her first experience with the city she hated. Before she and Rodolphus landed in front of their target, she had never had reason to feel one way or another about the place. She knew the rumors about the dangerous place the city had become, but very little scared her in those days. Her training had been thorough. Each time she was sent out as a representative of the Dark Lord she itched to prove her unwavering loyalty.

There was clearly something special about the building they were ordered to investigate. Something stuck out about it. A buzzing of activity intrigued her and made her want to run inside. Just as she was about to take her first step inside the interior of the building, Roddy stopped her with a grip of her arm. Tempted at first to shrug him off, she stopped. He hadn't gotten as far as he had by being foolish. If there was something he could teach her, she wanted to learn.

Nothing about the building brought him a sense of ease. He told her later when they were able to get away from the dangerous, crazed members of the Resistance that attacked them that she had to trust her gut. If she didn't feel peace, she needed to listen. A person's natural sense of self-preservation liked to do whatever it could to keep them out of danger. One just had to know when to pay attention.

She missed Roddy. He'd been an unexpected friend and comfort, especially in those difficult first years. As proud of him as she was for making his own escape, she selfishly wished that she still had him in her life. There was still a great deal she could learn from him if given the opportunity. She hoped that wherever he was, he was happy and safe. If ever there was someone who deserved it, she felt like he did.

Her decision on whether or not to go to Devon was far from being made. Though she felt nauseous each time she considered heading _towards_ the Resistance, she wasn't ready to give up on the idea yet. In the meantime, as she figured out what she was going to do next, Hermione knew she had to keep moving. She'd been reckless enough already.


	50. February 18th

February 18th

Once that it was clear the Resistance was keeping tabs on her somewhat, Hermione avoided all forms of Muggle transportation. It was much more difficult to follow someone on foot without making it obvious. Magic was always theoretically possible, but if the Resistance was trying to avoid detection from the regime in charge, they would have to remain as Muggle-like as possible. Unregistered wands could still be traced because the wand itself wasn't what mattered. Just like the underage witches and wizards of old, the Trace was on the actual person. To try to avoid those she didn't wish to see, she kept walking.

In her travels, she was fortunate enough to stumble upon an empty house carelessly left unlocked. Before she went on the run as a fugitive, she would have never assumed there were so many people still alive trusting enough of their fellow man to not keep everything they owned under lock and key. It was so foolish. Even if she wasn't married to a renowned former curse breaker who could create and demolish wards as easily as breathing, she wouldn't have been so blasé about her own home. It was almost as if the poor Muggles were just begging complete strangers to come into their home and rob them blind. She had no tolerance for that level of stupidity.

But, one person's stupidity was another's good fortune. The house was quite cool inside, a definite sign that it had been unoccupied for a few days. Just before she began helping herself to the food left behind by the careless owners, she took a look around to see if she could get some sense of how long she might be able to stay without fear that she would be discovered. When she found the calendar stuck to the front of the fridge with a powerful magnet, she rolled her eyes. The overly trusting Muggles had the days they were going to be away from home clearly marked for anyone to see. She had at least another week to enjoy their stolen hospitality before they returned from their Caribbean cruise.

Content in the knowledge that she could relax for a short time, Hermione went through her mental checklist of what needed to be done each time she broke into a new house. A further inspection of the rest of the common areas on the ground floor did not turn up a note left with instructions for any potential caretakers. Of course, there was always the chance that someone would come by to water plants or check the post who did it so frequently that there wasn't any need to leave a message. She relaxed when she discovered all plants in the house were either silk or cheap plastic. There was a mail slot on the front door and at least a dozen envelopes littered the floor. No fish or birds or any other animals were present anywhere in the house. She felt confident that no one would disturb her as long as she stayed out of windows and didn't touch the lights.

Once the non-perishable food items were safely stowed away in her beaded bag, Hermione helped herself to what was left in the fridge itself. There sadly wasn't much. The Muggles were clearly not much for cooking. Or perhaps, they'd cleaned out their stores in anticipation of the trip they were no doubt enjoying. She envied their freedom. How she would enjoy being able to run away to a different country! Especially where it was warm.

Antonin took her once to a cloaked island near Bermuda that was a popular destination for witches and wizards around the world. It had been one of the few times she could remember actually enjoying being with her husband. As her teacher and mentor, she respected and liked him, but once he was ordered to be the man she married, there had been a shifting that had changed a lot more than just her last name. Their son was only a few years old, left behind in the care of the Yaxleys. She still recalled those ten days fondly. They'd even managed to conceive a child that trip that unfortunately, had ended up the same way as all of her other pregnancies, but one. Her stressful, dangerous lifestyle wasn't always conducive to proper maternal health.

And just as she always did when she saw the opportunity, she stripped down inside the luxurious bathroom connected to the master bedroom to take advantage of their massive shower. But only after she made certain that each door in the house was blocked with an arrangement of furniture that would be sure to catch her attention even if her head was under water. There was nowhere else she was more vulnerable than when she was stealing someone's hot water in their shower. If the small towers were knocked over, she would have to move quickly to keep from being captured.

It was easy to allow her mind to wander as she washed the grime off of her exhausted body. Once she was toweled off, she knew she would be asleep within minutes. Her stiff and achy muscles relaxed under the spray of almost scalding water. The events of the previous several days weighed heavily on her mind. For someone who had been able to move about the country for the better part of a year with only a few instances of near-capture and excitement, her year was shaping up to be quite eventful. She should have known that seeing Malfoy only a short time after the New Year began that she would have trouble.

She still found it quite strange to think back on the relatively civil conversation she had with Ginny in the middle of her father's old magical canvas tent. If her path ever crossed the youngest Weasley's again, she always assumed that there would be more fireworks than there were. It seemed inconceivable that the de facto military leader of the Resistance would ever entertain the idea of having a calm, rational discussion with Lord Voldemort's favorite Death Eater. Had the world truly turned upside down?

Dozens of questions still plagued Hermione's mind. Every free second that she had seemed to be overtaken with the wonderings of what was going to happen next. The Resistance had had only a few major victories and the time between them was always long. She knew it was unrealistic to believe that they would continue to be a non-issue within their society. _Something_ big was coming. There was a definite shifting in their world that she had even felt coming long before she ran from Antonin's wrath. She might not know the details, but she knew their world would be changing again very soon. Part of her hoped that the Resistance might finally get a chance to rebuild the world how they always thought it should be. If for no other reason than they might actually discover _running_ a country was much more difficult than harassing its citizens with pointless violence and rebellion.

It bothered her more than she was comfortable expressing that there was someone out there who insisted she be protected in the coming revolution. Who was the ally Ginny mentioned? Why would anyone care whether or not she was still standing when it was all over? She had committed many crimes that should have gotten her a minimum life sentence in Azkaban. Truthfully, much of what she had done was bad enough that she should've already been executed.

Late at night when she was alone or before she ran and her husband was sleeping next to her, she would lay awake and think about all of her sins. There were many. Some of them she had no regrets about. Others she would give anything for a time turner that would take her back far enough in the past that she could make changes. Antonin was one of those who claimed that he could remember the face of every single person he ever killed. Somehow, she doubted that was the truth no matter how much he insisted. Her husband was a ruthless man. If anyone crossed him, they were eliminated. She couldn't imagine it was possible to remember so many different people. The faces of all of those she killed weren't burned forever in her brain. As much as she could, she forced her memory to forget them. She couldn't keep going if she had to constantly think back on those she had murdered. There were some, however, that she would never forget.

How could the Resistance believe that she could somehow help them? Her tainted soul was in tatters. There had to be better people that could further their cause. Besides, she wasn't even sure that a _complete_ revolution was needed. Sure, their society had some problems, but it wasn't a complete waste. They had done some good. The Dark Lord had revolutionized their world. Maybe some of it could stand some tweaking, a few adjustments. She wasn't ready to call her life's work a failure just yet.

As she suspected, only moments after she crawled beneath the covers of the comfortable bed in the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, Hermione fell asleep. There would be plenty of time to consider her next move after she rested. Besides, the world would keep turning no matter what she did.


	51. February 19th

**_Author's Note: Please refer back to the AN at the very beginning of this story where I explained that just like in all of our lives, not every single day will be filled with excitement. Every single chapter is important (I mean, I thought I dropped a pretty big clue or two in the last chapter about future events, but what do I know? I'm just the one writing the story) but they won't all be filled with action or big reveals. If you're tired of not having all of the answers immediately, Obnoxiously Rude Guest Reviewer, you won't like this story. I recommend not wasting your time further, especially if you're going to continue to be rude. Besides, I would hate for you to have to read another "nonsense chapter". This is my HOBBY and this story is FREE. I owe you nothing. Don't like it? Don't read it!_**

 ** _Thank you so much to the encouraging reviewers who actually understand what it is I'm trying to do with this story. You lovely souls are very kind!_**

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February 19th

Hermione lay in the warmth and comfort of the stolen bed staring at the scrap of parchment in her hand. Her stomach was full and her body could not sleep another moment and yet she was far from relaxed. In that single moment she had nothing to fear. No matter how hard she tired, she couldn't ignore the overwhelming feeling that she was making the wrong choice.

There seemed to be nothing for her in Devon. It had been a very long time since she'd gone anywhere near the Resistance outpost. The Dark Lord ordered his Death Eaters to leave that area alone years earlier. It was too heavily defended and there were much more important issues to concern themselves with. As long as the known troublemakers stayed put, they were left alone. Much like what had been done in Edinburgh. The Scottish city was no longer safe for a single Death Eater to enter alone, a fact she'd already learned the hard way.

If her fate had rested entirely in William Wood's hands, she would not have made it out of there alive. There was something _off_ about the man, unhinged even. Of course it was normal to feel grief about the death of a sibling. She could even understand the desire he had to make her pay for his brother's death. The sheer hatred she saw in his eyes bothered her immensely. It didn't matter how many years had come and gone since Oliver's murder, his older brother wasn't going to move on. Not at least until she was dead too. She knew she would have to be careful wherever he was concerned. Aberforth Dumbledore wouldn't be around every time. Neither would Ginny for that matter.

She was completely at their mercy when she was alone in that tent with Malfoy. It would have been quite a boost to the morale of the Resistance if they were finally able to capture or kill Lord Voldemort's prized pet. Hermione was aware that there had been a call for her head for years. Part of Antonin's insistence that she stay away from the Resistance and their allies was his concern that she would be a prime target. She represented everything that the rabble was fighting against. More would rush to their ranks if they could prove that they were able to overcome someone like her.

For whatever reason, Ginny not only didn't kill her that night, but she also calmed down her companion to prevent him from getting any violent ideas of revenge. It all made little sense to the fugitive. Draco's complicity in the whole affair still baffled her. _Why_ would he cast his lot in with those destined to lose? No matter how organized or impassioned they might become, they couldn't win.

She could respect his desire to better his station in life. With the end of the war, the Malfoys had fallen about as far as it was possible to fall without being executed. How his mother continued to survive was a marvel. The Dark Lord did not surround himself with traitors. Narcissa was never allowed in his presence, but she was kept alive to fill his dark purpose of reminding everyone what would happen to them if they tried to turn their back on their Lord. Of course, Hermione felt that execution was a much more effective method, but her opinion on the matter wasn't important.

To associate with anyone in the Resistance, even as clandestinely as Draco had been, was an excellent way to be eradicated from existence. The foolishly trusting Daphne Goyle née Greengrass learned that the hard way just by being friendly with her former Housemate Pansy Parkinson after her public denouncement of the Dark Lord. As Parkinson ran off to join the rebels, not even Daphne's loyal father-in-law was able to sway their master's orders. She left a bereft husband behind and two small children without a mother simply because she was seen _speaking_ to Parkinson and doing nothing to try to apprehend the traitor. It was difficult for Hermione to feel any sympathy for the woman. The rules were simple, after all. One could not afford to be friendly to the enemy.

The address written on the parchment was forever seared into Hermione's memory. She didn't even need it anymore, but as her mind kept traveling down the dangerous roads that led to the Resistance, she couldn't put it down. Devon might be a death sentence. Ginny kept Wood from killing her on sight. Others might not be so understanding. Over the many years she had lived with a Dark Mark engraved on her left arm, she had done some truly terrible things to a lot of people that if she stopped to think about it, probably didn't deserve it. Antonin hadn't been wrong. There was a large target on her back. Many would rejoice in the streets with her death.

She didn't expect anyone to forgive her for her crimes. There were too many. A number of them she completed readily, joyfully even. Being removed from the heart of the Death Eater forces meant that she had had the opportunity to sit back and rethink about the past. Perhaps, she had too much time. Some days that was all she could do. A time existed when she was so thoroughly convinced that she was doing the right thing that it didn't even matter what she was being ordered to do. She did it gladly. William Wood wasn't the only surviving brother still grieving a sibling she killed.

It bothered her more than she could adequately express that she was still haunted by Oliver's death so many years after the fact. She had killed plenty of others that didn't creep up into her nightmares when she closed her eyes. Maybe the reasoning was simply because it was the first life she had taken. It was the moment that she knew she could not go back to being the same Hermione Granger she had been before Harry was killed. If she had refused to kill Oliver, Antonin would have either killed her himself or dragged her to the feet of the Dark Lord. She had a choice. Her life or Oliver's. To choose hers over his had been selfish and a line had been drawn in the dust that she'd not hesitated to step over.

Some of the murders she committed in the years following that cool Spring afternoon in the Hogsmeade Caves had been much more gruesome and yet, they didn't bother her nearly as much as snuffing the former Quidditch Keeper's life with a simple, painless spell. When she finally got her revenge against Walden Macnair, he had begged and pleaded for mercy. Not to spare his life, but to end it faster. His cries had been ignored. _Years_ passed since that day she heard the horrible man suggest she be locked in a cage with starving manticores before she had the opportunity to make him pay, but what was that Muggle saying? _Revenge is a dish best served cold._

Even Antonin had been horrified by the depths of depravity she had dropped to with Macnair's death. With years to plan and fantasize how it was going to happen, when she was able to lure him into the basement of her family home, she had been _thorough_. She'd asked Corban's wife Mafalda to watch her son. Shit mum that she was, she knew better than to do what she intended with an innocent child just up the stairs. There was still at least a modicum of decency left within her at that point in time.

Macnair was easy to get alone. _Too_ easy _._ The wizard had always been foul when it came to the fairer sex. All it took was a few sultry glances in his direction, a couple of touches to the arm, and a whispered assurance that her husband need never know what happened and he followed her home. She managed to convince him that the bedroom or even the kitchen table were too tame for what she had in mind. He was practically undressing as he descended the stairs behind her.

It had been an unfortunate side-effect of her well thought-out plans that she had to suffer the indignity of the man's lips on hers. To completely catch him off guard, she had to keep him thinking that she wanted him to do unspeakable things to her body. As his large hands pawed possessively at her and he pressed her against a wall in the dark basement, a fleeting thought amused Hermione. It was a shame that the wretched man had to say such vile words the day she was removed from her broom closet. He wasn't terribly unattractive even if he was a bit unconventional in his looks. In her post-Augustus, pre-Antonin days, she might have even been able to have a great deal of fun with the violent, experienced wizard. Merlin and everyone else knew that she always loved it a bit rough.

A hidden syringe, much like the ones Muggles used, was stabbed into his gut just as his meaty hands reached around for her arse. He struggled at first when he realized what she was doing, but by then, it was already too late. The paralytic she pressed into his body went to work within seconds. His large form crashed to the floor.

"What have you done, bitch?"

Hermione kicked him in the side with all of her might. Macnair might not have been able to move anything but his head, but he was able to _feel_ everything. Without bothering to answer his question, she cast a spell to strip him of every single article of clothing he was wearing. Once he was completely naked, she drizzled each square centimeter of flesh with thick, sweet honey. Another spell completely encased the man in a glass box not much bigger than a coffin. Fear finally started to set in as he realized that she wasn't about to engage him in some kind of messed up sexual deviancy. She would never forget how wide his eyes grew when she opened a small door at the top of the glass box to dump in half a dozen rats.

"They're not the same starving manticores that you wanted to lock me up in a cage with, but they _are_ starving."

His first scream made her smile. She dropped a few more rats in the top. The owner of the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley was a friend of hers. When she requested that he order a hundred rats for her and not feed them for a few days, he hadn't even batted an eye. She had a way of getting exactly what she wanted.

"Manticores would finish you off too quickly. I'd rather you suffered."

Antonin found her just as she was adding the last of the rats. Macnair was begging for mercy. Her husband, the one who could flay a man alive with a single spell and not bat an eye, gagged and almost threw up when he saw what she was doing. He hadn't stepped in to stop it, of course. No, he was well aware that she had a number of enemies that she was intent on disposing of. Instead, he stood at her side, wrapped his arm around her waist, and complimented her on her creativity. The student, it seemed, had finally surpassed the teacher.

If she could look back on the gruesome end of Walden Macnair and still feel justified, why was she still so hung up on Oliver Wood's painless end? She feared it was something she'd never understand.


	52. February 20th

February 20th

By the next morning, Hermione made up her mind. Or, at least she _sort of_ made up her mind. Knowing that she was pushing her safety to remain longer inside the Muggles' home and she had to leave soon, she decided that she would begin walking towards Devon. Perhaps when she got closer to the area, she might finally have made a decision what to do next. At the very least, she knew she needed to keep moving. When she got lazy, she was in danger.

If her calculations were correct, she was a little over one hundred miles away from the address Draco Malfoy wanted her to visit. If she was reckless and took a Muggle train or bus, she would be there very quickly. She opted to keep to her feet. Not only was walking free, but she still had some thinking to do. Fresh air usually helped.

When it was close to the middle of the day and her feet were almost completely frozen, she entered a small, sleepy village. Though she wasn't keen on spending more of the money Augustus so thoughtfully gave her, she needed to be somewhere warm for a little while. At least until her feet thawed out. She kept walking until she saw a small cafe near the center of the little town. The smell of fresh coffee was enough to make her mouth water.

Only steps inside the crowded cafe, a hand reached out to grab her arm in a tight squeeze. If there was one act she absolutely would not abide, it was unwelcome touching. Not caring that she was surrounded by Muggles and any use of magic could bring her husband round, Hermione reached into her pocket to feel the assurance of her only weapon. She was considering whether or not to actually use it when she looked up to meet the smiling blue eyes belonging to her old friend Thorfinn Rowle.

"Why, Princess, what an unexpected surprise."

She tried to rip her arm out of his grasp to no avail. The wizard was just too bloody strong. Too strong _and_ entirely loyal to Antonin. Not for the hundredth time in her life, she bemoaned her shit luck. _How_ was it even possible that she would run straight into one of the men who wouldn't hesitate to drag her back to her husband in the middle of a Muggle cafe?

"I'm not going to tell anyone you're here if that's what you're worried about."

As much as she might have wanted to believe him, she struggled. They were friends, certainly, but their friendship hadn't been nearly as long as his friendship with her husband. Antonin trusted the wizard with not only his life, but also with the lives of his wife and son. That was no small thing. Hermione decided that she had nothing to lose. If he was telling the truth, great. If he wasn't, she'd been aware that a day like that had been coming since she stabbed her husband in the eye with a fork. Resigned to her fate, she sat down in the chair next to the burly blond.

Thorfinn didn't waste a moment getting the attention of the elderly woman behind the counter. While she crossed the small space, the Muggle stared at Hermione with narrowed, unfriendly eyes. Only when Thorfinn lied and introduced her as his sister did the woman's expression change. She smiled widely and promised the man who was clearly a repeat customer that she would be glad to bring his younger sister that day's special.

"Why does the Muggle know you? Why are you even here?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the question.

"This is the town where Hannah was born. She and the girls are visiting her dad."

It didn't matter that their courtship began fifteen years earlier, Hermione still couldn't believe at times that Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott actually married the wizard. And not only that they ended up together, but that they were still quite happy. Love, clearly, did not always make sense. Thorfinn's presence in the cafe, however, _did_ made sense. Though he would absolutely never be so bold as to say it out loud, it was a well-known fact that Hannah's father loathed Death Eaters. He had ever since his Muggle wife was murdered by them when his daughter was a sixth year. In public, Mr. Abbott suffered his son-in-law. In private, however, he wanted nothing to do with him.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

She knew that the conversation would eventually circle back to how she was doing now that she was on the run. They hadn't seen each other since the night she was so desperate for warmth that she'd foolishly built a fire with magic. Thorfinn had almost captured her that night. Certainly not her proudest moment. She didn't know how to answer his seemingly innocuous question nor did she want to. Instead, she focused on the fork she held in her hand and the plate that had just been placed in front of her on the table.

"Antonin wants you home."

A scoff came out of her mouth before she could stop it. He'd made it perfectly clear that he still longed to possess her. She wasn't his wife. She was his _property_.

"He's not doing well without you there, Princess."

She felt her eyes roll. What a ridiculous notion! As if Antonin was the sort of wizard to worry or long for her return.

"He didn't do well when we were together. Not sure how it's any different now."

Thorfinn stared at her for several moments with a bemused expression before he spoke again. Another promise that he wouldn't tell Antonin he'd seen her fell from his lips. She wasn't sure why he felt it necessary to repeat himself. When he asked her again to reconsider going back home, she couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up inside her chest.

"Not sure it's even possible for me to go _home_ , Thorfinn. Antonin's likely to kill me if I even try."

His handsome features dimmed as a sadness seemed to overtake his countenance.

"You've always misunderstood Antonin's feelings for you."

With no further explanation just what he meant, Thorfinn rose to his feet. He stepped across the small cafe to speak to the Muggle behind the counter again. Hermione watched him stand there for several minutes between bites of her hot lunch. When the Muggle handed him a large paper sack, he smiled and paid the woman for their food.

Hermione was just about to finish her meal when he returned to the table. Carefully looking around the room to make certain there weren't any witnesses, Thorfinn pointed his wand at the paper sack and muttered a charm. He dropped it in front of her with no explanation. Curious, she peeked inside to see more than a few containers of take away. The spell was evidently a warming charm. Not only was he not going to turn her into Antonin, he was actually feeding her for the next few days at least. She could've cried at his generosity if she even remembered how.

"I'm still holding out hope that you'll return home on your own, so I won't tell Antonin about this. But Princess, if our paths cross again, my loyalty has always been to Antonin first."

She nodded her head, proving that she understood what he was saying. Thorfinn leaned down from his great height to kiss her on the top of the head. As he did so, she felt the clothes she was wearing warm up. He might not have agreed with her decisions, but he was making certain in his own way that she wouldn't freeze in her travels. Even though the spell would eventually wear off, she was grateful again for his kindness.

The wizard smiled at her one final time as he exited the cafe.


	53. February 21st

February 21st

Thanks to Thorfinn's unexpected kindness, Hermione was still quite warm the day after their meeting in Hannah's hometown. She had enjoyed tucking in to the food he purchased for her that was still warm, as well. Maybe one day she would be able to repay his generosity, but she wasn't holding her breath. That would only be possible if she gave up any hope she had of living the rest of her life away from her husband.

She kept walking to Devon with no clearer idea of what she was going to do when she got there. With less than a hundred miles to go, she wasn't really in any rush anyway. If she continued on towards the Resistance, she might very well be marching straight into a trap. Trusting Malfoy's motives could put her in a precarious position. It didn't matter that he had tracked her down multiple times since the beginning of the year and she spent several days alone with him in a tent. She still wasn't sure if she could trust him.

As she continued on her path, her mind kept traveling back to the day before when she had an unplanned lunch with Thorfinn. When she first saw him, she felt certain that he was going to contact Antonin immediately. Perhaps, if she was honest with herself, a small part of her wished that he would have. What happened next would have most definitely been unpleasant, but at least then she could stop wandering around the country with no plan in mind. Her existence was growing quite tiresome. Even a painful death at the hands of her estranged husband was almost preferable to aimless wandering in a world she no longer wanted to be a part of.

Thoughts of the bizarre conversation she had with Thorfinn in the Muggle cafe plagued her mind. She really couldn't make sense of what he'd meant by saying that she'd always misunderstood Antonin's feelings for her. It was nonsense. Maybe instead of bringing her back to Hogsmeade with force, he was trying a gentler approach. Confuse her until she wandered home for answers.

From the very first day that she was installed in the attic bedroom in Antonin's house, they had had an odd relationship. He was her teacher, the wizard tasked with reprogramming her with a more suitable way of thinking and acting. She had to admit that he had been successful. Every time she thought about the first two days when she stayed in the same spot only inches away from a table full of food awaiting his permission to approach it, she felt ashamed by how she'd allowed her brain to be molded. Her greatest fear, after complete and utter failure, of course, had been the loss of her mind. She didn't want to imagine a possibility that she would ever be less in her mental capabilities. As much as she was able to compartmentalize her concerns when it suited her, she knew that she hadn't been operating at full capacity for quite a while. Maybe even since before she was thrown inside that broom cupboard in Hogwarts.

She respected Antonin from the very beginning. There might have been a healthy dose of fear mixed in with the respect, but she could appreciate the man for his talents. When their teacher-student relationship ran its course and she was deemed ready to be a full-fledged Death Eater on her own, they had even managed to develop a friendship. She wasn't an idiot. She'd known there were more to his feelings than he was willing to admit. Had been since the start. Regardless of his personal feelings, he kept it all professional when they were training or when they were on a mission.

He had been positively furious when he learned that she'd remained behind in France with Augustus on her first mission without him. Though officially they gave the excuse that they were still seeking out more potential rebels hiding in the French countryside, he wasn't dumb. He also couldn't stop her even if it was obvious he wanted her for himself. As her relationship with Augustus grew more serious, her friendship with her teacher grew more strained.

Almost three years after they first kissed in France, she had an awful fight with Augustus. Truthfully, it had been so long ago that she couldn't even remember what started it all. No doubt it was something ridiculous. It didn't really matter. She very publicly declared that she wanted nothing more to do with the former Unspeakable. Sometimes their rows could be quite passionate.

Antonin had been pleased to overhear the conversation. He admitted much later that he wished he'd spoken up right then about the truth of his feelings for her. Instead, he gave her space, hoping that would help him capture her heart in the long run. All it did was ensure that he had to listen to the sounds of her drunkenly bringing home another random wizard. She couldn't remember who it was. Much of that time was a blur of alcohol, blood and sex. Maybe it was Rabastan? Or perhaps Felix? She didn't _think_ it was Thorfinn. It didn't really matter who the wizard was.

During that entire time she was out exploring her options with the dangerous men they served under the Dark Lord with and the innocent Muggles that sometimes crossed her path when she was outside of the village, Antonin remained silent. Never once did he criticize her appalling taste in lovers. Hermione wasn't looking for love. The world was too fucked up for love and she was convinced that Augustus was her only shot.

Years passed and Antonin still remained silent about his feelings. He wasn't exactly living a monk's existence pining away for the woman he loved. She'd seen and heard his own wild and questionable visitors. They continued to share the same house and exist in the bedrooms next door to each other, ignoring the inappropriate sounds they heard coming from the other's bedroom.

Only once did Antonin ever step over the invisible line he set for himself. They had just come home from a dangerous and violent raid. Hermione saw no reason to move out of his house. A couple of Death Eaters had been lost, several enemies had been killed. Each of them had been in grave danger. He quite literally saved her life. At home, free from prying eyes, he berated her for her carelessness. Unwilling to stand there without defending her actions, she shouted back. He pressed her against a wall and kissed her. As the heated kiss escalated, he grew bold enough to touch her wherever he wished. She was certain she would've gone to bed with him, but at a critical moment, they were both summoned to the Dark Lord. He'd been embarrassed that he'd allowed his emotions to control his actions. When he didn't try again immediately, she moved on and went off with another.

Eventually, Augustus got his head out of his arse and they patched up their broken relationship. Only when the Dark Lord refused to allow Augustus to divorce his estranged wife so he could marry Hermione did Antonin show any interest in her again. He calmly asked for permission to marry her which was promptly and enthusiastically granted. Their master had been hoping that they would.

She had been married to Antonin for many years. Almost thirteen years. Never in all of that time had he ever behaved like Thorfinn claimed he was without her home. There were times she knew that her husband could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. His legendary temper and his violent streak had caused her actual physical pain in the past. Somehow she doubted that he had magically changed just because she was no longer there.

No longer wishing to even think about her husband, she began counting her steps in her head. Antonin was a subject she did not have the strength to handle in that moment. She attempted to focus on anything else.


	54. February 22nd

February 22nd

Walking in the middle of the winter with no set purpose or plan was exhausting. Hermione had lost count the number of days that had passed since she began her journey towards Devon. Or how many days since she'd left Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the woods. If she was honest, she was surprised that he hadn't managed to track her down yet. And if she was completely honest with herself, she was disappointed that he hadn't.

She knew that whatever relationship the two of them had was complicated to say the least. Were they friends? Colleagues? Comrades? Acquaintances? Part of her feared the moment he would catch up with her again at the same time that she began to hope that he would. Loneliness was clearly getting to her. Nine months completely alone could addle anyone's brain. After all, she was still having fits of conscience when she was seriously considering returning to Hogsmeade for no other reason than at least she wouldn't have to keep walking.

The closer she got to Devon, the less she knew what she wanted to do. A decision would have to be made before she crossed over the dangerous border. She wished she had more information about what exactly she was expected to find when she got there. Was it a shelter where she could be given refuge? As much as spending any length of time around the self-righteous arseholes who mostly comprised the Resistance sounded positively dreadful, she couldn't deny that having a warm bed and adequate food every day was an attractive prospect.

When the sun fell low in the sky and the temperature dropped even further, she knew she would have to find shelter. That was her life now. Endless moving and seeking out a temporary place to keep warm enough that she wouldn't die. Was it any wonder returning to her husband's home was starting to seem more and more like a good idea? One could go completely mad with an existence like hers and she hadn't exactly been operating at full capacity to begin with.

Deciding that she would dip into her store of money to pay for another night in a Muggle inn, she kept her eyes open for a sign on the sparsely travelled road she was walking on for any hint of civilization up ahead. After only another kilometer or so, she stumbled upon a sign giving the distances to the next two towns up ahead on her route. She recognized one of the town names. With a smile on her weary face, she turned down the road where the arrow was pointing.

Though she might have technically been going in a direction away from Devon, she didn't care. An old friend of hers lived nearby and she felt certain that she could impose upon their hospitality for the night. Or at least until she was warm enough to step outside again. Most definitely one of those souls who lived on the very fringes of so-called polite society, Hermione had no fear that he would turn her in.

Her feet were heavy and stiff when she completed the three kilometers necessary to arrive at where she hoped she could find a shelter that would keep her warm and dry. The small cottage was secluded, no neighbors within shouting distance. If one word could be used to describe the abode it was picturesque. The inhabitant took great pride in his home. Every square centimeter was meticulously maintained and she had rarely seen a more beautiful garden. He enjoyed the outdoors and preferred nature to people. Of that, she could certainly relate.

She knocked on his front door, a knot of nerves tightening in her gut. They hadn't exactly left on _bad_ terms, but it had been a long time since she last darkened his doorstep. She hoped that he wasn't going to be upset with her staying away from him as long as she had. No one answered. Worried that she was making a mistake, Hermione lifted her hand to knock a second time just as the door opened abruptly.

A sleepy Fenrir Greyback stood on the other side of the door rubbing at his eyes. He scowled at his visitor, no doubt upset that his sleep had been disturbed. Nervous that he was going to be angry, she sighed in relief when the scowl morphed into a pleased grin. Experience taught her that he was slow to respond when he'd just woken up.

"Well, well. This is a surprise."

He stepped back to allow her access into his small home. She was hardly across the threshold before his strong arms picked her entire frame off of the floor in a tight hug. The terrifying werewolf kissed her cheek and sniffed her neck in a deep inhale. It was a comforting reminder of how he always used to greet her when they were alone.

"I apologize if I'm a little too overpowering for your sensitive nose. It's hard to find a shower some days."

Laughter shook his chest. He responded at first by only squeezing her tighter before setting her back down on her feet.

"You are welcome to use my shower, if you wish. I can even help scrub any of your hard to reach places."

His cheeky wink made her laugh. She couldn't deny that she was tempted by his offer. They had an _amusing_ history. There was never what could be defined as a romance of any kind, but there was most definitely a friendship with certain pleasurable benefits.

Hermione was one of the few Death Eaters who treated the dangerous werewolf like an equal. It had been a gamble when she first decided to try to befriend him in hopes that she would have someone on her side. There was a great deal of politics involved in being a Death Eater. That was one of the very first lessons she learned on her own. Even though the werewolf terrified her and she wasn't completely over being upset about his treatment of her the night she was dragged to Malfoy Manor, she cultivated that relationship. All it took was just showing him a little bit of respect and not speaking down to him like the others and he was hers. She never once had to question his loyalty. If she asked, and she was tempted to ask more than a few times, he would even go so far as to murder Antonin. Every other Death Eater might have been terrified of what her husband was capable of, but Fenrir would dispose of him in a heartbeat if that was her desire. It was helpful to have him entirely on her side.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. It's not after the Full Moon, is it?"

There was a time when she kept up with the phases of the moon, but there had been no need. She knew that when he was recovering from the aftereffects of transformations that he would be exhausted for days. Fenrir liked to sleep in and could be quite moody and irritable. He had the opposite issue in the days leading up to the Full Moon. A burst of animalistic energy at that time often made for exhilarating visits. The man was insatiable to her benefit and delight.

"Not for another week. You just caught me being lazy."

He winked and she snorted. Before she could say anything in response, a loud growl coming from her stomach assaulted both of their ears. Fenrir found the noise amusing.

"Go shower. I'll make you dinner."

She would have been a fool to refuse such an offer. Knowing exactly where to go, she headed straight for his bathroom. One aspect of Fenrir's personality that had astonished her from the very beginning was his fastidiousness. At least in regards to how he kept his home. Sometimes he wasn't altogether bothered about his personal appearance. She knew that when she stepped inside his small bathroom, she would find it exceptionally clean and organized. He was truly a man of surprising habits.

When all of the grime from her travels was washed from her body and she was feeling like a human being again, she returned to the main room of his cottage to find the werewolf standing over the cooker preparing her a simple meal. Her mouth watered at the delicious smells. Thorfinn's food from the cafe had sated her hunger, but she always appreciated a hot meal.

"Where are you going next?"

She didn't know how to answer his question. Telling him about Devon might have given her the opportunity to seek another person's opinion, though she was wary to do so. A practical outcast he might have been, but he was still no friend to the Resistance. In lieu of an answer, she just shrugged her shoulders.

"You can stay here as long you want. No one ever bothers me here."


	55. February 23rd

February 23rd

When she first woke up in Fenrir's bed the next morning, it took Hermione a moment to remember where she was. With the exception of the Muggle she allowed to bring her home to his flat and the days she was sick in Augustus' room at the Leaky Cauldron, it had been almost a year since she had woken up next to a man. Her first thought when she felt the heat coming off of her bed companion was that she was back in Hogsmeade. One thing Fenrir and Antonin had in common was the fact that they each gave off enough body heat that they were practically the human equivalents of a furnace. Once she remembered that she wasn't back in her home, she took advantage of the pleasant warmth by inching her body even closer to his.

Nothing inappropriate had happened the night before. Over dinner they had a long discussion about what she had been doing since she ran. Fenrir filled in some of the gaps in her knowledge of what had been going on the previous several months. Her defection was not common knowledge. Any time Antonin was asked where his wife was, he made up some excuse about her being off visiting her parents abroad. It was a ridiculous lie for several reasons. Most people didn't know the truth about her parents, but she'd confided in Fenrir years earlier when they first became friends. Though he didn't know all of the facts, he'd been able to figure out for himself that she was on the run.

He confessed that he assumed she'd managed to meet up with some of the other high-profile defectors that had yet to be caught. Her respect of and friendship with Rodolphus Lestrange was well-known. Somehow the wizard had been able to elude his master for almost four years. There were rumors that he was dead, but neither of them believed that was true. Roddy was resourceful. He wouldn't be found until he _wanted_ to be found. Hermione didn't deny that she would be pleased to have her path cross his at some point in the future. Perhaps he could help her figure out what to do in the long term. What she was doing in the short term wouldn't work forever.

They stayed up late in the night talking. It had been comforting to be back with an old friend sitting in his warm, cozy cottage drinking cup after cup of hot tea. There were times that Hermione was convinced she would never be warm again. Too much time out in the elements had given her fears she never would have imagined before running. Her life itself was bizarre. Sitting with Fenrir had brought back a familiar sense of normality that she hadn't even been aware that she was missing. When every other sentence they uttered was punctuated with a heavy yawn, her host insisted they get to sleep. She'd offered to sleep out on the sofa near the fire. His cheeky insistence that his bed was the warmest spot in the entire house and there was plenty of space for both of them put that suggestion to rest.

Hermione turned on her side to stare at the sleeping werewolf. How many days had passed since she'd last done the same with another former lover of hers in London? She shook that thought out of her head. Augustus was a subject for the _past_ , not the present. He'd made his feelings for her clear long ago. Returning her full attention back to Fenrir, she mused how fascinating it was that for a being that had caused so much death and destruction he seemed perfectly innocent and harmless in his sleep. He was the ultimate monster in the fears of all small children and their terrified parents. It was a reputation that was well-deserved and hard-earned. She should have been afraid of being alone with him, especially in his bed, but she was far from it. Experience taught her that he could be perfectly malleable under the right circumstances.

She never expected their relationship to progress beyond anything other than friendship and mutual respect. After her ridiculous fight with Augustus, she'd sought out comfort in all of the wrong places. Or all of the _right_ places depending on how one looked at it. The entire Death Eater force was in a similar situation, seeking out the best methods to numb the pain and fear they were still experiencing even years after their Dark Lord's ascension to power. None of them lived what could be termed an _easy_ life. Between fighting the Resistance and the in-fighting, some days none of them knew if they were going to live to see another sunrise. It created an atmosphere that begged for debauchery.

It had been one of those rare summer nights in Scotland where the heat was unbearable. After leaving the castle where their master set up his bastardized version of a royal court, she longed for nothing more than a bottle of fire whiskey poured directly down her throat. A meeting had not gone well. Many of them were punished for their failures. She had only narrowly escaped the Dark Lord's wrath. He never liked to exact her punishments directly. Usually, if he felt that she deserved to be taught a lesson, he insisted that Antonin do it on his behalf. Perhaps that was where the boundaries in their marriage began to be skewed. How many husbands were _expected_ to beat and punish their wives by the Lord they'd dedicated their lives to? Though certainly no excuse for Antonin's behavior in the privacy of their own home, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that the same force he used in front of their master would eventually find its way into their home.

Stopping at the Shrieking Shack to catch her breath and enjoy some fresh air, she didn't know Fenrir was nearby until he stepped out of the shadows. She almost screamed and cursed him at the same time. Her reaction only made him laugh. Something in the air that night was different. Perhaps the heat went straight to her head. After standing alone with him for several minutes venting about the ineptitude of so many in their society, she had a crazy idea of how she could blow off some steam. Returning home to argue with Antonin wasn't a good alternative.

One press of her lips against Fenrir's and the wild animal inside of him came out to play. He hadn't been gentle. Just how she liked it. Ripping her knickers off with one sharp tug, he slammed her back against the side of the crumbling shack and invaded her ready and compliant body with a thrust that ripped a scream from her that was likely heard as far away as the village. After a first round that left them both bruised and begging for more, he'd kicked in a boarded up window. They spent the rest of the night moving from dusty room to dusty room destroying the remnants of the ruined furniture. It had been quite memorable.

In the midst of her reminiscences, Fenrir woke up to catch her staring at him with flushed cheeks. She couldn't get her mind off of that first night. It had been wild and exciting. She never was sure how many times she made it a point to find him again in the lead-up to the Full Moon. Fenrir took a deep inhale of the air in the bedroom and smirked.

" _Pleasant_ dreams last night?"

Hermione was embarrassed that her body gave away her secrets. It had been a long time since she was with him. A few years, at least. Their clandestine meetings didn't stop with her forced marriage to Antonin. If anything, they'd increased. She wasn't sure if her husband knew about her extramarital affairs. He probably did. After all, she knew all about his frequent visits to Andromeda Tonks' house. Antonin might have claimed that he was in love with his wife, but that didn't keep him out of the bed of his former Hogwarts sweetheart. No one ever claimed their marriage wasn't a complicated relationship. They certainly never claimed it was _healthy_ either.

Fenrir pulled Hermione under his body in one swift motion. He loomed over her with a feral grin that put fear in the hearts of his victims. She didn't fear him, however. She was more excited than afraid. He wouldn't hurt her unless she asked him to.

"Care to tell me what naughty thoughts you were having to put your body in such a delicious state?"

He slid down the length of her body, stopping every few inches to take another deep inhale of the skin he methodically exposed with the unbuttoning of her pajamas. She giggled as his breath and then his lips tickled her skin, but she refused to answer his question. Determined to make her pay for her insolence, the werewolf ripped her every stitch of clothing she had on off to her extreme delight. Her mind went fuzzy the moment his face disappeared between her thighs. All reservations about whether or not she'd made the right decision in seeking him out for temporary shelter evaporated with one lick of his practiced and talented tongue.


	56. February 24th

February 24th

At some point the next day, they had to come back up for air. Hours of fierce, frenzied activity broken up by long, lingering naps had been a decidedly pleasant way to waste a day. With no plans and nowhere to go, the unconventional friends made use of the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the forbidden pleasures they had been forced to deny themselves for longer than either of them liked.

Sometimes it's nice to fall into bed with someone with no strings attached. Granny Granger might have had an ugly name for women who behaved that way, but Hermione didn't care. Life was brief and brutal. If she could forget the bleakness of reality for a short time, she would. Fuck anyone who thought otherwise. She was no frigid, dried-up, old prude and she for damn sure was no one's moral compass.

Fenrir never expected too much out of her. For what felt like her entire life, she was always held to a higher standard than everyone else. More was expected and demanded out of her. Why she was supposed to be some creature of perfection, she had no idea. Yes, some of that was her fault. She made impossible demands of herself at times. But it wasn't just her that was responsible. No matter how many years she had proven herself to be a formidable Death Eater, there were still those who questioned her motives, who questioned her integrity. There were some who expected her to turn against their master because she was Harry Potter's best friend once upon a time. Still others who longed to use her for what they could get from her. Fenrir never wanted more influence, more opportunities to whisper in the Dark Lord's ear. All he ever desired was to be treated as more than just a monster.

If she asked him, he would let her stay as long as she wanted. Others might make the same offer, but she knew he actually meant it. She had no fear that remaining there would give him the wrong idea about her true feelings. There had been a woman he loved once. Since her tragic death, his heart had been closed and it had grown bitter. He would never love another again.

Hermione made the mistake asking him the story about his lost love early on in their deviant encounters. The truth had been difficult to hear. She wished she had kept her mouth shut. He wouldn't let her come near him for almost a year after his heart-wrenching confession.

His path first crossed Eliza's when he was an uninterested student at Hogwarts. He never would admit what House he'd been in, but questions posed to the right people produced a surprising answer: Hufflepuff. It was easy to assume that all who went over the line to the Darkness came from Slytherin. Hermione knew better than most what a ridiculous assumption that was to make. He loved the witch from afar, too shy and cowardly to tell her. Not until they were both out of school and he was working in the greenhouse of an apothecary did he find the nerve to ask her out for a pint.

They were planning to get married by the time he was cornered by a werewolf transformed into its bestial form. Sent out to harvest glowing mushrooms that only became ready under the light of the Full Moon, his thoughts had been on his worries about financing the wedding that Eliza insisted they have. He would've been satisfied with a Ministry ceremony and a bottle of champagne in bed, but if his witch wanted something, he would do what was necessary to fulfill her desires. A moment of inattention ruined their plans and their lives.

Over his bandaged and bloodied form in his St. Mungo's hospital bed, his future father-in-law made it quite clear that no daughter of his was going to have a werewolf for a husband. Fenrir didn't understand how the wizard could sneer down at him like he did. Only days earlier he'd called him 'son' and told him how pleased he and his wife were to have him join their family. How could a single bite that he didn't even ask for change him into a being lower than mud on the bottom of his shoes? Wasn't he _still_ the same man he had been when life was full of hope for the future?

Eliza didn't want to leave him. She didn't care about his affliction and still wanted to be his wife. Her parents worried that she was in danger of losing her mind, if not her life. She was one of those naïve creatures that actually believed that all two people needed was love to make it. Life hadn't yet been cruel enough to teach her she was living in a fantasy.

They made a plan to run away. It was difficult. Eliza's father had her practically a prisoner in his home out of fear that she would do exactly as she wished. A couple of weeks later when Fenrir was as fully healed from his attack as he ever would be, he snuck over to her house. She had her window opened just as she promised. Half past one in the morning she threw her bags out of the window and climbed out. Clinging to the bricks and searching for footholds, she began her treacherous descent down to the ground floor. Fenrir stood underneath her, terrified she was going to fall and ready to catch her if she did.

His attention was so focused on the woman he loved that he didn't even see her father until it was too late. The wizard's stunner wasn't nearly strong enough to actually deter the werewolf, but that didn't stop him from trying. Fenrir ignored the man's efforts to keep an eye on Eliza. She screamed at her father to stop. By the time her feet were firmly planted on the ground, her fiancé had had enough of his attacker's antics. With more confidence than he had ever possessed in the entirety of his life, the brand new werewolf grabbed the wizard's beefy throat with one hand and squeezed.

It was the first moment of his altered existence when he understood what it meant to have the lust of the kill overtake his senses. He'd described the feeling of tapping into his new werewolf traits in detail. Everything around him disappeared as he focused only on killing the weak man in front of him. He felt an obnoxious tug at his arm over and over again threatening to distract him from his task. Fenrir threw his free arm backwards, dislodging the annoyance.

Only the sound of his mother-in-law to-be screaming out Eliza's name broke his concentration. The rest of the world began to reappear around him as his grip loosened on the wizard's neck. Wails of abject misery were harsh to his sensitive ears. He spun around to see what was the source of the commotion.

Eliza lay in the grass with her deep blue eyes wide open and unblinking. The sharp scent of blood filled his nostrils. Fenrir removed his eyes from his beloved to glance up at the redness staining the side of the house. The same blood that coated the back of her head. Distraught, he collapsed to his knees, uncaring that her parents were demanding he leave and threatening to alert the Ministry. It occurred to him too late that the annoyance tugging on his arm had been his precious, innocent witch pleading with him to stop hurting her father. He hadn't known his own strength, hadn't understood that now that he was a werewolf it didn't take much effort at all to send someone as tiny as she flying backwards into the stones.

He had no reason to keep going without her in his life. Unable to bear staring at his crime any longer, Fenrir ran from the scene. Deep in the woods, in the very same place he'd been bitten just a short time before, he broke down. His truly was a cursed life. What use was there to keep on living with the knowledge that he'd been responsible for killing the only person who loved him?

Somehow he managed to find the strength to keep going. He always assumed it was pure hatred and spite that kept him alive. The closer the first Full Moon after his bite approached, the more incensed he became. While he might have been the one to physically kill Eliza, accident or not, it wasn't _his_ fault. She would still be alive if her father hadn't demanded they stay apart. The sickness in his mind coupled with his grief was a dangerous combination. By the morning of the Full Moon, he knew what he was going to do.

Eliza's parents were fools to not expect him to come calling. They didn't even seem to be concerned. There were no additional precautions taken to keep their home safe. Fenrir waited outside in their back garden for night to fall. Moments into his agonizing transformation, he was running entirely on animalistic instinct. One howl was all it took to get the fool to open his door. Knowing the man was an enemy, but not remembering why exactly, the fully transformed werewolf ran towards the open door.

By the time the moon fell from the sky, Eliza's mother was dead and her father wished he was. Fenrir disappeared from polite society for many years after that to lick his wounds and try to figure out his purpose. It wasn't until early in the sixties when a Ministry official made the same mistake his almost father-in-law had by looking down at him as nothing more than a monster that his purpose suddenly became crystal clear. He would have to change the way his kind was viewed by the wizards in power. Only when the werewolves outnumbered the wizards would he rest.

So there was no fear in Hermione's heart that her continued visitation would lead to an uncomfortable development of feelings. Fenrir would never love again. He didn't even know how. She snuggled back under the warm covers, content with the knowledge that at least for a little while longer she wouldn't have to go back out into the uncertainty of the rest of the world.


	57. February 25th

February 25th

Ignoring reality and the rest of the world tucked away in Fenrir's small cottage for several days had been a respite Hermione hadn't even been aware she was desperately needing. With no fear of being caught by someone who meant her harm, she had been able to relax and allow her body to continue to heal after the hellacious almost year she'd put it through. As long as Fenrir was nearby, he would keep her protected. His loyalty was absolute. There were times his traits and characteristics were more canine than lupine. Subtle in their difference at times, but different nonetheless.

He kept her fed during the day and warm at night. It was easy to forget the worst parts of her time on the run when it felt like she was living in the past. Her host didn't make demands of her about anything. If she'd wanted to be left alone, he wouldn't hesitate to give her space. He was content to honor their long friendship by doing nothing more than giving her a safe place to stay for a little while. For someone with the reputation of being a dangerous, homicidal monster, he could be quite kind and generous to those he cared about. Of course, it was important to always remember that he had _earned_ his reputation. Friends they might very well be, but there was always the possibility that he could turn on her if she tried to harm him or deceive him.

Time was difficult to keep track of while she stayed in his little corner of the world. She wasn't even entirely sure how many days had passed since she first knocked on his front door. There hadn't been much reason to keep track. If she wasn't taking advantage of the luxury of safety to sleep as long as she wanted, she was finding other pleasurable ways to pass the time. As the Full Moon drew nearer, Fenrir's appetite had increased in more ways than one.

"More eggs?"

The werewolf pointed to the skillet on the cooker with the spoon he was using to scramble the eggs. Hermione laughed and shook her head. Her plate still had at least three she hadn't even touched yet and her stomach was close to reaching full capacity. If she stayed with him much longer, she would be in danger of actually gaining weight on her too-thin frame. She hadn't been able to do that since before she left Hogsmeade.

Fenrir finished frying up the rest of his breakfast a short time later. He was a man who appreciated simple, uncomplicated food and plenty of it. Over the course of their friendship, she had seen him eat massive amounts of food that no other mere mortal could handle. It always amused her. Perhaps, if she stopped to really think about it, she should have been sad that he was cursed to struggle with the incurable affliction for the rest of his life. When she was the idealistic girl she once was in another lifetime, she remembered being sad every time she thought of any of the hardships Remus Lupin was forced to endure as a result of being bitten by the evil Greyback. Strange how much the experience of living could alter a person's fundamental beliefs and thoughts. If the old Hermione Granger was still alive, somehow she didn't think the younger witch would approve of how she turned out later in life.

They sat across the table without speaking while the werewolf tucked in to his plate. Something about her unexpected visit had brought out a surprising nurturing side in him. It had been a long time since anyone had fussed and fretted over her health and comfort. When he thought she _might_ be the tiniest bit peckish, he was in the kitchen searching for something to feed her. If the temperature dropped a single degree in the cottage, he made sure that she had a warm blanket or an extra jumper of his to wear. He was protective over her as she slept. If she hadn't known about his tragic history when it came to love, she might have even been foolish enough to believe that he was falling in love with her.

"How many days until the Full Moon?"

He waited long enough to finish chewing his food and swallowing before answering. Only four days remained before she needed to find somewhere else to spend a few nights. Though he wasn't likely to attack her in his transformed state, one could not be too careful. In an effort to keep her protected from the vile creatures he despised, Antonin frequently demanded that she remain safely tucked away at home the nights that werewolves roamed the Earth in their transformed bodies. She always thought it rich that he worried about her at those times, but didn't seem to mind when she was ravaged by a werewolf under the light of any of the other moon phases. To say that their marriage had been a bit complicated was an understatement.

She rolled the idea of continuing her trek to Devon around in her mind. Draco had been so insistent that she go there and she still didn't understand why. What would she find there? Part of her still assumed that it was a trick, a way for the Resistance to capture her and use her for some kind of nefarious purpose she hadn't quite worked out yet. Thinking too hard about what they might have planned if she showed up made her brain go all fuzzy.

"What are you planning to do next?"

Fenrir had always been a remarkably perceptive man. Time and time again he'd impressed her with his thoughtfulness, with the manner in which it seemed that he could read her mind. He knew that she was considering leaving. As much as she had enjoyed the time she spent with him, she knew it was not a long-term solution. His life might be isolated and his home rarely visited, but that didn't mean he was the answer to her problems. Hiding out with him was simply delaying the inevitable.

"I'm not sure."

It was the truth. Knowing that she was being honest, he didn't press her any further. They continued in their companionable silence as he continued his meal. Her mind never stopped turning with thoughts of her next steps. The novelty of relaxation in complete safety had already begun to wear off.

"What do you think of the Resistance?"

Fenrir's fork dropped to his plate with a clang at the question she didn't even expect to ask. Somehow the words just tumbled out of her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her as if he was trying to gauge exactly _why_ she was asking. His reluctance to answer the question was evident. Finally, when the air in the room grew heavy with the awkwardness of the moment, he gave an answer in a gruff tone.

"I haven't been happy with how this country has been run for the last several years."

She understood why he hadn't wanted to come right out and answer the question. Even a simple sentence like his could get him in severe trouble if she was of a mind to report him to the proper authorities. Before she ran away from her husband and the life that she had created in Hogsmeade, she had been the perfect, dutiful, little Death Eater. If she even _suspected_ that someone she knew was harboring ill thoughts about the regime she had dedicated her life to protecting, she didn't hesitate to make a formal report. Over the years she had lost count of the number of people who had been punished in various degrees of severity for the reports she'd filed. It was no wonder that he had never been so forthright with her about his feelings. Once upon a time, good fuck or not, she wouldn't have hesitated to turn him in for seditious speech.

"There are more laws than there used to be. I thought when the Dark Lord won, we'd have more freedom to live our lives. Now, I can't even bite a person without worrying about being called in for a formal inquiry."

Fenrir had never given up fully on his plan to populate the world with more werewolves than wizards. He still preferred to find children that were young and malleable. When they were first victorious, he had been allowed to seek out the families of the worst of the blood traitors to begin building the armies he desired with the children of the vanquished. There had even been a formal rule in the beginning when they went on their raids against the Resistance. Children were not to be harmed if at all possible. They were to be captured in good health and handed over to Fenrir's pack. Though the Dark Lord would _never_ allow his full plan to come to fruition, Fenrir was pacified for a long time. It _seemed_ like one day his goal would be realized.

Hermione didn't know all of the details of the large pack of werewolves he was responsible for. Truthfully, it had never interested her much. All she knew was he and others like him had been a convenient way to get unruly children to behave. She and Antonin both had been known to warn their son that bad little boys were bitten by werewolves and forced to live outside away from their mummy and daddy. He usually straightened up quickly.

As time had gone on after the war ended and they moved from a 'conquering' people to a 'ruling' people, the Dark Lord began to put in place restrictions on the number of children Fenrir and his pack were allowed to bite. Two werewolves mating and biting their offspring when they were young was considered a family matter that they had no business interfering in. Even the rare werewolf marriage with a non-bitten spouse had some freedom to change their little darlings into monsters if they so desired. But, the general public became less and less allowed. She suspected that Fenrir was frustrated though she didn't have the first clue to the extent.

"And do you think the Resistance is the answer? Don't you think they will just set up the same kind of restrictions?"

"If they can make the world go back to what it used to be like, I'll be happy."

She knew that normal people would find it strange that they were discussing the possibility of a world where he was free to maul and transform small children into beasts as an attractive prospect. It didn't matter. She wouldn't judge Fenrir for his crimes. She had more than enough of her own.


	58. February 26th

February 26th

Her time with Fenrir needed to come to an end. Even as she knelt on his bedroom floor on all fours while he thrust deliciously and painfully into her body from behind, she knew that she couldn't stay. It was tempting to forget about what was happening in the rest of the world to allow their debauchery to continue behind closed doors. She had had many lovers over the years that knew how to pluck the right notes from her body with a single touch. Fenrir had always been the best. Or, maybe just the most violent and passionate. She didn't always care for sweetness and tenderness in the bedroom.

His stamina was increasing with each day that ticked closer to the Full Moon. Likewise, his appetite was growing larger and larger for all aspects of living that he enjoyed. Hermione's entire body ached with the pleasant reminders of the virility of her partner. He had been sensing her need to move on, to continue her journey wherever that might take her. Neither of them knew if they would ever have another chance to see each other again. They each seemed determined to wring out every drop of pleasure while they could.

Fenrir would never beg her to stay with him. Not in a million years. Over the course of her impromptu visit he had made certain that she knew that she was welcome to remain as long as she desired. Many times he reminded her that all she had to do was ask and his home was hers for however long she wished. He sprinkled in _enjoyable_ reminders of what she had to look forward to if she stayed. Though he might have desired nothing more than for her to never leave him, he would never articulate the words. He had too much pride. And they had never been in love.

She had lost count the number of rounds they'd already had that morning. The man was insatiable and she was able to forget all of her worries about the future when she was otherwise occupied. It was definitely not a long-term solution, but then again, she hadn't had one of those for a very long time. Part of her wondered if she would ever have need for one again. Blissfully ignoring the worst of her problems for a few moments of pleasure would never be the greatest of ideas. She didn't care. There were too few times she was able to shut her mind off.

A harsh pounding on the front door of the cottage stopped Fenrir mid-thrust. No one had bothered them the entire time she had been there. Suddenly worried that she had finally been discovered, Hermione could feel her stomach twist and turn into knots. Her companion took a deep sniff of the air. A low growl accompanied the tensing of his entire body. Whoever it was, they were not welcome. He pulled himself out of her body when they were both hit with the unmistakable feel of a _Homenum Revelio_. They knew that there were two people inside the cottage. Based on the reaction he had when he sniffed the air, she got the feeling that Fenrir was aware of who was waiting outside.

"Who is it?"

"Your husband."

Two words. Two simple words uttered had the power to bring her world crashing down around her ears. All of the running she had done for the previous months had been for nothing. Antonin was about to catch her. What happened next was anyone's guess. She felt frozen in fear, unable to even gather up the necessary courage to get up and make a respectable run for it again. She was trapped.

The banging on the door increased in its intensity. Antonin was not the kind of man to just give up when faced with an obstacle. Few people alive frightened him and Fenrir Greyback was _not_ one of them. If it became necessary, he would blast the door off of its hinges and force his way in. He had very little respect for personal property when it suited him otherwise.

Fenrir shouted for his unexpected visitor to wait. At least for the moment, Antonin ceased his knocking. Needing to move quickly to keep his home intact, Fenrir took control of the situation. He grabbed his wand off of the nightstand next to the bed. A single utterance and Hermione felt each of her four limbs encircled with heavy rope. The monster was tying her to the foot of his bed in a grotesque and painful position. When she tried to protest, he silenced her with another spell and covered her entire head with a shirt that smelled strongly of him. A tingling across her body she couldn't understand made her begin to squirm. The moment the tingling was replaced with the sting of sharp pain, she tried to fight against her constraints.

"Calm down, girl. I'm just covering up the scars he might recognize. No need to add bruises. Looks like what we've been doing the last few days has given you plenty of those."

He laughed and she began to calm. Though not entirely confident in his abilities, she knew she could trust him. He would do what he could to keep her out of her husband's grip. A cooling sensation on her left arm disillusioned the Dark Mark she'd carried for much of her life. The pounding on the door began again. Antonin was losing patience.

"Best I can do on such short notice." Fenrir playfully smacked her bare arse. "I'll try to keep him out of the bedroom, but if he forces his way in here, pretend to be a terrified Muggle. Maybe he won't look too closely."

It was more solid of a plan than hers to just sit there waiting to be found. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he made his way to the front door. With a loud growl he opened the door and demanded his visitor tell him what the meaning of his interruption was. Hearing the familiar cadence of Antonin's voice terrified Hermione down to her very core. What was he doing there? Had he discovered her hiding place?

"Oh, ho! What do we have here?"

Rabastan Lestrange's delighted voice flooded the bedroom. Knowing that he was getting a thorough look at her nakedness, she struggled again unsuccessfully at her restraints. There might have been many nights in her past where she willingly invited the man into her bed, but the vulnerability of her current position frightened her beyond words. She felt a fingertip on the top of her spine. It travelled down her bare back, threatening to press against the most intimate part of her body. Fearing that he was going to go much further than just threats, she tried to fight back. Her reaction only encouraged him in his boldness. Feeling the wizard kneel behind her in much the same position that Fenrir had earlier, she couldn't breathe. When her ears were assaulted with the sound of a zipper being lowered, she tried not to panic. A loud growl from Fenrir and a stinging hex from Antonin halted his movements.

"Fuck, Antonin! What was that for?"

"You weren't seriously about to touch that, were you?"

"Don't tell me you're not tempted to give her a go."

"No, I wouldn't fuck the werewolf's leavings."

Fenrir's harsh bark of laughter silenced them all. The moment he made the remark that Antonin had never been too particular before, the room erupted into a flash of violence Hermione wished she could see. From the best she could gather, Rabastan was only _just_ able to keep her husband from killing her lover. Several minutes passed before they were calmed down enough to speak again. The master of the house demanded that they leave his pet alone and continue their discussion in the other room.

She couldn't hear anything they said with the door closed. Without having the other two Death Eaters in the room with her, she _should_ have felt calmer, but she didn't. A million different possibilities of why they were actually there ran through her mind. Maybe someone had seen her enter his house days earlier. She thought she had been very careful in her stay by not going outside and keeping the curtains closed. Maybe Antonin was confronting the man he had to have known his wife was having an affair with. He could have exhausted all other avenues in his search.

Time seemed to pass so slowly while she waited. Only when she heard the front door open and shut did she begin to calm. Fenrir began removing her restraints and the silencing spell moments later. She couldn't build up enough courage to speak. Taking pity on her, he helped her up to her feet and led her to the edge of the bed to sit. Covering her shivering body with a blanket, he sat next to her with his arm around her shoulders.

"They were here on the Dark Lord's orders. Had nothing to do with you."

Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding. The pounding of her heart in her ears grew softer until she couldn't even hear it any longer. Still they sat next to each other without speaking.

"I need to leave. That was too close."

He didn't argue.


	59. February 27th

February 27th

Leaving the comfort of Fenrir's home had been difficult even though Hermione knew it was a necessity. Antonin and Rabastan stopped by the day before only to pass on a message that the Dark Lord requested the honor of his presence before the next Full Moon. Something about needing to discuss the might of the werewolf pack he had been growing over the years. He suspected he was about to have another restriction on his activities. Just another shorter leash for Lord Voldemort's pet werewolf.

The fact that her husband had been so close to capturing her and she had been so close to being physically violated by the cretin Rabastan were two more valid reasons why she needed to go. Fenrir's farce had worked that time, but there was no indication it could work again. Hermione had been impressed by his quick thinking even if being treated like nothing more than a common Muggle victim plucked off the streets for an evening of torture and debauchery humiliated her to her very being. Was that how their victims felt when they were facing death? It was enough to make her rethink ever participating in another evening of dark revelry.

By the time she was allowed to leave Antonin's house as a fresh recruit to the Death Eaters, she had been properly trained and conditioned to her new reality to not be bothered much by the horror and depravity she saw at the mass gatherings of the Dark Lord's followers. Her teacher kept her isolated from most of the worst acts. Though he had never shielded her from the violence, he hadn't allowed her to actually join in until he was satisfied that she was finished with her training. Or, rather, until he was satisfied that all of the parts of her mind and soul that made her into the bookish best friend of Harry Potter had been removed from her personality entirely. Once he knew that she was the exact puppet his master requested, he'd let her partake in the fun.

There were many rumors about what went on at Dark revels. Most of them were complete rubbish and tosh. Never had she seen any babies sacrificed or blood drunk from victims, unwilling or otherwise. Yes, there was a great deal of sex at the events, but with the exception of the Muggles and blood traitors they were planning to execute at the end anyway, all of it had been perfectly consensual. No gang rapes of female Death Eaters were in evidence though she wouldn't deny that it wasn't uncommon for the Marked witches to have several sexual partners in a single evening. Hell, she'd done the same.

Another rumor that seemed to persist for reasons she never understood was that they were under the influence of either the Imperius Curse or potions that took their will away. That was just absolutely untrue. She had no idea why that began. Likely it was a result of one of the more squeamish recruits who didn't want to readily admit to torturing and raping those that they might have known before the world changed. Every single person who participated in a revel did so because they _wanted_ to. It was never a question of being forced. The Dark Lord did not demand that they participate. In fact, many of them chose not to. These events were merely avenues for the devoted followers to let off some steam and get some of the blood lust out of their systems. Once Thorfinn finally put a ring on Hufflepuff Hannah's finger, he had always respectfully bowed out of any such gathering. It was a shame too. Hermione could remember many enjoyable evenings with his cock in her mouth while she had another nameless Death Eater taking her from behind. Marriage made him respectable and _boring_.

Being on the other end of the restraints made her rethink some of the actions in her past. If she was forced back into her old life by her husband, she wasn't sure she would have the stomach to kill again. Her exact number was unknown, just how she wanted it. Putting a name and face to every life she snuffed out was a nauseating prospect. She didn't know how others did it. There were particular names that she would never forget for varying reasons, of course, but she never strived to uncover them all. Some of them she regretted, like Oliver Wood. Others, she would commit again in a heartbeat. And still others she would recreate and make longer and more painful than the first time.

Salazar Selwyn was one that she would love to go back in time to improve upon. There was no love lost between the two of them. He was one of the three men that called for her death when she was thrown at the feet of the Dark Lord after spending weeks inside the broom closet at Hogwarts. His idea that she be locked in the dungeon of the castle to be used for both target practice and so-called 'tension release' was something she would never forget or forgive. He was one that she was determined would meet a sticky end by her hand.

Much like Walden Macnair, she had to wait and be patient for her opportunity. The wizard was suspicious and for good reason. Many others before her had attempted to snuff out his miserable existence. Each of them had not only failed, but brought about their own end instead. He was a man easily despised.

Despite having a pretty wife and a son who was his mirror image, it was no secret that his predilections were for members of his own sex. He might have suggested that she be tied up and raped repeatedly at the leisure of all Death Eaters who might have been interested, but he never would have participated in such a vile act. Hermione wanted to make his death memorable and painful. Amycus Carrow was already dead of the exact suggestion that he'd given for how she was to be dispatched. Macnair had died a gruesome death that had been _almost_ what he wished for her fate. Selwyn's murder needed to be awful.

Sadly, she'd botched it up from the very beginning and almost gotten herself killed in the process. She wasn't able to lure him to her home with the promise of sex nor had she been able to maneuver a mission to get him alone with her and a trusted ally. It was only by sheer hate that she was able to end him. Even years after the fact she regretted how she'd almost failed. His death had been too quick, too painless. Much of her life was sprinkled with regrets. That moment was one of the worst.

Knowing that she was in danger of being caught by Antonin, Hermione made the only decision that she could once she kissed Fenrir goodbye and enjoyed one more instance of being bent over his kitchen table. She had to go to Devon. Even if death at the hands of the Resistance was waiting for her there, she had to keep going. Part of her was anxious to trust Draco, as ridiculous as that seemed. After so many opportunities to end her life and not taking them, maybe he really was trying to make the world a better place. It was an admirable goal, one that once upon a time she would have been willing to share.

Walking out in the open across the country was no longer a safe prospect. For all she knew, Antonin had his own spies set up to watch Fenrir's house after the incident the day before. She had rarely seen him so angry as he was when her lover implied that he'd never been bothered before fucking his wife after him. It had been a crass moment that made her cringe. Her husband was not a man who forgave such disrespect lightly. If he was the man she knew he was, Antonin was already planning how he was going to get rid of the werewolf once and for all. Yet one more reason to run. Fenrir's home wasn't safe anymore.

The trip to Devon didn't take nearly as long by coach as it would have if she'd kept to her feet. Even waiting at the stops along the way brought her to the area in question just as the sun was dipping out of the sky. She took her time seeking out the exact address. Knowing the Resistance, they were already aware she was there moments after she stepped foot on the ground.

Just before nine o'clock she stood in front of the door of the mysterious address. Calling up her reserves of courage, she knocked. Over a minute passed before the knob turned. She was half-convinced that she made a mistake. Perhaps this had all been some sick joke.

Of all of the people in the entire world she expected to see open the door, Lee Jordan would not have even made the top one thousand. To her knowledge, he was still locked away in Azkaban with a life sentence for murdering his wife and almost killing his daughters. Completely bogus allegations, of course, but when had that stopped their regime? His bright smile startled her into complete silence and shock.

"We've been waiting for you, Hermione."

The 'we' he was referring to became all too evident when Sarah, his supposedly dead wife, stepped to his side with her own dazzling smile.


	60. February 28th

February 28th

Draco Malfoy's cryptic request that she not hate him when she arrived at the address he gave her in Devon became clear almost immediately when she saw the entire Jordan family, well and completely whole, moments after she arrived. They were all pleased to see her again. Each of them greeted her with warm hugs and laughter she felt like she didn't deserve. Wasn't it her fault that they were almost destroyed? Her husband was the one who violated the treaty the Dark Lord created with the leaders of the Welsh magical community early on in his reign. Their lives were irrevocably changed because of her very existence.

Except, it didn't seem like any of that was true. The previous twenty-four hours had passed by in such a blur of surrealistic activity that she was still reeling. As the time ticked closer to midnight her second night in Devon, she lay in the private bedroom she'd been provided in the Jordan family's new home trying to put all of the pieces together. Making some sort of sense of what happened was not an easy task.

Lee welcomed her into the house once their greetings were complete. Sarah was determined that she would be the perfect hostess again by immediately brewing a pot of tea for their guest. The girls were frustrated that they were ordered to go to bed early to let the grown-ups talk. Posy went without question, but Lizzie dragged her feet and made it clear that she thought they were being unfair. The nervousness that Hermione felt around the older of the two Jordan girls was still present. If anything, it was even more pronounced. What was it about the girl that unnerved her so?

There was much to discuss to her surprise. Once the three adults were seated around the kitchen table with hot cups of tea and fresh biscuits, the questions poured out of Hermione. Part of her was still in shock at finding them waiting for her. What was the purpose of Draco giving her the newspapers, clearly falsified, claiming that they were victims of unnecessary violence?

"Dolohov was able to trace you to the Muggle police station. Apparently, we aren't the only ones with someone on the inside of the department keeping an eye on arrests of strange people."

She wasn't surprised to know that her husband had connections even in Wales. No doubt he was frustrated to arrive only to find out she was no longer there. Though worried what kind of body count he left behind, she asked after the kind Muggles who had arrested her. _That_ , however, was one of the only questions Lee initially refused to answer. He seemed bothered that she would even care about the Muggles. She wasn't without compassion! They could have easily treated her like a hostile criminal instead of being gentle and careful in their treatment of her. Hermione thought about the female police officer with the soft, kind voice. Had her husband ended her life in some sort of cruel manner?

"It doesn't really matter what happened there, Hermione."

"The hell it doesn't!"

Lee sighed when it became apparent that she wasn't going to let the issue drop so easily. After exchanging concerned expressions with his wife, her host described how Antonin had been incensed to find that she had been released. There had definitely been an incident, something that no doubt the Dark Lord himself would have to fix with the leaders of the Welsh magical community. His reluctance to tell her exactly how many people were injured gave her all of the knowledge she needed. He'd killed at least one of them for certain. Likely more than a few.

A compulsion spell, probably the Imperius, cast on one of the poor Muggles revealed that she had been taken out of the station by a man named Lee Jordan. Why Lee had to show his _actual_ identification when asked instead of just using his own spell was beyond Hermione. Had life in the security and safety of Wales stripped him of all of his self-preservation tactics? Once there was a time in her life when she couldn't justify using an Imperius Curse, but that time was long gone. If her very survival was in jeopardy, there was very little she wouldn't do.

With Lee's name it hadn't taken long for Antonin to track down his home. Hermione used to know every single contact and connection her husband had. As time wore on and he became more secretive and power-hungry, she was left more and more out of the loop. She had once been his partner, practically equal in everything they did. A lot had changed. He saw her alternatively as being either something weak and precious he needed to protect or a potential enemy he needed to be suspicious of. If she'd stayed much longer in their home, she wasn't sure what he would eventually do. Probably end up killing her to _protect_ her or some other such rubbish that made no sense.

Lee and Sarah had been preparing themselves for a visit from the notorious Death Eater. When he knocked on their front door, they had remained as calm as it was possible to be. He offered them promises that he wouldn't hurt them if they just surrendered his wife.

"He seemed very worried about you, Hermione," said Sarah as she refilled her empty cup. "Not at all like I expected. When Lee told him how you'd already left, he was more sad than angry."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Between the bizarre lunch she had with Thorfinn earlier in the month and their odd initial interaction with Antonin, she was having trouble believing anything anyone she cared about said. To believe that her homicidal husband was actually _concerned_ about her instead of wishing to track her down to make her pay for hurting and humiliating him was just naive and ridiculous. She had been under the impression for years that _she_ was the one losing grip on her sanity. Was it possible that the problem was with everyone else instead?

The rest of the story that they were willing to tell came out in a few more sentences. Antonin hadn't so much as raised their wand against them. Just simply asked that they inform him the moment his wife attempted to make contact with them again. He assured them over and over again that he wasn't there to hurt her and he only wanted to bring her home where she would be safe again.

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. If Antonin was so uncharacteristically generous as to let you both go without so much as a stinging hex, why are you here? Why was Malfoy so dead-set on making me believe that you were dead, Sarah? And why make me think that you were in Azkaban, Lee?"

Before his wife could answer, Lee sighed again and began an explanation that Hermione was certain would never be good enough.

"We are here because even in Wales we could feel the world changing. _Something_ is coming. Something big. As much as we might like to keep our girls protected and safely tucked away out of harm's way, we don't feel right about just sitting back and letting others do the hard work."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Did he really expect her to believe that he would drag his family out of a safe place to drop them right in the middle of the Resistance where they were all likely to be maimed or murdered? The pieces of the puzzle were not fitting together.

"And as for why Draco wanted you to believe we were victims of horrific violence, I'm afraid that's a question you will have to ask him when he gets here."

The finality with which Lee uttered the words made it apparent that she would get nothing more out of him. He offered her the spare bedroom at the end of the corridor for as long as she wanted to have it. Refusing to leave Devon until she got every single answer she wanted, she accepted.

It felt strange to be back in the same house with the Jordan family. If she didn't pay attention to the decor of the bedroom she was in, she could almost imagine that she was back in Wales and time hadn't passed. Hermione tried to fall asleep, but her mind wouldn't shut itself off. When everyone was in bed and she could take it no longer, she snuck out of the house to go for a walk. Fresh air always helped.

She managed to make it only as far as the back garden before she realized she wasn't alone. Reaching into her pocket for the wand she would use if she had to, the startled witch spun around on her heel. Emerging from behind a large hedge was a massive Saint Bernard. She dropped her arm to her side and laughed.


	61. March 1st

March 1st

No one would ever accuse Hermione of being a dog lover. For the most part and with very few exceptions, she found the creatures to be entirely too hairy and too smelly. Her son begged and pleaded for a puppy when he was younger. Antonin would've given in to his demands if not for his wife refusing to allow any disgusting creature in their home. She knew that their son was too young to properly care for the animal. It would end up being her responsibility. To encourage her son to cease his cries, she promised him that when he was older and more able to care for a dog himself, they would revisit the request. It pacified him. She had been hoping for years that he would forget that he ever wanted one to begin with.

She didn't know a great deal about dogs, but she knew that very few of them were as filthy and disgusting as Saint Bernards. Sure, they might look adorable and fluffy, but they were notorious for the drool that dripped from their oversized jowls and the mountains of hair they left behind. If she had to pick a dog, she would have steered clear of the very one that was sitting on its haunches staring at her.

"It's been a long time."

The dog let out a soft bark in response. Without warning it began walking further into the darkness away from the house. When it was clear she wasn't following, he turned around to stare at her over his shoulder. Realizing it was non-verbally requesting her presence on his post-midnight stroll, Hermione followed.

They walked for several minutes in the almost pitch black darkness. She wasn't worried about the creature steering her into the path of danger. Many times over the years he'd saved her life. Hell, she'd saved his too. There were few souls in existence that she felt she could trust without fear. The Saint Bernard leading the way was one of them.

He stopped abruptly in a darkened corner far from any potential witnesses who might have been peering out their bedroom windows. Hermione almost tripped over his furry form. A stepped-on paw was his reward.

"Fuck, Hermione. Watch where you're stepping."

Rodolphus Lestrange, transformed back into his human form, shook his left hand with a grimace on his handsome face. Excited to see the secret Animagus for the first time in over four years, she didn't care that he was in pain or annoyed with her. She simply wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. It took him a few moments to settle down enough to return the affection. When he pushed her away from his chest, she thought up a dozen different questions to ask him that just came dripping off her tongue in a torrent.

" _One_ at a time, Hermione."

He had always been one of her favorites. Not the most social of creatures, human or canine, he often kept to himself. Antonin explained to her on several different occasions that the wizard that had gone in to Azkaban had never come back out. There were some flashes of the man that Rodolphus used to be from time to time, but for the most part, he was a complete stranger. And even though he would never admit it, her husband missed the man he had once been.

Still, she found there to remain a great deal about the man worthy of admiring. When she first met the infamous widower of Crazy Batshite Bellatrix Lestrange, she'd been nervous. She'd assumed that he was just like his late wife. Nothing could be further from the truth. A simple conversation with the man set her mind abuzz with questions she bombarded her then-teacher with. Antonin patiently answered every single one with an amused grin.

Even before he was arrested and tried for the disgusting, horrific attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, Rodolphus was already regretting making the decision to become a Death Eater. Unlike his younger brother who was a loyal fanatic, he'd only initially joined because he saw the opportunity to get up the skirt of a pretty witch. By the time he knew exactly what he'd gotten himself into, it was too late to get out. He did what was necessary to survive, telling very few people about his hidden talent.

She had admired him from the start. Standoffish, almost to the point of being rude, he was one of the few Death Eaters who treated her like an equal from Day One. Not once did he ever look down on her or act like she was just a traitor waiting to happen. He also never saw her as a potential sex partner which was both encouraging and highly insulting at the same time. She never had to worry about him taking liberties like some of the other bottom dwellers that flooded the ranks, but after a while, when they had gone on several missions together, she really wished he would.

"Are you with the Resistance?"

It was a logical question. Why else would he be in the midst of a rebel stronghold waiting in the dark for a fellow defector to come outside? Draco was his nephew after all. Though he would never advertise it publicly, Rodolphus had a soft spot for his sister-in-law. Always had. It was an open secret that he frequented Malfoy Manor over the years. Their public shame never deterred him from seeking them out. She wondered if he was the reason why Draco was involved with the Resistance. Or maybe it was the other way around.

"Not exactly. I'm not _not_ part of the Resistance though."

Another one of his talents, besides turning into a large drooling dog, was speaking in cryptic phrases that didn't always make sense. She could remember many instances of having a conversation with him that she only half-understood. Getting a solid answer from him about anything was likely to be difficult, if not downright impossible. Rodolphus kept a lot close to his chest. If he wanted someone to know something, they knew it. If he didn't, they didn't. Knowing that that was as far as he was going to go towards answering that particular question, she persisted with a few more.

A tiny part of her was tempted to ask him if he was the mysterious Death Eater who demanded her protection in exchange for his support, but the more she thought about it, the less that idea made any sense. They were polite and friendly with each other while he was in the service of the Dark Lord. That didn't mean that he was willing to keep her protected. They weren't exactly friends and to her disappointment, they'd never been lovers. What would be in it for him to demand her survival? Besides, he was no use as a Death Eater since his defection. Whomever was insistent that she be spared had to still be within the ranks of Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers. Deciding that was an issue to solve for another day, Hermione shook her head and continued with her next question.

"Where have you been since you left? Here?"

"I've been a lot of places. It's not difficult for me to find a place to hide out for a while as a dog. For the first couple of years, I lived with a few different families as it suited me. Muggles, of course. Some suspicious wizards and witches are too quick to cast a Animagus revealing spell on stray dogs that wander up to their house."

"Learned that one the hard way?"

He nodded.

"It's a good thing I'm good with memory charms too or I might have been caught."

"And after the first couple of years? What then? Why are you here now?"

"That's a long, complicated story, I'm afraid."

"I have nowhere to go and all the time in the world."

Rodolphus cut her off by leaning down to brush his lips against her forehead. It was a patronizing movement that served its purpose. She knew he would tell her nothing more that night. If she had more questions, she would have to wait for the answers. Maybe that was his plan all along. Use her prodigious curiosity against her to keep her in place. She hated that he knew her well enough to know that that tactic would work.

"You should go back inside before you're missed."

There was no reason to linger and the walk had done her some good. Her eyelids felt heavy. As she turned to head back to the comfort of a warm bed, he called after her one final time.

"You should stay a while, Hermione. I think you'll be glad you did."


	62. March 2nd

March 2nd

Hermione didn't leave her bedroom much. It was easier to stay hidden and isolated than it was to try to integrate herself into a family she wasn't a part of. The Jordan family went about their daily lives only steps from her and though they each made an effort to draw her out of her confinement, she didn't budge.

She watched the world outside through a crack in the curtains. Knowing she was right in the middle of a Resistance stronghold was a big reason to stay inside. How many friends and family members of the nearest neighbors had she personally murdered? Or her husband? They were a respected couple within the ranks of the Death Eaters and feared by those without for very good reason.

A simple walk in the area before the sun went down the day before drew a number of uncomfortable stares. The address she had been given was the center of a small village comprised entirely of witches and wizards and their families. There had been some intermarriage with Muggles that had produced a number of residents who only sort of knew the significance of her presence. She could spot them in a heartbeat because they were the only ones not immediately rushing out into the front gardens to snatch their children up as she passed by. Some of them even smiled or gave her a nod.

It wasn't as if she wasn't used to be around those that loathed and despised her. _Years_ with the Dark Lord meant that was an occurrence she had grown rather used to and comfortable with. The amount of infighting that took place within the Death Eater ranks was enough that they should all be ashamed of themselves. Loyalty was a difficult commodity to come across in the world she had been a willing part of for so long. She knew exactly how it felt to enter a room with every single person within wishing death and torture on her head. Once upon a time it even gave her a thrill. There were very few people in the world that she knew could best her if it came down to a duel. Only two, really. She was married to one of them and the pampered pet of the other. She vividly remembered a time when that kind of scrutiny gave her a rush.

With the Resistance, however, she didn't feel comfortable walking amongst them. She wasn't sure how exactly, but it seemed that magic was used freely in their corner of Devon without fear of reprisal. Either the Ministry never bothered with them because of their location or they had figured out a way around the trace. Considering they had been over a hundred miles away from the area when Ginny cast her patronus to warn Draco of her imminent arrival to their tent in the forest, Hermione assumed it was the latter. That was one of the few reasons she stayed. Perhaps, if she lingered long enough, she would learn how to tap into her magic without her husband being immediately alerted to her presence.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her away from the window. Though she wasn't expecting a visitor, there had been several knocks already that day: Sarah offering her breakfast, Posy wanting to know if she wanted to play outside with her, Lizzie asking a question about what she claimed was her lessons from school, Lee attempting to coax her out with promises of more fresh biscuits. None of them had worked. Lee's, however, had certainly been the most tempting.

Preparing herself for another request that she come outside and join the family, Hermione exhaled a heavy sigh before answering the door. A polite, but firm refusal was ready on her tongue, but it was unnecessary. Her visitor wasn't one of the Jordans coming to bother her again that morning. In fact, several days had passed since she'd last seen the man with the pale hair.

"Do you mind if we talk in private?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's request, but didn't say 'no'. Stepping aside to let him enter her sanctuary, she closed the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the bedroom seeming ill at ease. Always the perfect gentleman. Part of her was tempted to be rude and not invite him to sit down. After all, she didn't really want to be in his presence again. Not since he had lied to her and deceived her in such a terrible manner. She had almost returned to her husband because of what he did, for Merlin's sake! Finally taking pity on him, she gestured to a squashy armchair next to the window.

Neither of them spoke for a number of awkward moments after he took his offered seat and she sat on the edge of the bed. When one had a great deal to discuss, where did they start? Hermione wasn't sure that she would ever stop being angry with his deception. Arriving at the Jordan house without knowing what she would find inside had been jarring. Learning that the witch who had been so kind to her when she didn't have to be was still alive had been decidedly pleasant news, of course, but she wished that she hadn't been forced to go through the trauma of imagining that their entire family was ruined because of her mere presence.

"So, I guess you probably want to know why I gave you those newspapers."

She couldn't keep from rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of his statement. It was so uncharacteristic of him to speak so softly, so unsure of himself. Even when they were children playing at being adults, he was always so confident. A lot about him had changed since his family's fall from favor, but he still managed to comport himself with grace and self-assurance.

"That would be a great place to start, yes."

Draco sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Yet another mannerism she would never have imagined he possessed. If it was possible, he seemed the most uncomfortable about being around her as he ever had before. Coming clean about one's crimes had a tendency to do that to a person. When he didn't immediately offer up an explanation, she spat out a question that she had been deliberating on for days.

"Was it another test? Another way for you to figure out if I was worthy to be trusted?"  
"Honestly? Yes, it was."

She was growing weary of continually being the subject of these tests. What purpose did they serve anyway? Was the very fact that she never wanted to be in her husband's presence again proof enough that she was no longer a threat? Some of the glamour and gilding chipped off of her former life. Once content to be a high-ranking member of the Dark Lord's most loyal Inner Circle, she desired to live an existence just a bit _quieter_ than that one. Draco could at least have the courtesy to leave her alone while she tried.  
"Would you kindly explain just _what_ exactly I was being tested on?"

If he refused to answer, she made the decision that she would have no more use for him. He was the only reason why she was living amongst the rebels who wouldn't spit on her if she was on fire. One more lie or one more refusal to tell the truth and no matter how much he begged or pleaded, she would not stay. There were too many unknowns, too much potential for danger to keep putting herself in this same situation. Either he would answer her question or she would be out the door.

"I believed that you would do one of two things after you saw the newspapers. Either you would be unaffected and keep on running or you wouldn't. If you kept on running with no care or thought for the carnage you left behind in your wake, I would know that you couldn't be trusted. You would still be too concerned with your own safety."

She didn't want to interrupt him when he was _finally_ being honest. That didn't mean she didn't still have more questions she wanted answered. How many more tests would she be subjected to until he finally decided she was trustworthy or until he left her alone?  
"I _hoped_ you would decide to turn yourself in. Go back to your husband and make him stop hurting innocent people in his search for you."

"You wanted me to go to Antonin?"

"Yes, because that would be the only way to get these attacks to stop. If there was still something worth saving inside of you, that would prove it."

Hermione had had enough of listening to the wizard. She rose abruptly to her feet and headed straight for the door. Over her shoulder, she made a final remark she hoped he would understand.

"I don't need anyone to _save_ me, Malfoy. Least of all you."


	63. March 3rd

March 3rd

It had taken an extra long walk outside to calm Hermione down to the point that she could return to the home she was staying in after her visit with Draco. She didn't even care that she received hostile looks everywhere she went. The Resistance members could go on hating her to her face. It didn't matter. Truthfully, she had been tempted to pack everything she owned back into her beaded bag and leave. Destination didn't matter. All she knew was that she couldn't stay there.

Draco had been wise enough to leave her alone. Another confrontation with him so soon after their private meeting would not have gone well. She was struggling to keep it all together as it was. One more heated discussion and she might crumble under the strain. Her brain felt heavy, exhausted, fuzzy. Almost like she was losing what limited grip on reality she had. Of course that thought only made her chuckle. When was the last time she even remembered what it felt like to be completely coherent and sane?

Sarah was kind enough to leave a plate heaped high with enough food to feed at least three men inside her bedroom with a warming charm. She was grateful once again for the woman's kindness. As much as she had come to care for each member of their small family, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to endure a meal with her wits intact. When she returned to her bedroom hours after vacating it, she prepared herself for another meal straight from a tin she kept in her bag. Seeing the hot meal almost made her weep.

A knock on her door mid-morning the day after her unwelcome visitor jarred her out of a pensive state. She had been considering her options. Returning to her own family in Hogsmeade was still on the table. Maybe her life wouldn't be worth living when she returned, but it certainly wasn't much better away from home. Antonin might even be willing to put her out of her misery once and for all. That would have been nice. Going back to Fenrir's cottage was a possibility, even if it was likely to get her caught. She had been so close to being captured the last time she was there.

When she heard the persistent knock of an unwanted guest who would not cease their infernal noise, she was tempted to tell them to bugger off and leave her alone. The familiar voice belonging to Ginny Weasley asking her to open up was enough motivation for her to reconsider. Hermione crossed to the door, turned the knob, and waited for the younger witch to attack her. Part of her would always assume that was why Ginny would willingly be in her presence. She was a dangerous foe and they had been on opposite sides for much of their turbulent lives. Funny how she didn't even worry about getting hurt. Maybe she was ready to stop fighting, to curl up in a ball, and just wait for death to claim her. Shaking her head to dislodge the macabre thoughts overtaking what brain cells she had remaining, she asked what her visitor needed.

"There's a meeting. Just a few houses down. I want you to come."

Living amongst the rebels was one thing. Joining them in one of their pointless meetings was another. What purpose would that serve? She was on the verge of telling her 'no', but reconsidered. Damn her curiosity! Excusing herself long enough to make herself presentable, Hermione emerged from the bedroom a couple of minutes later prepared for what she was certain was going to turn out to be one of the more bizarre days of her life.

Neither of the witches spoke the entire walk to their destination. Even though she was practically buzzing with a number of questions she wanted to ask Ginny, Hermione didn't say a word. One of the lessons she learned from Antonin early on in her training was to keep her questions to a minimum. If it was possible to keep completely silent, that was preferable. Her overeager thirst for knowledge could be seen as a potential weakness. It hadn't been easy, but eventually she learned to keep her thoughts and curiosity to herself. _Usually_.

It felt bizarre and unnerving to enter the front door of a home she knew would be filled with enemies, both former and current. She knew enough of the witch Ginny used to be to not be afraid that she was being led into a trap. The witch was more honorable than that. Even when it came to engaging her enemies. If she was leading Hermione to her execution or at least to a makeshift Resistance-led trial that could potentially lead to her death, she would warn her first. She wasn't sure _how_ she knew that, only that she did.

No one greeted the women when they first entered the room. Whatever meeting they were walking in to had apparently been going on for some time. Ginny likely stepped out in the middle of it to retrieve their honored guest. All around the comfortable-looking living room of the stranger's house she could see unfriendly eyes. Some, like William Wood, were even downright hostile. Aberforth Dumbledore met Hermione's eye and nodded once in acknowledgement. Another glance around the room proved that many of the Resistance's top players were present. She hadn't seen Ron's brothers Percy and Charlie in many, many years. It pleased her for a reason she couldn't imagine that they both appeared to be doing well. She had always had a soft spot for the Weasley family.

Ginny led her to an empty chair near the fireplace. The Resistance members had fashioned themselves into a circle. She imagined that much like King Arthur with his mythical Round Table, it was to proclaim that they were all equal. In truth, no one outside of their group had ever been able to determine with any certainty just who the actual leader was. Some claimed it was Dumbledore. Others Ginny. A few believed that Percy was the man running it all behind the scenes. There was a dozen different theories at least on how their leadership was structured. To believe that anyone outside of their organization knew it all was foolish ignorance. While there were many Death Eaters and close supporters of their regime that were highly intelligent, she was embarrassed to admit that there was also a large percentage of complete idiots.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Hermione found herself looking around the room to see if Draco was there. She didn't know his exact role in the Resistance. Considering he had come so far as to visit her in the middle of the stronghold, she assumed that he was known in certain circles to be at least friendly with the Resistance. Not seeing him anywhere, she hated that she actually felt a bit disappointed. Wasn't she still angry with him for his constant, incessant need to test her?

"I'm sure you are curious why we asked Ginny to bring you here, Hermione."

It had been a long time since she last heard Charlie Weasley's voice. Though he was known to slip across their borders on a regular basis, most of his life was spent outside of the country drumming up support for their cause abroad. Even with the world changing so drastically the day Lord Voldemort was victorious, he still spent a great deal of time working as a dragon keeper at the reserve in Romania. Wars and failed attempts at revolution didn't mean that a person could just quit their day job, after all. Life still went on.

"Well, yes."

She hated how nervous her tone sounded in her own ears. Much of her life had been spent in a position of power that she had grown quite used to. Being outnumbered and practically powerless robbed her of the bit of confidence she once possessed. If they chose to, any one of the souls gathered could force her to answer for her crimes. She knew that Wood was sure to be the first to volunteer. Clearing her throat and remembering who she was, she interjected more strength and self-assurance in her next words.

"I was invited to come here and yes, I would like to know _why_. I'm sure many of you aren't pleased with my presence."

A loud, derisive snort came from the corner she knew Oliver Wood's elder brother was seated. She refused to look up to even dignify him with a response. The man unnerved her unlike any other person she'd met before. Considering she had been entrenched in the midst of the dangerous Death Eaters, that was quite a feat to accomplish. No one else paid him much mind either. His feelings on her must have been made perfectly clear already.

"As a condition of our agreement with a member of _your_ side for their assistance, we have made a promise that to the best of our capabilities, we will keep you protected during what's coming."

"And may I ask who that member is?"

Charlie's crooked smile knocked at least ten years off of his countenance. She'd always fancied him just the tiniest bit when she was younger. Though no doubt completely uninterested in his littlest brother's annoying friend, he had always been kind and teenage girls had a way of blowing politeness out of proportion when it came to a boy they liked. She could almost imagine that no time had passed since the last time they sat in his mother's parlor listening to obnoxious Celestina Warbeck screech on the Wizarding Wireless.

"No, I'm afraid we've promised to keep his… _their_ identity private for the time being."

She hated that no one was going to tell her who her mysterious protector was. What did it matter if she knew or not? It wasn't as if she was about to run straight into the arms of the Dark Lord any time soon. And she definitely wasn't about to return to her husband. Draco's cruel trick with the false newspapers assured that she might never believe another word she saw in print again. She would have no reason to run back to Antonin.

"We wanted to invite you here today just to simply assure you that as long as you stay within our village, no one will harm you. _No one_."

Charlie turned his head into Wood's direction. That time, Hermione didn't hesitate to watch the horrible man's reaction. A forced grin was on his lips that only grew wider when she made direct eye contact with him. As Charlie continued, she didn't break her eyes away from Wood's.

"I won't promise that you will always be met with the friendliest of people while you are here, but you won't be harmed. Lee and Sarah have graciously offered their home for as long as you require it. Please don't make us regret our hospitality."

The meeting of the Resistance's leadership broke up moments later. Not wishing to linger for any longer than necessary, Hermione rushed from the house and returned to the quiet stillness of her private bedroom to analyze in her head every single moment of the meeting she'd just attended.


	64. March 4th

March 4th

Being forced to move about the country to keep out of the clutches of her husband had given Hermione an unexpected appetite for being outdoors. When she was freezing out in the elements, unable to find any shelter at all, she would make promises to herself that as soon as she found somewhere warm, she would never go outside if she didn't absolutely have to. Of course, as soon as she was confined for too long inside, she couldn't wait to get out in the fresh air.

Sarah and Lee had been better hosts than she could have hoped for. They seemed to be the only people in the small village that had any use at all for the former Death Eater. She was invited to share every single meal with them. In the evenings when they sat down in front of the fire to listen to the Wizarding Wireless together or help the girls out with their homework, she was encouraged to remain with them. A couple of nights she had. For a few moments, she was able to even forget about the strangeness of her life as she felt almost like a part of them.

There had been a few conversations over tea with Sarah in the kitchen and a few more with Lee in the small workshop in the back garden where he was working on getting another magical wireless station up and running again. After both of the Weasley twins were killed, he vowed to never broadcast a rebel program as long as he lived. Clearly, someone with the Resistance remembered how effective he had been once upon a time. Now that his family was all-in, he was trying to find his special niche, his part to further along the Cause. Hermione enjoyed the talks they had. In another time, another world, the sweet married couple could have been very good friends of hers. She wished life had been kinder to all of them.

Needing to stretch her legs, she walked out of the front door to take a walk around the village. It wasn't difficult to ignore all of the stares shot in her direction by the Resistance members who still loathed the very ground she walked upon. Hermione learned years earlier how to block out the negativity of those who despised her. She hadn't exactly been welcomed into the ranks of the Death Eaters with open arms by everyone. Some of them never accepted her and never would. Inside the village she was protected, but she was still an enemy. That was not likely to ever change either. Hierarchies were more difficult to break than most realized. Even if she was a favorite of the Dark Lord and married to his most trusted General, to some, she would never ascend higher than the rank of filthy Mudblood.

The weather was slowly turning towards the promise of spring. She could breathe easier in the crisp air. It was a time of year that was always filled with opportunities and hope for the future. New growth replaced the dead. New births were common. Life continued to go on around them, impending Revolution or not. Reaching the edge of the border of the small village, she was half-tempted to keep walking.

Her purpose for remaining hadn't yet been made completely clear. The leaders of the Resistance wanted her for something. What it was, she wasn't sure. Ginny hinted at it when they first met in the tent. Perhaps they believed she had enough influence to keep many of the seasoned Death Eaters from interfering in their plot to overthrow the government. If they believed that, they had more faith in her than was realistic. She _might_ be able to keep a couple out. Fenrir clearly wanted the world to change back to some semblance of what it had once been. Theo Nott was possible. Over the years they had learned that they had a great deal in common. Much like her, he was growing weary of the politics and intrigue required to remain in the Inner Circle. Forced into it by his father, Theo wasn't likely to kick up much of a fuss.

If she could somehow get her husband to go along with the Resistance's plan, she _might_ be successful. Antonin had a number of loyal followers who would do whatever he asked. There was a valid reason why the Dark Lord practically gave him everything his heart desired. Lord Voldemort was doing what he could to keep Antonin happy. The happier he was, the less likely it was that he would stage a coup d'état. Their master was painfully aware of his shortcomings. His time was eventually going to come to an end. He was wise to do what he could to make sure it wasn't hastened.

But, she didn't think it was possible to bring Antonin over to the Resistance. Not even as a passive bystander. If those who wished to crumble the current regime came into power, the Dolohov family would be ones with their heads in the guillotine immediately following the Dark Lord's execution. Their crimes had been too great to simply be forgiven. Exile to another country wasn't even possible. No, her husband would be killed and she would likely be as well. They might _claim_ that she could redeem herself, but she knew better. No one would ever forgive her for her crimes. No one should.

"Did you know if you walk fifteen meters north of where you're standing, I'm allowed to kill you?"

Hermione sighed. A quiet walk where she had the chance to gather her thoughts and get some fresh air was all she wanted. Staying cooped up in her bedroom for too long wasn't healthy. Somehow she knew she should've expected the obnoxious William Wood to follow her. He had made it obvious the day before that he was not happy with her presence in the village. Again, she couldn't exactly blame him.

"As long as you are within our wards, you are untouchable. I made a promise. Made me sick to my stomach, but I promised."

"How noble of you."

She didn't want to engage him. In fact, she didn't even want to be on the same planet as him. From the moment she first met him in the launderette in Edinburgh, she'd been unnerved by him. That was a feeling that wasn't likely to go away at any point in the future.

"I wasn't in favor of you staying here. Too many innocents you could harm. What kind of influence are you having over the naive, impressionable Jordan girls?"

Turning away from the point in the distance she was staring at, she met the man's eyes with an expression that had left more powerful men than he shaking in their metaphorical boots. He, however, didn't even have sense enough to be afraid. Just smiled wider.

His question was demeaning and infuriating. As if she truly wanted those girls to turn out just like her! That had been one of the worst parts of being a parent in her experience. The fear that her son would one day become a mixture of the worst parts of her and the worst parts of Antonin was enough to keep her awake at night. What kind of human being had she brought into the world? Would she one day see him and be ashamed of who he had become? She desperately hoped that he was meeting the right people at Hogwarts, the kind of people who would make him question whether or not he should be like his parents, but she knew it was a futile hope. She'd already seen him around his mates. He was proud to be a Dolohov, proud of who his parents were. Much like Draco Malfoy had been so obnoxious when he was young, he probably strutted around the castle like he owned it.

"Have you been a good influence for your son? Aren't you worried what he's going to be like without you there to _guide_ him?"

She refused to engage in a discussion of her son. As far as she was concerned, he was off-limits. Most of the time she felt like she was an inadequate and terrible mother. When someone she despised dared to speak disparagingly about him, she tapped into that primal maternal rage that all mothers possessed. The idiot didn't even understand how dangerous his words were quickly becoming.

"I have one question about your son."

" _Stop_."

Wood only laughed again. As he reached into his the pocket of his robes, Hermione grabbed the end of her wand. _Just in case_. He was amused by her evident attempt to protect herself. Instead of pulling out a weapon, he simply removed an old, yellowing newspaper. Pushing it into her hands, she realized what she was looking at with a sinking feeling in her gut. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before he brought up this uncomfortable subject. With her living amongst the rebels, he would have plenty of opportunity to confront her.

The Daily Prophet was nearing twelve years old. Printed on the day after her son was born, she wondered how he came to be in possession of that particular issue. Had he saved it from the day it was published? Or had he stumbled upon a copy at some point and decided to keep it for a moment like this? She didn't even need the red lines circled around the article in question to know what he wanted her to see.

 _Proud parents, Antonin and Hermione Dolohov, are pleased to announce the arrival of their firstborn son - Oliver. Born yesterday at approximately…_

She didn't want to read anymore. Didn't want to remember the day her life changed forever. Pushing the paper back into the cretin's hands, she spun on her heel to walk away. Her walk had been ruined. It was time that she returned to the seclusion of her bedroom. Before she could get a single step away, William Wood asked the question that he'd been dying to ask.

"Why did you name your son after my little brother?"

Her feet wouldn't move another centimeter. Closing her eyes, she willed down the sudden influx of emotion that threatened to overpower her. How could she answer that question truthfully? Feeling her eyes burn with tears she didn't know she could still cry, she turned to meet the man's troubled gaze one more time.

"I didn't want to forget him. I wanted to remember him. Your brother was a good man. He didn't… he didn't deserve what happened to him."

A scowl marred the wizard's handsome features. Disgusted with her answer, he threw the old newspaper at her feet. He didn't say a single word in response. Just turned around and walked away.


	65. March 5th

_Author's Note: Thanks again to all of you lovely people who have taken the time to let me know that you're enjoying this story. With such a daunting and challenging story, it means a lot to me to know that there are those who are excited to see where this goes. Definitely helps motivate me to keep going! Thank you again. ;)_

* * *

March 5th

After a restless night's sleep, Hermione had everything she owned packed up neatly inside her beaded bag. She wanted to run. Not caring that William Wood was likely very serious in his statement that he was allowed to kill her once she walked through the village's protective wards, she knew she couldn't stay. What had possessed her to think that remaining with the most hardcore supporters of the Resistance was even a plausible option? Had she finally gone completely round the bend?

She slumped down in the chair next to her bedroom window. All of the drapes were closed to keep the late winter sun out of her room. It seemed easier to make the decision to run when she was in a dark and gloomy place. Outside the doors of the house she was existing in there was a great deal of hope for the future that she just could not believe in. She _knew_ what the world was like and she didn't like it. She _knew_ how difficult it was to keep a government running and a people fed. Were these amateurs truly ready for running a civilization? Pulling one down was easy enough. Building one back up and keeping it secure was another matter entirely.

No one present would appreciate her views or opinions on the matter even if she chose to stay. It didn't matter how many of the Resistance leaders put aside their prejudice and their anger to treat her like just another human being. That would never be enough. Not that she could blame them. If the situation was reversed and someone like Ginny Weasley or Aberforth Dumbledore stumbled into Hogsmeade with promises, unspoken or otherwise, that they would become loyal followers of the regime, they would be met with a great deal more than just suspicion.

Of course, Hermione never _asked_ to come live amongst the rebellious rabble. She wanted nothing more than to just be left alone. Yes, she was glad to know that the Jordan family was alive and doing very well. The ache that had been in her cold and battered heart when she learned the false news of their tragic encounter with her enraged husband lessened to the point that it almost disappeared. It was uncharacteristic of her to care what happened about anyone else other than herself. That had been her coping mechanism for many years. She would never have survived the Inner Circle if she hadn't learned how to put her survival above everything and _everyone_ else. Hell, she wouldn't have lived long enough to be Marked if she hadn't.

Some would say that she had been selfish in her decision. _Fuck all of them_ , was generally her thought. They would likely throw in her face the number of people she knew and loved who never gave up, never turned their back on the ideals they had been fighting for when the world crashed. Neville and George were constant reminders of the kind of person she _should_ have been. Even if she martyred herself in that very moment for the Resistance's cause, she would never be celebrated. Too little, too late. Putting one's self above all others was wrong in their view. She couldn't exactly argue against those beliefs even if she didn't hold them herself. Harry would be disappointed in how his two best friends turned out. Frequently, she had to push that thought back down to the darker recesses of her mind. Dwelling too much in the past kept one stagnant in the present and delayed their future.

Survival was not easy. Even when she was a Muggleborn living in the world pre-Albus Dumbledore's murder she had to ignore some of her scruples to make it. Culture shock was an understatement. To go from a very privileged childhood in the Muggle world to suddenly being at the very bottom of the wizarding society had been a difficult adjustment. Many times she was tempted to snap her own wand in half and pretend she had never been a witch at all. Life amongst the Muggles would have been decidedly easier with someone of her background. Within the magical community she would never amount to much. The hierarchies were unsurmountable at times.

Unless one was willing to prove they were brutal and not one to be discounted. Every single step of the way she had to prove herself worthy to be there, to practice magic. Even outside of school she had to constantly fight to belong. She would always be grateful for the lessons she learned from Antonin in those first years. He'd molded her into someone that was not timid or easily stomped upon. If she hadn't been broken down to absolutely nothing and then built back up into the perfect example of how a Death Eater should be, she would have been killed a long time earlier. Likely in a very painful and humiliating manner even. As much as she loathed her husband at times, when he was her teacher, she was thankful for him.

She wasn't sure that she had the energy to stay with the Resistance any longer. What purpose was she serving there anyway? Besides being an annoyance to some and a source of fear for others? She'd seen how the mothers of the village herded their children away when she came near. How they'd forbidden them to go outside when she was about on a walk. It was insulting, but she couldn't even blame them. Wouldn't she have done the same with her son if the roles were reversed?

It was bad enough that Ollie was headed for a lifetime of violence and intrigue within the highest echelon of Death Eater society. If his father was able to succeed the Dark Lord as she imagined he would one day, he would be even more entrenched in that lifestyle. There was a lot about her son that she had to take credit for, whether she liked it or not. The stubbornness he possessed, the insatiable curiosity about everything around him, the constant need to prove himself. She wasn't sure where that last one came from. If there was any child in their society that didn't have to prove he had the credentials to be a part, it was their son.

Her thoughts travelled back to the day he was born. Part of her had been excited, most of her had been terrified. She had never wanted to be a mother. Not even before when she was still a relatively innocent child attending Hogwarts. Children seemed to be a burden, a detriment to getting where she wanted to be. Hermione's second greatest fear had always been losing her shot at having a meaningful career because she was stuck at home raising the next generation. That life was fine for some women. She'd known plenty of women that excelled as mothers and truly found their calling in it. Hannah Rowle was the perfect example. A loving mother and wife, she actually _liked_ keeping her home clean and her family happy. Once upon a time she had a dream of becoming a Healer. Once she fell in love with the lumbering Death Eater who truly had a warm heart hidden amongst his brashness and fury, she turned her entire being and focus to him. When their girls began to arrive in quick succession, she was even happier.

 _That_ was never Hermione. She wanted a different life. Wanted to feel like she was a part of something bigger. When she ordered to marry and breed, she had been crushed. Had everything she had done for years been worth nothing to her master? Was she going to be forced to stay at home while her husband and the other wizards were out there making an actual difference? She'd had a taste of freedom, a taste of violence, and she loved it. How much of her life was going to change once she followed orders?

It was with a great deal of reluctance that she allowed Antonin to impregnate her almost immediately after their vows were sealed. He had been more than up to the task. She imagined that if she got it over and done with, maybe the Dark Lord would let her remain in her current position within his ranks. It hardly seemed fair that because she was born with the right body parts to carry life inside of her that she should be denied the power and influence she had been cultivating for so long.

When their son was born, her usually solemn and austere husband couldn't wipe the proud, goofy grin off of his face if under the threat of an Avada. He held the tiny baby in his arms every second that Hermione wasn't. Which, if she was perfectly honest, was most of the time. She would cradle the baby in her arms, stare down at his face, and will herself to believe that she wasn't going to be a completely shit mother. Several of her other female acquaintances had explained to her that there would be an overwhelming surge of maternal affection that would wash over her when she first looked at her child.

It didn't come. If anything, her disgust and anger only increased. Surely there was something defective with her to be able to stare down at the being that she'd carried inside of her for nine months and feel nothing for. Or at least nothing _positive_ for. She'd glared at Antonin. Of course he was allowed to be excited. Nothing about his life would change. His position was still secure. His hard work would continue to be celebrated. There was no question whether or not he would have to stay home and care for the being that was completely incapable of caring for himself.

"What shall we name him?"

Throughout her entire pregnancy, Hermione had been able to brush off the same question when her husband asked. Usually, it was brought up when they were in bed and Antonin was obsessively touching her growing belly. She didn't want to even think about names. Didn't even want to consider the fact that the changes in her body were due to an actual child growing within. To acknowledge it with the possibility of a name was to make it real. She wasn't ready for that.

Nor was she ready for it when the child was no longer nestled in her womb. Maybe she would never be ready for it. She tried to brush off the question again, but her husband would not be deterred that time. It was too late. Their baby was born and in need of a name.

He'd suggested her father's name because he and his father had certainly never had any love between them. She nixed that idea instantly. Too painful to have a constant reminder. None of his younger brothers were worthy enough of the honor. He had no use for any of them either. Family was not a high priority for most of the Dolohovs. When she'd jokingly suggested naming him Harry, she was met with a stony silence and a glare that could curdle milk. Neither of them had any close friends they wanted to name their son after.

She was just about to tell him to just pick one and tell her what he chose when a strange idea came to mind. Later she would blame the potions that the Healers had given her for muddling her brain. After all, who in their right mind names their only child after the first person they ever murdered?

"What about Oliver?"

Antonin stared down at their son's face. After a couple of seconds, he nodded.

"I like it."

She knew a day would come when she'd regret their choice.


	66. March 6th

March 6th

Though it was a difficult decision, Hermione decided not to leave the confines of the Resistance's protected village just yet. She wasn't sure what kept her rooted in place. Likely it was a combination of fear, poor judgement, and just the sheer exhaustion of imagining what it would be like to go back out into the world with no set place to go. At least for the immediate time being, she would stick it out, stay with the Jordan family, and figure out her next plans while being fed on a regular basis. Food and shelter were often two parts of life that people took for granted.

After making a decision that she would try to do more to help around the house, she emerged from her bedroom to join her host family for breakfast. Though they were all surprised to see her willingly partake in a meal with them at the table, no one said anything. She was grateful that they didn't make a big deal out of it. The encouragement to not do it again would have been too strong at that point.

When the plates were empty and the respective members of the family were preparing to get up from the table to go about their daily routine, Hermione rose from her seat. They all expected her to go back into her room. She hadn't said a single word over the lavish spread of pancakes and bacon. It had been more enjoyable for her to remain silent and listen. As she began to pick up the dirty plates to carry them over to the sink, they all stared at her in complete shock. She chuckled softly and continued about the task.

Sarah started to insist that she stop washing the dishes, but Lee stopped her with a whispered assurance that Hermione could do as she wished. Their guest was again thankful. She _wanted_ to feel normal. Wanted to feel like she wasn't just some loner living in a corner of their house. Antonin always insisted on doing the dishes at home. He maintained that it helped him clear his mind. She hoped that she would discover there was some truth in his claims.

Washing the dishes led to scrubbing the table. Then to the floors. As much as she hated to admit that he was right about anything, cleaning in the Muggle way actually did calm her down. Using magic was convenient, but it took no time and very little effort. While she was focused on cleaning, she could hardly focus on anything else. Some of her worries about what to do next lessened. A ridiculous stray thought about offering her services to the other ladies in the village as a way to make them hate her less made her laugh. As if that would ever happen.

The kitchen was spotless when the back door opened to admit a guest Hermione wasn't expecting. One aspect of living in the village that she had discovered was that most of its inhabitants came and went as they pleased. It wasn't unusual to be sitting at the dining table enjoying a meal and the front door open to admit several neighbors. She didn't care much for the custom of open doors. It was another reason why she had been so reluctant to leave her bedroom in the beginning of her stay. Too often she would step out of the door to see hostile faces in the living room or kitchen glaring at her and wishing she would disappear.

"Hermione, do you mind if we speak somewhere private?"

She bit her tongue before she blurted out that she _did_ mind speaking to Ginny alone. In fact, there were about a million other tasks she would rather complete. One of them was even returning to her husband in disgrace to await her punishment. Deciding that as long she remained with the Resistance it was easier if she just went along with what was asked of her, Hermione nodded her head and led the way to her bedroom.

Neither of the women spoke immediately after the door he was closed. A tension hung heavy in the air that was impossible to ignore. At least the last time they were forced to be relatively alone to speak they were joined with Draco and the lunatic Wood. With just the two of them, it felt eerily similar to all of the nights Hermione slept in a bed in Ginny's room at the Burrow. She could almost ignore the subtle lines that had popped up around their eyes to convince herself this was just another holiday spent at the Weasley home.

"Will told me that you two had a chat the other day."

Hermione sighed. Of all of the possible topics available, she most certainly did not want to discuss the uncomfortable conversation she'd had with the man who was steadily becoming the number one reason why she thought she needed to leave her temporary shelter. Just knowing that he was nearby caused her stress. Yes, he might have been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't allowed to hurt her as long as she remained within the wards, but would that really keep him tethered? If he lashed out at her and she was severely wounded or even killed, would the Resistance even care? She was one of their enemies! Had been for a very long time. He would likely get a slap on his wrist, told to not be a naughty boy again, and then life would move on for everyone else except for his victim.

"Yes, we did."

She stopped herself before she complained about him threatening her. What would be the use? She didn't want to make it seem like she was too weak to take care of herself. If it came down to it, if she _truly_ feared for her life, she wouldn't sit idly by to watch it happen. Lack of practice might have made her rusty with her magic, but she wasn't helpless. There was a reason why she had risen so far in the ranks of the Death Eaters and it wasn't because of the man who slept next to her every night. She was well-respected long before she was ordered to marry her teacher.

"I suppose I should apologize for him."

"Are you often in the habit of making apologies for him?"

As much as she hated to admit it, Hermione was intrigued by the relationship Oliver Wood's older brother had with Ginny. When they were in the tent, she noticed how the witch was able to calm him down with a touch of his arm. That was no ordinary touch. Only those who had an intimate relationship could exert such influence over another. No one knew much about Ginny's personal life. There were people within their regime whose sole function was to discover everything they could about the Resistance's leaders. Entire files existed for each of the people she saw in the living room of the stranger's home days earlier. Some of them were quite thorough. Others, like Ginny's, were woefully lacking. Whatever she had been doing had been done skillfully under the radar.

"Only every now and again. Usually he's quite pleasant. Most people like him. But, like Oliver with his Quidditch, he can get a bit _intense_ sometimes."

"Is he… _yours_?"

"I don't know how much of him I could actually claim, but we do have a daughter together."

That news was surprising. There had never been any mention of a child. Probably for the best. Death Eaters were known to kidnap children to make their parents behave how they wished. No doubt Ginny hid her pregnancy for as long as she could and then went into hiding. Wherever the child was usually kept, it clearly wasn't by her side at all times.

"She's four. Lives with Will's mother most of the time in Edinburgh. I'm telling you the whereabouts of my only child because I want to prove to you that I believe you can be trusted."

Her admission was surprising. If the roles were reversed, Hermione would never tell anyone where Ollie was. Occasionally she wasn't a completely dreadful mother. It truly was an act of trust. Or, it was an elaborate lie designed to wedge Hermione into a trap. Either way, she wasn't about to head off for Edinburgh to find the child. As far as she was concerned, she didn't exist and there was no reason to find her.

"Is this why you came? To talk about Wood?"

Changing the subject back to the original seemed like a safer route. Speaking about children with another mother was never a comfortable task for the hardened Death Eater. She found it difficult to relate to them. If she had had her choice, her son wouldn't even exist. That was something of a downer in any conversation. More than a few believed she was a terrible human being solely on her under-abundance of maternal feelings.

"No, I actually came to encourage you not to run away."

"Who said I was leaving?"

"I think it's pretty obvious you don't want to be here, Hermione. I can only imagine how uncomfortable you must be here. It's not something that I'm free to discuss _yet_ , but I think it best that you stay here for now. We're planning something very soon and I think you are going to want to be a part of it."

Hermione highly doubted it. She wanted to live a quiet life away from the threat of the Resistance and away from the Darkness she had been living in for far too many years to count. There still existed a hope within her that she would eventually find what she desired, find a part of the world she could be left alone.

Feeling that she had made her point perfectly clear, Ginny rose from the edge of the bed she had been sitting on. She had always been annoyingly self-assured. Well, about everything _but_ Harry, of course. It took her a while to learn how to be herself around the wizard she'd fancied since she was ten. With everyone else, however, she didn't lack confidence. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

"I guess we will see, Ginny."

"Think about what I said. I meant it. You're going to want to find out what we're up to."

As she turned the knob on the bedroom door, Ginny turned over her shoulder to utter one last sentence.

"And I'll see what I can do to keep Will away from you."


	67. March 7th

March 7th

When the sun was long gone from the sky and the night air was chilly enough to send all of the Resistance members and their _perfect_ little families inside, Hermione felt the urge to walk through their village. She enjoyed being outside to her continuous surprise. Staying cooped up in the bedroom had its own attractions, but she much preferred the opportunity to stretch her legs. Besides, with all of Sarah's delicious cooking, if she didn't remain at least somewhat active, she wouldn't be able to wear any of her clothes for much longer.

Just as Ginny requested, she postponed her plans to leave. She hadn't given up the idea of running completely, but at least for the time being, she wasn't going to wander far. A lot could go wrong once she was outside the protective wards. William Wood wasn't her only enemy nearby. As much as she tried to avoid those who lived in the small community, it hadn't taken her very long to realize that she was personally responsible for at least three murders of the beloved family members of a resident. If she was ever invited to a community-wide feast, she felt certain it would be quite awkward.

The Zellers had a daughter named Rose that was a few years younger than Hermione. She vaguely remembered the girl when she was Sorted into Hufflepuff at the beginning of her fifth year. There had been a lot of excitement that school year to remember, after all. Her interactions with her about ten years after the end of the war were a little more memorable. The witch had been foolish, put her trust in the wrong people. Though not a member of the Resistance, she made some unfriendly remarks about the regime that were reported. Hermione ordered a couple of low level Snatchers to bring her to Hogsmeade.

She never meant for the witch to get _too_ hurt. In her experience, she discovered that those who spoke against the regime were often some of the best informants to have once their fear was triggered. Hermione used to enjoy the torture aspect of her job. When she allowed the seditious traitor to survive, they were usually so overjoyed that they were willing to do whatever she demanded of them. A pretty girl like Rose would have her uses.

Unfortunately, it was the girl's attractive features that were her downfall. Snatchers were vile creatures. As much as she might have had a fondness for Fenrir Greyback, the cretins he presided over were the very dregs of society. Despite ordering them to leave the girl unharmed, at least one of them was incapable of keeping it within his trousers. She'd arrived bruised, battered, incoherent, and completely useless. Even if she was nursed back to health before Hermione tortured her again, it would be for nothing. She put the girl out of her misery with a simple Avada and tortured the Snatchers instead for their incompetence. After all, she already had everything prepared. No sense in wasting the opportunity.

Learning that the house where the Resistance leaders met in belonged to her father, Tiberius Zeller, had been a bit of a shock. Once a respected Department Head in the Ministry, he had been one of the first officials to be purged when the Dark Lord took over. Of course, in those early days, being purged literally just meant losing their position. A new meaning had cropped up in the following years. No one left the Ministry alive any longer. Either they died of natural causes at a ripe old age still in their office or they died of suspicious causes with no witnesses. Usually a deadly self-inflicted curse from behind.

Two other families were similarly affected, but she didn't really remember much about their relatives. After a while, all of the victims tended to just bleed into each other. Unless they were particularly influential or their death was a great deal of fun, Hermione tended to forget about them. No doubt they were every bit as angry as William Wood. She hoped that they had more sanity than he possessed. She worried that the wizard snapped a long time ago. Perhaps the other families would be wise enough to leave her alone while she took her late evening strolls.

Darkness didn't scare her like it once had. Weeks in a broom cupboard could take away one's fear. She relished in the anonymity it provided. No one was scowling at her and no one was scooping their children up like she was some sort of frightening hag who boiled babies alive for her supper. There weren't any curious glances in her direction from those Resistance members who found her presence far more exciting than they should have. If she was still an active Death Eater, she felt certain that she could find a few willing recruits amongst the rabble. Not everyone was eager for the day when the current regime was eradicated.

"Mind if I join you?"

Startled by the voice, Hermione spun around on her heel with her wand outstretched. Though she hadn't had cause to use her weapon for a long time, she wasn't naive and trusting enough to go out walking amongst the rebels without some form of protection. Even if it brought Antonin and every single other Death Eater down upon the village at once, she would not roll over without a fight. Seeing the pale blond hair in the moonlight, she lowered her wand arm and sighed.

"Careful who you go walking up behind, Malfoy. If I'm threatened…"

"I know, I know. You'll curse me."

The smile on his lips was contagious. As much as she might hate to admit it, she was glad to see him. For whatever strange reason, he had a way about him that calmed her, made her feel like she wasn't completely alone. Maybe it was because she knew that she wasn't the only one Marked and damned. She wasn't completely over being upset with him about the subterfuge he engineered with the Jordan family, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before pure necessity forced her to forgive him.

"Yes, well, don't forget it. I still know how to use magic."

They walked around the fringes of the village in silence for several minutes. It was strangely comforting not being alone. Hermione tried to push any thoughts about the wizard out of her head that were problematic, but a few still lingered. If she allowed him to get closer, maybe they could one day become actual friends. She had so few of those. And certainly none that understood a bit of where she was coming from and were still willing to speak to her.

"Do you come to the village a lot?"

"Not really. It's not always convenient to pop in, but I'm supposed to be tracking a group of rebels right now." He shrugged his shoulders in that elegant, graceful manner she knew she could never replicate. "Makes it a little easier."

She wanted to ask him why he had been making the effort to come visit so much, but there didn't really seem to be a good reason why. The answer was clear. Draco was visiting because _she_ was there. There was obviously more to the whole situation, a better explanation for why she was there in the first place. None was forthcoming. So, instead of ruining a perfectly good late evening walk, she didn't press him for more of an explanation. Answers had a way of coming out in the end. She could be patient. After all, it wasn't as if she had anywhere better to go.

"I've had some time to think since you last came to see me."

The words came unbidden out of her mouth. She wasn't entirely sure where she was planning on going with them, but they still had a lot to discuss. Their interactions that day were much friendlier than they had been the last time they spoke in her bedroom. Much of the anger she felt that day had dissipated. She still didn't appreciate the tests that he kept putting her through to prove her trustworthiness even if she could begin to understand why he was doing it. Mostly she just wanted to put the past behind them. For whatever reason, he was the only person in the entire village she could spend a moment with and not feel like she was going to go mad. Maybe the days they spent alone in the tent helped forge some sort of bond between them.

"And are you still angry with me?"

There was a hint of anxiety nestled amongst his words. It almost made Hermione laugh. Did she intimidate him even without her magic? He sounded prepared to run as far away in the opposite direction from her as possible if she just said the word.

"No, I don't think I am. Do you have any more _tests_ you would like to perform on me to prove my trustworthiness?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

A smile formed on both of their faces. Draco nodded his head in agreement. She wasn't foolish enough to believe that he wouldn't try something again. That was the trouble with people like them. Maybe one could be trusted in one moment, but they might not be able to the next. Loyalties were ever-changing in a society where survival wasn't guaranteed. If she became too complacent, too trusting, she might not make it out of there alive. All of her struggles for the past almost year would have been for nothing. As tempted as she might be to try to form a friendship with the tracker, Hermione knew that it was asking for trouble. She would have to be extremely careful.

"It's late. I think I should get back."

Hermione took a single step in the direction of the Jordan home before she felt a hand gently grasp her arm to stop her movements. In her past, she was used to being grabbed like that. Antonin usually did it with a bit more force, but it was still irritating no matter how careful Draco was. She didn't like being impeded. Spinning around to face the wizard, she prepared herself for a torrent of unkind words to bubble out of her mouth. When she caught sight of his concerned, troubled grey eyes, the words caught in her throat.

"I really am sorry, Hermione. What I did to you was unkind."

His hand didn't leave her arm. Simply travelled up until it rested on her shoulder. She felt her heartbeat speed up. Their eye contact did not break.

"I hope that you can truly forgive me for it."

She didn't want to talk about the fake newspapers anymore. It was done. Nothing either one of them said or did could reverse what had already happened. He was able to stop her in the last second before she turned herself back over to her husband. Wanting to move on, she shrugged her arm out of his grasp and dropped her eyes to the ground.

"Good night, Draco."

As she rushed away from the wizard, she realized that she never responded to his statement. It was unnecessary. Part of her had already forgiven him and the other never would.


	68. March 8th

March 8th

Another opportunity to help around the Jordan house presented itself shortly after Hermione took it upon herself to clean up the family's kitchen following each meal. Sarah initially hadn't been too willing to relinquish some of her household duties. She was one of those women Hermione always struggled to relate to who found personal joy and fulfillment in the caring of their families. She always assumed that that gene must have been recessive in her family because her mother hadn't possessed it either. When her hostess finally stopped trying to interfere with her guest's generosity, she was able to focus more on her daughters' education.

There was no formal school in the village. All lessons were completed at home under the instruction of the child's parents. Because no one who lived there was truly free to pursue usual employment outside of their safe haven due to their known ties to the Resistance, it wasn't generally much of a hardship for anyone. Finding ways to fill up time could be difficult. Though it quickly became evident that Sarah wasn't a natural teacher, she did what was expected of her and supervised the girls' lessons at the kitchen table.

While she finished the washing up from breakfast, Hermione kept part of her attention on the teaching steps away. Posy was a sweet student who did exactly as she was instructed without any debate. She was clearly a rule-follower, the kind of student that teachers always adored. Her older sister, however, reminded Hermione so much of herself as a young girl that she was uncomfortable. Argumentative, too curious and inquisitive for her own good, Lizzie was driving her mother mad. It was clear that tempers were about to flare. Frustrated with yet another argument from her older daughter, Sarah rose to her feet in a huff.

"Finish your lesson, Elizabeth."

She made her excuses to step outside for a calming breath of fresh air. Hermione was sympathetic to the woman's plight and decided to take it upon herself to make certain her orders were followed even if she wasn't there to supervise them. Mothers had to stick together to help each other out at times. If Hermione hadn't had the benefit of Mafalda Yaxley living next door in Hogsmeade, she might have resorted to physical violence to keep her sometimes unruly son under control. Mafalda had a quiet way about her that Oliver responded to. Sometimes she had even been jealous of the witch. Maybe her son would've preferred to have her as a mother. Not that she could really blame him.

"Why do you always have to argue with Mummy, Lizzie?"

"Shut up."

Posy was too used to her sister's surly attitude to be offended. She simply sighed and went back to her own schoolwork. So unlike both of her parents, if Lizzie wasn't the perfect combinations of both Sarah's and Lee's best physical attributes, she might have been suspicious that the witch was actually a changeling left behind by the faeries or the result of an illicit affair Sarah had with a violent stranger. The girl would grow up to be very beautiful she was certain. Few things in existence were more dangerous than great beauty combined with a clear issue with anger and a fascination with the darker aspects of life. Bellatrix Lestrange was the perfect example of that kind of terrible combination.

"Do you think my mum is right, Hermione?"

Keeping her back to the girls at the sink, Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to groan. She didn't want to get caught in the middle of a family disagreement. This wasn't _her_ family after all. Besides, she didn't like Lizzie and doubted that feeling would ever change. Ignoring her would not be an option. She was too persistent, too demanding. She prepared herself for an unpleasant interaction and turned around.

"It doesn't matter what I think. Sarah is your mum. You should do as she asks."

Lizzie's eyes narrowed at the statement she didn't care to hear. No doubt she was expecting more from their houseguest. A girl who was also not used to hearing 'no' could become a major problem. Hermione was thankful she wasn't hers. She also hoped that there was never cause for Lizzie to meet her Oliver. Keeping him protected from terrifying young witches who would chew him up and spit him out was almost enough motivation for her to go crawling back to Antonin. Considering his frightening track record with witches in his past, he wouldn't be much help to keep their son from going down the same path.

"Did you always do what you were _supposed_ to?"

It was a challenge. One Hermione couldn't exactly be truthful about. She often was guilty of doing the exact opposite of what she was _supposed_ to do. A bloody terrible role model for an impressionable young girl. Maybe there was some truth to what the vile William Wood taunted her about days earlier. She could very well be a negative influence in the Jordan home. The elder of the two girls already looked at her as if she was some kind of fascinating specimen to learn more about. If they weren't careful, Lee and Sarah might see their daughter go down a dark and twisty road in the near future.

"This isn't about me. Listen to your mum. She only wants what's best for you."

"Did your mum want you to be a Death Eater?"

The bowl she was rinsing slipped from her hands to crash into the bottom of the sink in countless fragments. A gasp from Posy and a whispered reminder that they weren't allowed to ask questions about "You-Know-Whats" didn't bother Lizzie at all. She sat perfectly still, waiting for her inquiry to be answered with a smirk on her face. Based on the kind of girl she was, Hermione knew that she wouldn't be satisfied without an answer. She took another deep, steadying breath, foolishly hoping that there would only be one difficult question to answer.

"My mum didn't know what a Death Eater was, but if she did, I'm certain she wouldn't have wanted me to make the choice I did."

"Then why did you?"

There was a spark in the girl's eyes that reminded Hermione eerily of the night she asked to see her Dark Mark. She was drawn to the darkness. Hopefully it was simply a folly of youth that she would outgrow before she had the opportunity to make any decisions that she couldn't _unmake_. In her time as a follower of the Dark Lord, she'd seen many be seduced and immediately regret their choices. If Lizzie was one of those, there was some hope for her yet. If, like Hermione feared, she was more like the ones that discovered their true calling for violence and degradations when they were recruited, there was likely nothing that could be done to prevent her from seeking out her doom.

"Because I was afraid and didn't believe I had any other choice."

It was the truth, but not entirely. At some point, she moved past survival and became a Death Eater simply because she _wanted_ to. Harry would never have understood her decision. That was fine. She'd given up any hope long ago that those she cared about and loved in the past would ever forgive her for what she'd done. A day would come at the end of her life where she would have to answer for her crimes. It was a sobering thought, but one she tried not to dwell too much on.

"'Comply or die.'"

The mantra that had come to so adequately personify the regime she had been proud to be a part of slipped from Lizzie's mouth with a confidence that was telling. What had come to mean death for so many idealistic fools excited the young witch.

"Why did you run away?"

A hardness colored the girl's features. She seemed angry for reasons Hermione couldn't even begin to fathom. Was she bothered by the fact that she'd tried to seek out another life? Did she believe her to be a coward and a traitor? Because she absolutely was. Hermione simply didn't understand why a child born and raised within neutral Wales by a former Dumbledore's Army member and a Hufflepuff could become so fascinated and protective of the witches and wizards that should have been part of her nightmares.

"Lizzie, I think you should get back to your lessons like your mum told you."

She didn't want to answer any more of the unnerving girl's questions. Any hope that she might have been able to help Sarah with her daughters' lessons were dashed. She wanted nothing to do with the elder girl. As she turned back to the sink to go about cleaning up the mess she made, Lizzie couldn't resist delivering one more passing blow.

"I didn't think your husband was all that scary when he came to our house. He seemed sad you weren't there."

Hermione ignored the rest of the dishes and headed straight for her room. She couldn't bear to listen to the girl anymore.


	69. March 9th

_Author's Note: Thank you all again for being so encouraging the past couple of days with your lovely reviews. I appreciate each and every one of them. It's been so nice to get them, especially when life has been a little crappy lately._

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March 9th

Hermione isolated herself in her bedroom for the rest of the day after her encounter with Lizzie and for much of the next as well. None of the members of the Jordan family sought her out. This was what she did. They were more used to her staying cooped up than they were with her coming out and at least _trying_ to socialize with them or share some small part of their day. A gentle knock at her door three times a day to tell her there was a plate of food sitting outside in the corridor was all the interaction she needed.

Lizzie's remark about Antonin seeming to be more sad than scary bothered her tremendously. Another had only recently made a similar statement about the man she was ordered to marry. Thorfinn at least had some semblance of an agenda to tell her that lie. What was Lizzie Jordan's motivation? Why would she need to make up a story about the night they were supposedly visited? It didn't make any sense. Antonin was a brutal man who cared nothing about human life. There was nothing he wouldn't do, no low he wouldn't stoop to, if it meant he could get what he wanted.

From the moment she arrived in the village, she had the feeling that there was a great deal that was being kept from her. Secrets were part and parcel of being amidst the Resistance. She understood _that_ , but this was something more. There was no way she would have been able to survive and rise so high in the ranks of the Death Eaters without having an excellent grasp on people. She could just look at a person and know when they were lying. It was a skill that had come in quite handy during countless hours of torture. She was an effective operative in Intelligence because she _knew_ when there was more information to uncover and crucio out of an enemy.

By late afternoon, long after the midday meal was over, Hermione couldn't bear to sit in her room another moment longer without some answers. She dressed warmly before rushing through the house to the back garden. If anyone was surprised to see her emerge from her hiding place, she didn't linger long enough to gauge their reactions. Until her feet were standing in front of the door to Lee's shed, she kept moving.

A friendly voice called out to her to enter when she knocked. She might have been on a mission she was determined she would not be deterred from, but she hadn't lost her sense of manners or propriety. Satisfied that she would not be interrupting a private conversation with someone she would rather not see, Hermione opened the door to the space where Lee spent a great deal of his time.

During the last Great Wizarding War, he operated a rebel program on the wireless. Extremely dangerous, it was an act that put him on the very worst of the lists of enemies to seek out and eradicate. The very worst crime any dissident could commit was the dissemination of information contrary to the policies of the ruling regime. Educating the masses was an act of war. Now that he was convinced that something big was coming in their world again, he was ready to come out of retirement. While Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood kept their magical printing presses always working and on the move to print out the Resistance's underground newspaper, Lee did what he could to take over the magical wireless sets.

Hermione hadn't heard a report from him yet. Truthfully, she didn't want to know what was going on out in the rest of the world. She struggled enough to keep focus on what was happening to her in the moment. Worrying about how everyone else was faring was too much. Like the proverbial ostrich with its head in the sand, she preferred to keep as ignorant of current affairs as it was possible to be.

"Hello, Hermione. I wasn't expecting you. Thought you might be one of the girls."

Lee gestured to an empty chair next to his at a work table in the corner. Pieces of his wireless set were strewn about and his hands were covered in what looked like grease. Part of the issue they were always coming up against in the Resistance was the lack of state of the art technology. They had to work with what they had. This frequently translated to broken machinery that he had to fix with a combination of magic and good old fashioned Muggle ingenuity.

She sat next to the wizard suddenly unsure of how she was going to proceed with their discussion. There were a number of questions that she still possessed that had never been given a satisfactory answer. When she first arrived and broached the topic of Antonin with Lee, he had been very tight-lipped, even a bit dismissive of the night they were visited. She wasn't sure what to make of his reticence. It was most unlike the gregarious man who she remembered as being perhaps a little _too_ talkative when they were much younger. She didn't appreciate the fact that he was clearly keeping the entire truth from her.

There had been _some_ explanation, of course. When she first arrived to discover Sarah wasn't dead and Lee wasn't in Azkaban, she had been quite confused. Though never fully explaining Draco's motives for making it seem like they were attacked and splintered, they managed to give just enough of an explanation of the events that she was satisfied for the moment. After all, she had been building up in her mind what she would likely find when she finally approached the destination she had been instructed to so much that when she found the Jordan family whole and unharmed, she'd been unable to fully process what she was seeing.

That time was over. She had had enough time to think over the events and explanations to determine what pieces of the puzzle she was still lacking. As much as she appreciated their continued hospitality, if she didn't get some sort of explanation soon, she feared she would go mad. Or, _madder_. She knew she wasn't always playing Quidditch with a full pitch.

"What happened the night Antonin came to your home?"

Lee was startled enough by the abrupt inquiry that he almost dropped his wand. Flustered, he cleared his throat and started to say something in response. Experience taught Hermione that whatever he was about to say was going to be a lie. The set of his shoulders and the glassiness of his eyes proved that he wasn't going to be truthful. Before a single word could come out of his mouth, she held up a hand to stop him.

"The _truth_ , Lee."

He sighed and set his wand down on the table in front of them. Whatever he was about to say required his full attention and focus. Turning slightly in his chair to meet her eyes, she could sense a shifting in his bearing. As much as he might not wish to, he was about to finally be honest.

"Dolohov was able to get my name and address from a contact he had in the Muggle police department. Apparently, we're not the only ones with connections."

"Why would he attack the police if he knew someone?"

"Because he _didn't_ attack anyone. As far as I'm aware, he never even stepped foot inside the station you were kept."

A small weight lifted from her shoulders. Hardly noticeable considering all of the other burdens she was carrying, it was at least a tiny relief that he hadn't hurt anyone. Every Muggle she encountered the night she was arrested for trespassing had been exceedingly kind. Under the likely very real impression that there was something mentally wrong with her, they hadn't treated her like an average criminal for even a moment. Perhaps she wore her insanity on her face and they were perceptive enough to see it.

"Why would you tell me…" She stopped herself before she could finish the question. It didn't matter. The lies he told her were in the past. He was finally being honest in that moment. _That_ was all she cared about. "What happened when Antonin came to your house?"

"He knocked on the front door. Very politely even. Posy answered it before we could stop her. When she asked him who he was, he smiled at her and asked if he could speak to her father. He was kind."

Antonin had always had a soft spot for small girls. He'd desired to have a daughter after Oliver was born. Pregnancy had never been easy for Hermione and after the incident with the stairs, he never brought it up again. But, she'd seen the wistful way he used to watch the daughters of their friends. As much as he loved their son, he never felt like their family was complete.

"She called for me, but I was already halfway to the door when she opened it. As soon as I saw who was standing there, I screamed for Sarah. We'd been afraid he was going to show up. She grabbed Posy and tried to force Lizzie up the stairs."

"What did he do?"

"Just asked if you were still there. Very calmly. Didn't even have his wand in his hand."

Hermione struggled to believe this version of events, but knew instinctively that Lee wasn't lying. Many times in the past she had been present with Antonin when he paid a visit to the house of someone suspected of harboring a fugitive. Rarely had he ever been _polite_.

"Honestly, Hermione, he seemed really worried about you. He asked me for permission before he cast a _homenum revelio_. When he realized that you weren't there, he asked me to owl him if you came back. Didn't demand. Didn't threaten. Just _asked_."

No longer wishing to hear any more, she stood up from the chair. Before she could step away from the wizard to return to her bedroom to hide, Lee lightly grabbed her elbow to stop her progression.

"He didn't seem anything at all like we've read in the papers or heard from others. I don't know any other way to describe him, Hermione, but he seemed… well, he seemed _sad._ Lost. After he thanked us, he turned around and left. That was it."

She'd heard enough. _Three_ people had now claimed that her husband was sad that she was gone. Either she was losing her mind or they were. Clearly _none_ of them knew the first thing about their marriage. Whatever emotion Antonin was feeling, it wasn't sadness. He'd always been a good actor when it suited him. Maybe they were all just taken in by his convincing performance. They certainly wouldn't be the first.

"Thank you, Lee."

Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she headed straight for the door. She was done talking about her husband. She was done talking full stop.


	70. March 10th

**_Author's Note: Some of you might be tempted to tell me there is a continuity error in this chapter, but I assure you, there's not. Bear with me. If something doesn't make sense, I promise it will later. ;)_**

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March 10th

There was a serious possibility that isolation was driving Hermione completely insane. She was used to spending her life in the constant company of others. As a child, she was often dragged to her parents' dental practice to spend the days and hours she wasn't at school sitting behind their receptionist's desk trying not to annoy the poor woman with her constant questions. It was where she learned to love books. When she was told to be quiet, she would just open up another volume and lose herself in the words. But, even reading in the middle of a crowded room wasn't being alone.

Her parents had their faults. They worked too much and didn't always give her the proper amount of attention. When she was around other children's parents, she thought it strange that there were mothers who were constantly nagging their children or following them around to make certain they were safe or stayed out of mischief. Half the time she felt like her mum didn't even know where she was. A baby born late in her life and long past her supposedly prime child-bearing days, her mother had already had an entire lifetime by the time little Hermione arrived as a complete and utter surprise. Fitting in the new complication wasn't always easy. Perhaps it would have been better all round for everyone involved if their little accident hadn't been allowed to be born. Maybe they would have all been happier.

When she was in school, her friends thought it strange that her Muggle parents didn't seem to mind that despite spending most of the year hundreds of miles away, she would often spend weeks of the holidays at the Weasley home. Ginny once asked her when they were in the dark of her bedroom at the Burrow if she thought her parents would mind if she just moved in with her family on a permanent basis. Though she was quick to state that her parents enjoyed having her in their lives, she spent most of that night brushing away the tears that rolled out of her eyes as Ginny slept. It was a sore subject. One that even as an adult she hadn't yet gotten over.

There had been an opportunity to restore their memories when the war was over. Even before they were married, Antonin wanted to do what he could to help her bring her parents back to their home country. He had no use or love for Muggles, but he knew that she still harbored a secret hope that a time would come when the parents who bore her would one day be proud of who she had become. Sometimes he was infuriatingly insightful. He knew what made her feel inferior and wanted to do what he could to aid her in some way. She had thanked him, insisted it was unnecessary, and tried to forget that they ever existed. Years after they married, he brought up the subject again. With a kiss, she thanked him again, never changing her mind.

They had each since gone and died on her, so it didn't really matter any longer. Muggles were entirely too fragile, their lives too short to really matter. Maybe one day she would be able to forgive them for all of their inadequacies. Somehow, she doubted it was possible. After all, they'd not only abandoned her long before she wiped their memories, but they'd also cursed her with the same foul traits she hated. No doubt a day would come when Oliver would look back on his relationship with his terrible mother and curse her very existence too. She held no illusions that the loss of her other babies weren't actually blessings. Wasn't it bad enough that she was ruining one poor child's life? An entire house full of damned children would be too much for her battered soul to bear.

She hadn't moved from her bedroom since her uncomfortable conversation with Lee. Imagining the possibility that her husband was pining away for her instead of planning her demise was too much. It was insanity, pure and simple. Antonin had grown clever in his deceptions, that was all. His best friend Thorfinn was likely just going along with the charade. Even though he promised her that he wouldn't tell her husband that he'd seen her, she was certain that the blond had already unburdened his conscience. Maybe they were both waiting for her to return to the same sticky Muggle cafe in Hannah's village.

As much as she might have craved the company of others, she knew it was safer to stay right where she was. Too much could go wrong if she stepped foot outside her door. And not just that she was constantly surrounded by enemies who wanted to kill her. If she managed to do something foolish, like get too close to someone there, she would come to regret it later. So far she had come to regret most of what she had already done in her life.

When the night was late and most of the world was asleep snuggled warm in their beds, Hermione stood at the window of her bedroom that overlooked the main thoroughfare in the center of the village. During the day, it was a place that was full of activity. At night, it was lonely and seemed so big. She considered leaving for some fresh air, a nice long walk through the sleepy village. The nagging thought in the back of her mind that she was asking for trouble kept her feet rooted firmly where she was. All it would take was one renegade Resistance member spotting her out and about by herself and her very existence could be done. Even when that seemed like the most attractive of prospects, she wasn't foolish enough to venture out where there were no witnesses. William Wood was about to snap completely. She didn't want to be caught alone with him in the dark when it finally happened.

Just as she was about to give up any hope at all that she would ever be able to leave the room she was willingly cooped up in, a flash of pale hair in the moonlight caught her eye. It had been several days since she last saw Draco in the village, but there was no mistaking his distinctive appearance. When he walked closer and closer to the house she was in and stopped only steps from the window she was peeking out of, she knew that he was there to find her. Though he might have been _slightly_ more welcome in the village than she was, she knew that he was treated with almost as much suspicion.

A number of questions that she had been sitting on since long before she arrived in Devon swirled around in her unhinged brain. Deciding that she needed answers, she shoved her packed beaded bag down the front of her jumper, opened the window, and started to climb out of it. Draco offered his hand to help her jump down the short distance to the ground. When he didn't immediately relinquish hold of her hand, she pulled it away. There was a familiarity about the gesture that she didn't appreciate.

"Fancy a latenight stroll?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his ridiculous, over-the-top manners. With a formal little bow that his mummy would have no doubt been proud of, he offered his arm. When she rejected the gesture but started walking away, he chuckled and followed. She wasn't sure why he felt the need to tease her at times. Their relationship, for lack of a better term, had grown quite odd over the past few months. Never would she have assumed that there would come a time when she would look forward to spending time alone in his presence.

"Did you come by simply to be a nuisance or is there a reason for your visit?"

"There's always reason in everything I do, Hermione."

"'Everything'? Somehow I doubt that."

He wasn't immediately forthcoming with what the purpose of his call was about. They continued down the dark path inches apart, not touching, but never far apart. Again, much as she might have wished to ignore it, there was a small bit of comfort being with the wizard. She didn't feel alone.

Just as she was about to ask him again why he was there, a shadow crossed their path. Without saying a word, William Wood made it clear that he wasn't pleased to see her. He scowled, but to her relief, kept walking. When they were far enough away from the angry man that she felt confident that they would not be overheard, Hermione began her questions.

"What is happening with the Death Eaters?"

Draco stopped abruptly in his tracks. Whatever he had been expecting her to ask, it certainly wasn't _that_. Undeterred, she rattled off half a dozen more questions at least. What was Antonin doing? Had there been any more secret meetings? Was something big coming? Was the Dark Lord going to be challenged? Did her husband have something to do with it all?

He was reluctant to answer a single one. Convinced at first that he was going to refuse yet again, Hermione started to walk back to the Jordan family home in a huff. There was no point spending another second with him if he wasn't going to respect her enough to give her _something_. She was able to take three steps before he spoke.

"Your _husband_ held another meeting two days ago. Not everyone was invited. My father was, to his surprise. It didn't last long. He's trying to uncover any possible disloyalty before he reveals his next steps."

It wasn't much, but it was something. A morsel of knowledge. She wasn't surprised to discover that the suspicious man she married was reluctant to press forward with his plans without being assured of complete and utter loyalty from those he included in his plans. To hear that Lucius had been invited was a bit of a shock. Antonin had no use for the man _before_ he and his family fell from favor. There had been an old rivalry he never would give her the details about. Something petty and insignificant, no doubt. Her husband had a very touchy ego. Seem to insult him once and he would never forgive the slight.

"Some say that he's lost his edge. That there's something wrong with him."

Hermione glared at the wizard, sure she knew what he was about to say next.

"Don't tell me. He seems _sad_."

Draco sighed. There was no reason for him to confirm what she said was the truth. The set of his jaw and the slump of his shoulders told her everything that she needed to know. She was done talking about her husband. Done hearing about how he had changed and it was all her fault.

Wanting to get as far away from the wizard and the rest of the Resistance as possible, Hermione ran off into the night. She didn't stop moving even after she felt the tingle of the wards surrounding the village pass over her skin.


	71. March 11th

March 11th

Running away without a solid plan of where to go had never been a good idea. Hermione didn't care. All she wanted in that moment was to get as far away as possible. What had she been thinking to willingly bed down with the Resistance? Even if she wasn't actively joining in their raids or furthering their cause, she consumed the food that they offered and took advantage of the shelter they provided. She was a traitor of the very worst sort.

There had to be more to life than just sitting around in a dark bedroom waiting for something to happen. Everyone who bothered to speak to her in the village told her that something big was coming. Something that was going to change their world forever would be happening. It was insanity to sit around and wait for something that might never come to pass. The Resistance had been trying to overthrow the regime for years, for an entire generation. They hadn't been successful yet. Maybe a day would come when they would topple the Dark Lord from the throne he'd built in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle, but she didn't see it happening any time soon.

They were all foolish little children playing at revolution. None of them knew the first thing about what they were trying to accomplish. If they knew what they were signing themselves up for, they would have run away in the opposite direction as quickly as their little feet could carry them. None of them had the stomach to make the hard decisions that had to be made to keep the world alive. How many of them could even remember what life was like before the Dark Lord came to power? It had been so long ago. Children had been born and died in his reign. Of course, their lives had been cut short by the foolishness of their parents.

She couldn't bear to sit in the village for another second. Even death was preferable to an existence where nothing of any consequence happened. Listening to one more person talk about her husband as if he wasn't the most dangerous monster alive would only push her further into the deepening abyss of insanity that she already knew she was heading into. Next, someone was going to tell her that Antonin had broken down in the middle of a secret Death Eater meeting in tears, lamenting the loss of his perfect little family.

Where would she go next? She had no idea. It didn't really matter. Hadn't she survived for ten months completely on her own with no long term plan other than stay two steps ahead of her husband at all times? Most defectors weren't able to survive a fraction of that time out in the world alone. Of course, she pushed aside the very real thought that perhaps the Dark Lord wasn't utilizing his full might to bring her back into the fold like he had with others. It wasn't even publicly known that she wasn't still a loyal Death Eater. He was hoping that she was going to quietly return when she was done having her temper tantrum. There were a few privileges she had gotten used to being Lord Voldemort's favorite over the years.

A rustling behind her encouraged her to move faster. She didn't want to get caught and dragged back to the village. Nor did she want to be discovered out past the wards by a nutter like William Wood. He didn't have to warn her that day that he would attack her at first chance. She had already discovered that months earlier in Edinburgh.

She was out of shape. Despite finally being on a regular eating schedule, she wasn't back to the prime physical health she'd been in when she was a loyal follower. For months she had kept moving simply because she must. Unfortunately, it seemed that there were others out there who hadn't gotten lazy stuck in the captivity of a warm bed and hot meals. No matter how fast she ran, her pursuer was just as fast. Feeling them getting nearer and her strength beginning to wane, she wasn't surprised to feel the solid form of a body at her back and the squeeze of two arms around her chest.

It occurred to her too late that maybe the one rushing after her meant her harm. There had been very simple rules set forth by the Resistance leaders. As long as she stayed within the wards of the village and didn't cause any harm to its inhabitants, her protection would be guaranteed. Once she stepped outside of their domain, she was on her own again. She feared that the one who held her in a tight grip and pulled her to the ground might be the crazed Wood. Seeing him when she began her walk with Draco hadn't been a surprise. If she learned that the wizard sat outside the Jordan home waiting for her to emerge, she wouldn't be surprised. He was a danger she should have considered before she foolishly ran off into the night.

Her captor did not let go no matter how hard she struggled. Too late she realized that she wasn't ready to face the cold uncertainty of death. Maybe there was more to life that she hadn't yet experienced. A hand lessened its grip long enough to point a wand to the sky. With a nonverbal spell, a misty dome of disillusionment dripped over their heads. Only when it reached the ground did he speak.

" _Stop_ fighting me, Hermione. I'm not going to hurt you."

She despised the fact that she immediately relaxed upon hearing Draco's voice. When did that happen? When did his familiar cadence calm her down instead of make her anxious? Convinced that she was about to do something foolish, he tightened his grasp. All at once she realized that she was lying on top of his firm frame. It was a position that she had been in with many other wizards, but never with him. Why that thought popped into her mind at such a moment was a mystery.

"Will was just behind me. He was watching us."

Hermione sighed, ignoring the fact that the motion pressed her body further against his. A soft clearing of his throat underneath her proved that he hadn't missed the shift. She started to say something, started to suggest that they move away from the immediate area when a dark form rushed past them. The spell Draco cast around them suddenly made sense. Wood couldn't see them. Frustrated, he ran right past where they were laying and didn't even notice. Once he was no longer within sight, Draco gently rolled over to his side, knocking Hermione to the ground. He rose to his feet and offered his hand to help her up as well.

"Why did you run away?"

There was anger in his voice. She had heard it many times before, but somehow it bothered her more in that moment than it did any other. Unless she was completely mistaken, he seemed almost _disappointed_ in her actions. Why did his opinion suddenly matter?

"Will is going to kill you if you give him the chance. Don't take him lightly, Hermione. He _hates_ you."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you."

"I don't think you are taking his threats seriously."

She wanted to throw in his face that if she curled up in a ball afraid every time someone wanted to murder her, she would never be able to move on with her life. There were dozens, possibly _hundreds_ of people in their small society that wanted to be the instrument in her death. It was nothing new. William Wood was only the latest in a long line of potential enemies. She knew he was dangerous, but at the same time, she wasn't exactly worried. Better wizards than him had tried and failed to kill her.

"Next time you try something foolish, I might not be around to save you."

Hermione's eyes shot up to meet Draco's. She thought she had already made herself perfectly clear. Perhaps not. Even intelligent people needed reminders every now and again.

"And as I've already told you, I do _not_ need you to save me, Malfoy."

The urge to turn around and storm off again was strong. Something in his exasperated gaze kept her feet rooted firmly to the ground. Had she actually _frightened_ him? She wouldn't have believed it if she didn't see it in his eyes. Draco Malfoy was worried about her. Who would have imagined that a day would come when that would happen?

"Where were you going?"

"I don't know. _Away_. The actual destination didn't seem to matter."

"You can't keep running off without a plan, Hermione. It's too dangerous. If I hadn't been able to catch you, Will might have."

She knew that she was being reckless even without him telling her so. Later, when she was alone and could properly digest the events of the evening, she would probably even regret making him worry.

"He wants you dead. And he doesn't care much for me either. This could've been very bad."

"Why doesn't he like you?"

Draco's scoff quickly turned into a low chuckle. Some of the tension of their experiences dissipated. With the immediate threat far off in the distance seeking his prey out, they could afford to be a little cavalier.

"Jealousy, I imagine. Thinks there's something going on between Ginny and me."

"And is there?"

The moment the question dripped off her tongue she wished she could pull it back in. What Draco Malfoy did in his private life was none of her concern. She longed to curse off the smirk that crept across his lips. Clearly, he found her curiosity amusing.

"I have a lot of respect for Ginny and she's certainly attractive, but no, there's nothing going on between us."

She didn't know why she was relieved to hear his admission. When they were younger and Ginny began to grow out of the awkward phase that all adolescents went though with a great deal more grace than Hermione, she had been jealous. It took effort on her part to look beautiful, but for the younger witch, she was just naturally so. It had been frustrating to see Ginny approached by so many different young wizards when none of them showed the slightest bit of interest in her. Perhaps there would always be a rivalry between the two women. At least on Hermione's side, anyway.

"Come back with me to the village?"

As much as she wished to refuse, she didn't. A single nod of her head later, he pulled down the disillusionment spell and Apparated them back to the edges of the village's wards. Two steps forward and she was back inside the protection offered by the Resistance's leaders. Draco didn't leave her side until he was confident she was back inside the safety of her bedroom. When she closed the window she climbed into and started to pull the curtains shut, she caught a glimpse of a furious William Wood stalking back to his hiding place. Draco was right. She was going to have to be more careful in the future.


	72. March 12th

March 12th

The entire adventure outside of the village's wards lasted only a few minutes, but news of her attempt to flee spread quickly. Hermione assumed that her constant shadow was responsible. No doubt Wood believed he would be given permission to kill her because she stepped outside the wards. He wasn't one easily dissuaded. She reminded herself again to be more careful in the future. When she was at the height of her strength and power as a Death Eater, there was no question who would prevail in a duel. Almost a year of virtually no magic and being surrounded by enemies, she didn't have any doubt that she would lose if it came down to a fight. As hard as she might fight and as determined as she might be, she wasn't the witch she once was.

Though they might not have come right out and admitted so, each member of the Jordan family was pleased that she had returned. The day after, she emerged from her bedroom to be social enough to share the midday meal with the others who occupied the house. A steady stream of conversation had been running _until_ she stepped into the bright, cheery kitchen. It wasn't difficult to ascertain that she had been the topic of discussion. Realizing that she was likely uncomfortable with the abrupt cessation of speech, Lee smiled brightly and welcomed her home.

The manner in which the wizard seemed to make light of her escape broke much of the tension that still hung in the air. Hermione appreciated his efforts and summoned up all of her reserves to smile in return. In truth, she was glad to be back. Nothing about her life was normal or ordinary, but she liked the small family who had been so gracious to open their home to a dangerous criminal usually on the wrong side of the fight.

Little Posy leapt up from her chair at the table to rush across the room. Her tiny arms wrapped around a startled Hermione's waist. She practically sobbed into her stomach that she was glad she was back. She had been afraid that she would never see her again. It was sweet, if a bit dramatic. Heightened emotions were common in girls her age. There was no reason for her to worry. She hadn't been gone long at all. The problem with a small village with a mostly idle population was that rumors could spread fast and furiously. There was no way to tell how skewed the version of events really got before they reached Posy's sensitive little ears.

"Daddy said that we had to be ready because some day you wouldn't be back."

His grin slipped while Lee cleared his throat. One other charming trait of trusting children like his youngest daughter was their seeming inability to understand what is and what is not something that should be repeated. Hermione granted her host a small, knowing smile before turning her full attention on the little girl still clinging to the front of her clothes. Tears filled Posy's dark eyes, threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

"Your daddy is right. I probably won't be able to live here forever. I will likely have to go at some point. Hopefully, that day won't be for a long time yet."

Posy seemed satisfied with the response. Children were often young enough and naïve enough to put their full trust in those adults who didn't deserve it. Hermione was well aware of the fact that a day would come when the poor girl would discover how ugly life could really get. She didn't want to take away the tiniest bit of her innocence. Once it was gone, there was no getting it back. She envied the girl for her ignorance. With one more squeeze around her middle, Posy released her hold to return to her neglected lunch.

The rest of the meal passed in inconsequential, inane conversation. Part of Hermione longed to return to her room to hide. It was easier that way and she got the impression that at least the adults wanted to continue what they had been talking about before she interrupted. It was an unnerving feeling to know that she wasn't always welcome in the house she was living. When the last of the food was tucked away in the respective bellies of those gathered at the table, Lee and Sarah made excuses to step out of the room, likely to pick up where they left off the earlier conversation. Posy slipped out of the kitchen undetected.

It was only as Hermione gathered up the abandoned dishes did she realize she was alone with the elder of the two Jordan girls. Lizzie continued to sit in her usual chair, staring up at the older witch with that same expression of interest that bothered her so. She didn't even grasp that Hermione wished for nothing more than to not be in the same room. Or if she did, she didn't care. Neither of them said anything at first and she foolishly hoped that she might be able to make it through the washing up of the dishes without being bombarded with questions she couldn't or _wouldn't_ answer. Of course, her luck had never really been all that good.

"Did you leave to go talk to the Death Eaters?"

No bowls smashed to the bottom of the sink. Hermione was prepared for the girl. Instead of answering immediately in the negative, she stacked all of the dirty dishes into one side of the sink before turning around. Perhaps it would be best all around for them to get the discussion Lizzie was desperate to have out in the open. She would only grow more curious and forceful in her inquiries as time went on and she didn't have a satisfactory answer. Hermione knew all too well. They were just alike.

"Why do you ask that, Lizzie?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders as if what they were talking about was not a big deal. To her, it probably wasn't. Like her younger sister, she was too young and inexperienced to understand what she was saying or asking. There was a giant world out there that she knew nothing about yet.

"Why else would you leave?"

Wiping her hands on a dry dishtowel, Hermione crossed the small room to sit at the table across from the too-inquisitive girl. An excitement fell over Lizzie. Clearly, she understood that she might finally get some answers from their mysterious guest who fascinated her so. Unsure where to even begin, Hermione considered what she was going to say before she said it. Neither of her parents would likely approve of such a frank chinwag, but it didn't matter. She could imagine the girl getting herself in serious trouble seeking out more information. It was exactly what she would have done, what she _had_ done.

"It's not easy for me to live here amongst everyone, but no, I didn't leave to speak to any other…" She couldn't say the word. Giving a name to the kind of person she once was would make it all very real. "… any others like I used to be."

"Why is it hard to live here? Because they're all part of the Resistance and you used to kill people like them?"

The girl was too intelligent and perceptive for her own good. She hadn't been wasting the time they'd been hiding in Devon. It was the folly of adults to discount the very real possibility that the children in their homes and villages were picking up a great deal more information than they realized. Unfortunately, she'd learned that lesson the hard way when it came to her son. She and Antonin both believed that they'd been so careful to keep the worst aspects of their life away from Oliver. More than a few times he'd made it clear that he'd been paying attention. Lizzie's parents would need to be informed that she knew more than she should.

"Partly. Several people in the village would kill _me_ if given a chance."

"Like William Wood?"

Hermione sighed. How did the girl know so much? It was disturbing. Unwilling to answer that particular question for fear that Lizzie would want to know more details, or because she was afraid that the girl _already_ knew many of the facts of that incident, she tried to steer the conversation into a different direction. Evading a question wasn't lying.

"Why are you so fascinated with… with Death Eaters, Lizzie?"

Again, she shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. Just interested, I guess."

Anything else that might have been said on the subject was cut short by the return of her parents. There was a solemnity to their features that hadn't been there when they first left the room. As much as they might have tried to hide it, Hermione could tell. Whatever they'd been talking about hadn't been good.

She felt an obligation to bring her fears about Lizzie to her parents. They needed to understand that what might seem like an innocent fascination as a child could easily turn into something much worse and much more dangerous as she grew older. If given the proper amount of attention and concern, there was hope that the girl could outgrow her macabre interests to become a productive member of society without possessing a Dark Mark on her left arm. If ignored, however, she might be the kind of person to seek out knowledge at her expense.

But, Hermione kept her mouth shut. There was a very real anxiety that twisted in the pit of her stomach. The second that the Jordans suspected that she was being a poor influence on their daughters, she would be thrown out of their home. Who else within the village filled with Resistance members would take her in? She might be forced to go back out into the rest of the world to fend her herself again. As much as she knew that that was likely the right choice for her anyway, she wasn't ready to give up the small bit of sanctuary she'd been able to find.

Hopefully, Lizzie would outgrow it all. Something new would strike her fancy and she would forget all of the questions she had. It might have been a futile hope, but Hermione was just getting used to staying in the same place for longer than a day. Soon enough she would have to leave the village. She would be a fool to hasten that day before she had to.


	73. March 13th

March 13th

A break in the harsh winter weather arrived just as Hermione feared that she would go crazy being cooped up inside her bedroom for much longer. Unable to admit to the Jordan parents what she thought might be happening in their daughter's mind, she opted to spend less and less time outside of what had been both her sanctuary and her cell. With the sun high in the sky, she was able to sit on the steps leading down to the back garden wearing little more than a jumper.

No matter how hard she tried not to, she couldn't help but think about the fact that warmer weather meant that returning to her fugitive state outside of the Resistance stronghold would be much easier once she no longer had to worry about freezing to death every night. She'd run from Hogsmeade in mid-May. The late spring and summer months had been a deceptive guide to base the rest of her adventures on. When she first ran, she didn't have to worry about snow or finding adequate heat. It had almost been easy. If she was going to run again, the time of year to do so was rapidly approaching.

One reason she hadn't stirred far was due to the fact that she had yet to hear _anything_ from the Resistance leaders as to why they were providing her a safe haven. Nothing was done out of the goodness of one's heart any longer. There was an agenda. She wanted to know what it was.

Everyone she had talked to since the first of the year had been under the impression that something big was coming. Something positively Earth-shaking and life-changing. She wasn't sure if it was the naïveté of those who didn't really understand how the world worked or if a plan was already being put into motion to tear down what she'd spent so many years helping to build up. Regardless of which it was, she longed to discover a reason to hope for change.

Not since the day that she sat with Ginny in her bedroom to discuss only the barest minimum of facts about her life with the Resistance and her past with William Wood had any of the leaders even bothered to approach their resident Death Eater. There hadn't been much activity in the village either. While she sat at the window staring out the tiniest break in her curtains to keep from being observed watching the rest of the inhabitants, she tried to discover if something was stirring. None of the leaders had been spotted. No one spoke to her about what they wanted to do next. None of them had even approached her to find out why she was seen leaving the protective wards. Either they didn't care what she did or they were too busy.

She knew that she might be able to gather more information if she just asked Lee. Once his wireless set was up and working again, he'd been able to broadcast most days. The first step to ensuring a successful revolution was to educate the masses. His function within the Resistance was supremely important. Though she knew that propaganda was very often sprinkled with just enough truth to keep from being a complete lie, she was also aware that he would know more than she did. Perhaps if she just bothered to listen to one of his broadcasts she could glean something that might be useful, something might tell her if she was wasting her time remaining in the village or not.

If she was honest with herself, and she was trying to do that as little as possible, she might have come to the conclusion that she simply didn't want to know what was happening because for the moment, she was satisfied where she was. Even if every single person that lived near her hated her very guts and longed for the day they could end her sorry existence, the alternative wasn't attractive. She liked not having to worry about where she was going to spend the night. Because of the somewhat protected status of the Resistance's corner of Devon, she hadn't had to fear that Antonin or any of his mates would come find her. If they were even aware of her location, they wouldn't seek her out. Not unless she chose to run again.

Lee and Sarah had been dear friends. Or, as close to friends as she was sure she would ever have again. Because of who she was and what she had done in the past, there would always be the slightest barrier between them for their own protection. None of them could afford to get too close to the other side. But, they had done a great deal to ensure that she didn't always feel like she was a bug just waiting to be squashed under a giant shoe. They tried to make her a part of their family in the very limited way they could. She appreciated the effort, as misguided as it was. If they were smarter, they would throw her out the front door and demand that she stay as far away from their girls as physically possible. The traits that existed in them to make them such sweet, friendly people were detrimental when it came to people like Hermione. There was a time in her life, and it hadn't been _that_ long ago, that she would have exploited them for everything they were. Sometimes positive personality traits and characteristics were weaknesses.

"Mind if I join you?"

Hermione's thoughts had been so focused on her host family that she hadn't even noticed the approach of one of the few potential allies she had in the entire world. Shielding her eyes with her hand from the glare of the sun, she stared up at Draco Malfoy for at least a beat or two before she nodded her head. With a friendly smile that still felt strange to see sent in her direction, he sat down on the step next to her only centimeters away.

"Looks like winter is almost over. Not a moment too soon, if you ask me."

"Did you come to talk about the weather, Draco, or is there something else?"

Long periods of isolation had dulled her social graces. Even she was aware. Draco, however, wasn't offended. A smirk crossed his lips. He stared at her for longer than was polite. Only when she was beginning to squirm under his uncomfortable gaze did he answer her question.

"I wanted to see if you had been thinking any more about running."

She could appreciate a man who got straight to the point. At least when it was demanded of him first. Draco Malfoy learned enough of the fussy manners required of members of his family's former social circle to understand how to direct a conversation with the utmost decorum and civility. He was taught from a young age how to imitate the somewhat courtly speech of his father and grandfather. There were other ways to get information from a person than to ask them directly. The social class that the Malfoy family had been a part of once upon a time no longer existed. In the attempt to bring everyone to a more equal social footing, Mudbloods excluded, of course, the elites had been replaced with a new breed of witch and wizard. The Malfoys were a dying breed. Somewhat _literally_ even. Despite his orders that all of his Death Eaters marry and procreate, somehow Draco had been exempted from that duty. She wondered why.

"I probably should run."

As they often did when he was around, her words fell out of her mouth unbidden. Something about his presence made her say and act in a manner that she wouldn't ordinarily. Whatever the reason, it was dangerous. Letting her guard slip even the slightest around anyone was just asking for trouble. Deciding that she had already gone too far, Hermione made the decision to unburden her worrisome thoughts on the one person around who might actually be able to understand them.

"Lizzie Jordan is obsessed with Death Eaters."

"Is she the…"

"The older one. Eight years old and she's already been asking me questions she has no business asking. Seems to find us fascinating."

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled it in a dramatic huff. She appreciated the fact that it was clear he understood her concerns. They had both had reason over their long careers as Death Eaters to cross paths with those who thought they desired to live the same sort of dangerous existence. He had had no choice but to offer his arm to the Dark Lord. Likewise, she had been given a choice, but not a fair one. Both forced into his service, they'd gone their separate ways. He performed his duties with a reluctance that wasn't difficult to spot and she performed hers with an ardor that consumed her very being.

"Have you told the girl's parents?"

"No. They'd throw me out in a second. Not that I'd blame them. They should do it anyway."

They sat in the companionable silence that at some point had become a factor in their relationship. Hermione was hesitant to call what they had a _friendship_ of any sort. It had been years since she had one of those. Or at least one that she could be certain wasn't just another sycophant trying to figure out a way to get more favor with the Dark Lord by using her status. Alecto had been kind to her, but even she had an agenda. From the moment that Hermione killed her brother in a brutal manner and she continued to seek out a friendship, she had been suspicious. Who in their right mind would want to befriend the person who tortured their relative to death? But, Allie had her uses. She wasn't in a rush to get rid of any ties she had with the older witch. That wasn't exactly what one could call a friendship, however.

"If they threw you out, where would you go?"

It was an odd question. Surely he was intelligent enough to understand that she didn't have many options available to her if the Jordans wanted nothing to do with her. The Zellers weren't likely to open their door to the witch who was responsible for their daughter Rose's death. Nor would any of the others. Without the charmingly naïve couple who had taken her in, she would need to leave the village and quickly.

"I couldn't exactly stay here, could I? I guess I'd be back out there, moving from place to place."

"And in constant danger of being captured."

It was her turn to sigh. She didn't have much choice. Why did he even care? The cool, steady tone he usually spoke in rose ever so slightly with each word he uttered. Something in their conversation was riling him up. To her complete shock and surprise, Draco grabbed her hand in a tight squeeze.

" _Please_ don't leave, Hermione."

She had never heard him beg before. Never heard him plead. Even when he was asking her nicely to return to the village after her short escape, his voice hadn't been filled with so much emotion. Was there more to his request than he was letting on? He didn't release her hand. Only tightened his grip.

"Promise me you won't leave the village."

Though she had a policy to never make promises she couldn't be sure she'd keep, she granted him a small nod. Relaxing slightly when she did, Draco released her hand and made his excuses. She remained on the back steps staring at the break in the hedges he'd disappeared into for a long time.


	74. March 14th

_Author's Notes: Lots of people seem to be confused by a certain character's motivations. Don't forget the warning I gave you in the very first chapter. Might want to reread Item #1. ;)_

* * *

March 14th

Thinking over Draco's odd behavior the day before had given Hermione a lot to occupy her mind. Life was a bit easier when she had something she could focus on. For the rest of that day and part of the next, she analyzed every moment, every syllable of their conversation. She couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't been so adamant in forcing out a promise from her because he knew more than he was letting on.

Of course, _everyone_ knew more than she did. Part of that had been deliberate. She didn't want to know what was happening in the world. It was much easier to keep pretending like the world did not exist beyond the three feet space encircling her body. If she allowed her mind to dwell to possibilities of _outside_ , she might be inclined to do something foolish. Like return home. Shit mum she might be, but she still felt an obligation to keep her son safe. One word to indicate that he might be caught up in a maelstrom of violence and degradation simply because of the last name he was granted upon birth, she would have to go to him. Maternal instinct and all that rubbish.

It pained her to think of Ollie. A true innocent in everything, she feared that if the Revolution were to be successful, he would be right there with his parents on the execution block. Wouldn't matter that he wasn't even twelve years old yet. He was damned because of his mother's eyes and his father's dark, wavy hair. No one would ever be able to look at him and _not_ know who he belonged to. His DNA was plastered all across his handsome face. Despite her tendency to stray from her marital bed, there was no question who his father was. Not even the worst of the gossips who loathed the very ground she walked on could deny the truth. Even if he was somehow spared the fate that his parents earned, he would never be able to live in his native country without the stain of his heritage marring his existence.

So, whenever she had the chance to think of something other than how she had ruined her son's life before he was even born, she latched on to it. Attempting to decipher Draco's true meaning with the few words he chose the day before became a puzzle her battered mind desired to solve. And remembering how he clung to her hand without letting go was another piece. There had been a few physical touches since their bizarre acquaintance had begun back at the beginning of the year. None like the day before. She didn't understand what he had been trying to do. Was he manipulating her? Trying to make her focus on the wrong details so she didn't catch on to what was _really_ happening?

'Sleight of hand' was what Albert Runcorn called it. In charge of the regime's presence in the culture, he was an expert at his job. The horrid Dolores Umbridge had initially been given the task of supervising the regime-approved newspapers and wireless stations to ensure that nothing was disseminated that went against their established values and practices, but unsurprisingly, she had mucked it all up. Not exactly what one would think was a difficult job, somehow she had failed at it so spectacularly that it had almost cost the bitch her life. Instead, she was demoted to some dusty office in the lowest level of the Ministry filing reports away that no one cared anything about. It had been Hermione's suggestion that she suffer the indignity of following in her father's footsteps as a floor mopper with the Magical Maintenance Department. Considering the witch was so ashamed of her father that she refused to acknowledge he ever existed, it seemed like a fitting punishment. Unfortunately, her idea had been disregarded for something a little less humiliating.

But, Albie had proven himself to be up to the task of becoming a master propagandist. Of course, they never _called_ what he did propaganda. That had a somewhat negative connotation. He knew that if he could get all of the simpleminded citizens' minds focused on something else that he was able to build up as much worse than it actually was, no one would pay the least bit of attention to what was actually happening behind the scenes. Fear was a powerful motivator. He would get the whole society twirled up in such a tizzy about something inconsequential that they didn't have the time or energy to worry about anything else. Some of their most effective laws had been passed because they had been so afraid of a bogeyman that didn't even exist.

Perhaps that was what Draco had been doing. Trying to confuse her with the touch of his hand and the uncharacteristic pleading in his voice. As she finished washing up the dirty dishes from the evening meal, she replayed the scene over and over again. The Jordan family had already vacated the kitchen to enjoy an _almost_ warm evening outside. Each of them were so ready for the winter season to be over that they were attempting to convince themselves that it was warm enough to be outside. Hermione was glad they were gone. The quiet in the house kept her from being distracted from her thoughts.

A loud knock at the front door startled her enough that she almost dropped a bowl she was drying. It was evident that she was out of practice with her reflexes. She was just asking to get killed or captured. Besides, knocking on the door of the house wasn't a common practice in the Resistance's strange village. Usually, they just walked in without care for what might already be going on inside. With all of the inhabitants outside, it was up to Hermione to answer the insistent knock. She set the bowl down next to the sink, wiped her wet hands on a towel, and crossed the room to the door.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she opened the front door to see Draco standing there. Clearly, she hadn't been looking forward to coming face to face with one of the dozens of residents who wished her dead. Relieved to see a somewhat friendly face, she even granted him a rare, half-smile.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced, but do you have a few minutes?"

Assuring him that she did, Hermione didn't expect him to start walking away from the house. Realizing that she wasn't following him, he turned over his shoulder and gestured with his head for her to come on. Too curious for her own good, she shut the door behind her to walk through the heart of the village. The Jordans weren't the only family trying to take advantage of the break in the chilly temperatures. Hermione kept her head down on the gravel in front of her to avoid glancing up into the disapproving faces or seeing one more terrified mother snatch her innocent child up in her arms. Either Draco didn't notice the reactions of the other villagers or he simply didn't care. She was grateful that he didn't draw any attention to the unfriendly stares.

At the very edge of the village, close to the wards she'd breached, he stopped. Though technically still within the allowed borders, they were far from the other houses. Why he wanted to take her outside when the night was dark to stand in the middle of a grassy field was beyond her. Her curiosity was piqued.

"Do you see that tree over there?"

She wanted to tell him that of course she could see the tree he was pointing too. Did he think that she had somehow lost her eyesight? Resisting the urge to be rude, she nodded.

"Walk towards it."

It was a bizarre request. Just one of many, she supposed. Feeling terribly foolish and not understanding at all what he was after, she made the decision to follow along. Three steps towards the tree and she felt the energy crackle up her arms. Four steps in and she saw the tent. Seemingly out of thin air, her old, familiar tent appeared. Cloaked so no one could see it unless they crossed the barrier, she still didn't understand what Draco was doing. She'd wondered a few times what he had done with her tent after she ran off into the night, but never thought it important enough to ask when she saw him.

"Thought you might like somewhere to stay that wasn't just down the corridor from a girl who asks too many questions."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Needing something to do with her hands, she lifted the tent flap to enter in the space. Everything was back in its usual place. It almost looked as if no time had passed since they were last in the woods alone together. He was only a couple of steps behind her.

"Ginny gave me permission to set it up. She didn't ask why. It's private. No one can cross the barriers without an invitation. Only those who _need_ to know it is here, know it's here."

"Draco, this is…"

"Very thoughtful of me, I know."

His cheeky wink drew out a snort from her that she didn't expect. There was still so much to learn about the wizard. Just when she thought she had him all figured out, he would surprise her with something she didn't expect. She knew to be suspicious of generosity. That was one of the first lessons Antonin hammered into her brain when he was remolding her into the dutiful little Death Eater the Dark Lord desired. At some point, the man would come calling for what he wanted in return. She hoped that it wouldn't be too high a price to pay because she _really_ wanted to stop living in the Jordans' home.

"Thank you."

Her lips were brushing against his stubbled cheek before she realized she'd moved closer to him. It was chaste, nothing to be ashamed of, but she couldn't ignore the sudden burning in her own cheeks at her boldness. Draco's serious expression morphed into a full-blown grin that she was still having trouble getting used to seeing. There had been a time when she saw nothing but a scowl every time she looked at his face. If this was all part of his grand plan, his devious scheme, he was playing a convincing part. She knew it was unwise to let her guard drop for even a moment around another who had been taught at the knee of the same master.

"There is _one_ condition, I'm afraid."

Of course there was. She knew it wouldn't come without strings. Preparing herself for the possibility that she would have to turn down his generous offer and avoid the hidden tent at all costs, Hermione stepped back to get a good look at his face. She wanted to gauge his emotions, make certain he was being honest.

"Nothing too terrible, I promise. I may be spending a bit more time in the village in the near future. I'd like to stay here in the tent, if I may."

She could hardly say 'no' though she might want to. Getting too close to him was precarious. But, she couldn't bear the thought of spending another night down the corridor from Lizzie. Nodding her head in agreement, she was certain that she could handle him. She hadn't survived being a Death Eater for as long as she had without learning how to take care of herself.


	75. March 15th

March 15th

Draco didn't linger long in the tent after she had reluctantly given him permission to stay there when he was in the village. Though he wouldn't give her any details, he admitted that he was supposed to be on some sort of raid that night. How he was able to keep his duties straight in his head while he was also partnering with the leaders of the Resistance was beyond Hermione's comprehension. It had to have been confusing to make it seem like he was following the orders of the Dark Lord while still mysteriously doing whatever it was he did for the Resistance. She still wasn't clear yet.

No one in the Jordan home stopped her when she announced she was moving to her tent on the edge of the village. If she was truthful with herself, she was sure there was relief on the faces of the parents. As much as they might have tried to to make it seem like she was just another house guest and an extended member of their family, she knew that she made them uncomfortable. She didn't blame them. If the roles were reversed and she was forced to house Ginny Weasley or Aberforth Dumbledore in her Hogsmeade home with her family, she wouldn't want Oliver to spend any length of time with them. They might teach him exactly what she didn't want him to learn.

Moving back into the tent was a strangely freeing experience. She thought it might be lonely to leave the warm family house to be alone in the tent. There hadn't been a single night that she'd spent inside the old canvas where she was completely alone. Either Harry and Ron had been with her or Antonin and Oliver. Or Draco. It was quiet and comforting. As soon as she had everything packed into her beaded bag and stowed safely on her person, she hadn't hesitated to return to the tent. Leaving her bag within arm's reach, she slipped into her old bunk and was asleep in moments.

One benefit she discovered the next morning to having the tent and its immediate area cloaked in a powerful spell was that she was able to sit in the tent flap sipping her tea and watch the activity on the edge of the village completely unseen. Either it was a happy accident that Draco placed it right by the unofficial entrance of the village or he was deliberate in his decision. She imagined it was likely the latter. No one was able to Apparate directly into the village for security purposes. Unlike Hogsmeade where the anti-Apparition wards were only triggered in times of confusion or attack, the Resistance took no chances with their safety. Most arrived just outside the wards only about ten or fifteen meters from the position of her tent. None of them even bothered to glance in her direction. Hermione loved the feeling of being invisible.

For such a sleepy village, there was a great deal of activity that morning. More residents were coming and going than she had ever noticed before. Everyone seemed to be in something of a rush. None of the laughter and cheerful conversation she was used to hearing echoed through the streets. A tension hung in the air that even she couldn't miss. Several of the leaders of the Resistance arrived just before noon. Appearing in ones and twos, she was able to see those she hadn't even been aware held any amount of power within the Resistance arrive. Some of them she hadn't laid eyes on since before the war was over.

Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood crossed the wards together. There had been rumors that the dreamy Ravenclaw witch met some traveller years before when she was hunting for one of the countless ridiculous creatures she and her father believed were real. Supposedly, she was married and possibly a mother, but no one could confirm that for certain. The few times that the Death Eaters or their associates had been able to catch a glimpse of her over the years had always been within the presence of her protective father. Hermione couldn't remember the details of how the crazed wizard was able to get released from Azkaban at the end of the war. Likely he had been one of those that had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord in exchange for freedom only to turn around and defy the very wizard who had given him his life back. It disgusted her that so many of those people still were free to roam the earth unimpeded. She stared at the duo until they disappeared into the front door belonging to Tiberius Zeller.

Percy Weasley arrived alone. She hadn't seen him or heard a word about him since that day during the small meeting. It was a known fact that he had a wife and at least one child, possibly two, tucked away in a protected village in Belgium. As much as the regime might have longed to go after him for his crimes against their people, there existed a rather tenuous treaty with the Belgians that no one was in a hurry to upset. They had such a _sensitive_ Ministry, after all. It was decided that he was fair game _only_ when he was inside Great Britain. Unfortunately, despite his frequent visits, he was careful to the point of obsession.

Others came. Some she recognized. A few she had seen inside the Ministry only a short time before she had run away. She'd gone to school with many of them, even fought in Dumbledore's Army alongside a few. Plenty she only knew from being on the wrong end of their wand. Or, rather, they knew _her_ from being on the wrong end of _hers_. A steady stream of arrivals continued well past the noon hour. About half-past, the last trickle wandered into the Zellers' home. She'd tried to keep an accurate count, but somewhere around thirty-one or thirty-two, she stopped. There had been too many pressing in at once to keep track.

She stared at the meeting place, hardly blinking, for at least an hour. The eerie silence of the village was unnerving. There was a great temptation to try to sneak over to the house in the distance to try to discover what they were talking about, but she forced herself to remain right where she was. It wouldn't do her situation any good to be caught lurking in the shadows attempting to eavesdrop. For those who were still convinced that she was a spy sent to infiltrate their ranks, they would have all of the proof they needed.

No one was smiling when they exited the house sometime around two in the afternoon. Whatever had been discussed was not a cheery topic. Very few spoke to each other and most of the Resistance rushed out of the wards as quickly as possible. It had taken the better part of an hour to get the leaders of the rebel group to the village and hardly a quarter of an hour before they were all gone. Hermione considered stepping outside of the cloaking spell to walk down to speak with Lee Jordan. He _might_ share some of what happened if she asked. Just as she was about to stand up, she was startled by a voice.

"Hermione? Are you about?"

Charlie Weasley spoke in quiet tones to keep his voice from carrying. She had been so focused on watching the departures that she hadn't even seen the dragon keeper sneak up on her hiding place. With his back to the tent he could not see, he waited for a response. Clearly, he didn't want to draw attention to his actions. Draco made the promise that no one but those who needed to know would be able to find her. Feeling confident in the fact that Charlie had never once raised his wand in her direction in all of the years they'd fought on opposite sides, she felt somewhat secure revealing where she was.

"Walk towards the tree behind you."

A couple of minutes later found them both seated at the simple wooden plank table staring at the other. Not immediately forthcoming with the purpose of his visit, Charlie took his time. They could have simply been old friends enjoying the presence of the other if an uninterested bystander got a glimpse of them. When he finally spoke, it was not about the meeting he'd obviously just come from.

"Are you settling into the village since we last spoke?"

She felt her eyes narrow at the question. He wasn't an unintelligent man. How could she possibly "settle in" to a place filled with enemies? His polite attempt at conversation rankled her nerves. Deciding to play along to see if he would come right out with the true purpose of his odd visit, she sighed.

"As well as can be expected."

"I heard about you leaving the village the other night. Why?"

"I didn't want to be here any longer."

"And what brought you back?"

 _Draco_. Of course, she couldn't admit to it. Not even to herself. For reasons she had as yet still been unable to discover, she only returned to the village because of him. Why? She wasn't sure she would ever understand fully.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

His sigh spoke of great disappointment and exhaustion. She was all too familiar with that brand of sigh. Unsure what to do with her, Charlie appeared to be trying to figure out some kind of common ground for the both of them to stand upon. One of the more rational members of the Weasley family, he had had to develop a strong sense of calm and logical thinking to spend a lifetime working with unpredictable dragons. A single wrong move could mean not only his death, but the end of others, possibly even the end of the dragon.

"I truly wish for the best for you, Hermione. Just as I've always held out hope that one day Ronnie would see the error of his ways and come home, I hoped the same for you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Thank you."

"I also hope that you aren't just fooling everyone about your intentions."

She could have claimed until she was blue in the face that she had no plans to betray him or any other member of the Resistance. It would have all been for nothing. Words meant very little. Actions spoke much louder. Charlie would be a fool to just trust her words at face value. _That_ was how little Gryffindors got hurt. Rising to his feet to indicate that he had made his point clear, he didn't even ask for permission before he enveloped her small frame in his arms. Over almost as soon as it began, she appreciated the embrace. He might not trust her, but he hadn't completely given up on her either.

"You know I always liked you, right?"

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips when he made his confession. She remembered a time when she was young, naïve and fancied herself half in love with the wizard. Every kind word and gesture she'd clung to, convinced herself that he was in love with her too. How silly she had been! How silly they had all been.

"Always thought you'd end up with one of my brothers."

"Ron?"

"Maybe. Though you and Fred would've made a better match. You would've complemented each other. Calmed him down a bit. Loosened you up some. Guess we'll never know."

Talking of the past made her stomach twist in knots. She was pleased when he slipped out of the tent flap moments later to leave her alone with her thoughts.


	76. March 16th

_**Author's Note:** And _**AGAIN** _, not every day will be filled with excitement. (Do I seriously have to keep repeating myself? I only mentioned this in the FIRST chapter.)_ **Every** _chapter is important._ **Every** _chapter has important clues about future events. But, not every chapter will be full of smut, action, danger, plot twists, etc. When you are not the writer, and therefore don't know what the rest of the story is going to be like, you have no authority to call something "filler" or not. Seriously. If you are looking for non-stop adventure and something happening every second of this story, I've already suggested that you find another story to read. Maybe then you won't "fall asleep while you're reading" because that's exactly what every writer who writes for FREE loves to hear. It really makes us gleeful and excited to keep writing. (That was sarcasm, if you didn't get it.). No one is making you continue to read this story, so please stop insulting me. Just because you start it with a compliment doesn't mean it's not rude._

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March 16th

The distance the tent provided from the rest of the Resistance members residing in the small village was helpful to Hermione's delicate psyche, but not the perfect solution. She felt like she had a bit of breathing room. No longer did she have to worry about the too-inquisitive-for-her-own-good small witch cornering her in an empty room to ask questions she had no business knowing the answers to. Sarah was generous enough to stop by each evening when the sun had gone down to bring a basket full of food she could eat the next day. It had been a kindness she hadn't expected. Still, the tent wasn't the answer to all of Hermione's current problems.

Being alone had been one of the more difficult parts of living on the run. Used to spending most of her waking moments surrounded by people, she discovered months earlier that isolation wasn't the paradise it initially sounded like. When she was stuck in a room full of blathering idiots she was required to socialize with because they had matching Marks on their arms, she would imagine what it would be like to never have to speak to any of them again. Even a single night in an empty bed where she didn't have to worry about the sound of Antonin's steady breathing driving her completely mad seemed like Heaven. Now that she had not only had a taste of it, but a bellyful, she almost started missing the days she spent around other human beings.

Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn't constantly on the move that gave her the opportunity to think about her predicament. When she was moving from place to place with no plans or hopes for the future, she didn't exactly have the time to think about how lonely she was. Survival was more important. She had to focus on the basic elements - food, water, shelter, heat. Anything else was secondary and could be put off to consider another day. The luxury of knowing where she was going to sleep each night and where her next meal was going to come from opened her up to a lot of other concerns she hadn't had to consider much since running away from her son's eleventh birthday party while her husband writhed on the kitchen floor in his own blood.

Like boredom. Yes, there was plenty of that when she was holed up in someone else's home hiding while they were on holiday. Or when she was able to find a bit of shelter in an abandoned car. Utilizing Muggle public transportation offered plenty of opportunities for boredom. But, at least then she had the thoughts of what she was going to do next to occupy her mind. An idle mind was a dangerous enemy. Spending her days inside her tent or sitting just outside of it watching the village activity sounded like a future filled with nauseating boredom. Even late night walks when everyone else had gone to bed wouldn't likely improve the situation.

She had spent too many years in the very heart of the regime's activities. With the exception of the days that her husband thought he knew best and demanded that she stay home for her own safety, she was used to being right where all of the action was. There was always _something_ going on, something to keep her mind occupied. Truthfully, if she hadn't had that moment in her kitchen when she just snapped, she would probably still be there enjoying the fruits of her labor. Maybe even standing next to Antonin as his most trusted advisor while he quietly campaigned to become the next Dark Lord. If she didn't have to fear that maybe she would be murdered upon sight, she sometimes wondered if she wouldn't be happier going back home. The swirling thoughts in her brain, ever-changing with her moods, could be difficult to keep up with. She didn't know what she wanted from one moment to the next.

Only when the moon rose high in the night sky and the village began to wind down it's day did she feel like she could breathe normally again. The tent had been a kind gesture on Draco's part, one she still wasn't sure about. He might have claimed that all he wanted was a place to stay when he was around, but she hadn't survived as long as she had living amongst people who wanted to kill her by taking everything that was said to her at face value. Having her own private place to stay was enough to keep her tethered to the area for a short time longer. Not forever. Until she uncovered the answers to the questions that plagued her or until she became certain that they would never be offered, she would stay where she was no matter how miserable it made her feel.

A rustling just outside the flap of her tent long after most of the village residents were asleep startled Hermione out of her thoughts. Both grateful for the distraction and worried what she would find when she looked outside, she held her practically useless wand in her hand, ready to strike, if forced. The moment her eyes settled on the furry Saint Bernard sitting on his hind legs staring in her direction, she felt her shoulders slump in relief. She didn't _think_ that Rodolphus was there to maul her to death. If he wanted to transform back into his human form and attempt a _different_ sort of mauling, she might easily be persuaded. But, she wouldn't hold her breath. He'd had plenty of opportunities in the past, plenty of subtle and not-so-subtle invitations, and never shown the slightest bit of interest. Somehow she didn't think that would ever change. She stepped past the wards, revealing her presence. The massive dog didn't even flinch.

"Want to come inside or go for a walk?"

Without so much as a _woof_ , Rodolphus crossed over the cloaking spell his nephew put in place. By the time Hermione followed him back into the tent, he was already transformed back into a human. He looked around the space with a discerning eye. Unsure what he was looking for, she gestured to the table in the middle of the room. As he continued his non-verbal examination of the tent, she kept her hands busy with brewing them some tea in the less efficient Muggle way. The continued silence grew on her nerves. She set a teacup in front of him and blurted out the first question that came to mind.

"Who knows who you really are in the village?"

Rodolphus was in no hurry to answer. He accepted the tea and prepared it to his liking before drinking. Hermione became irritated. Why would he make such a production about coming to visit her only to stay silent?

"Aberforth Dumbledore and Ginny Weasley know who I really am. And Draco, of course. I've been living here as a beloved family pet. Tiberius Zeller is very fond of scratching my belly."

"And you're not worried that he's going to figure out you're an animagus?"

He waved his hand in the same imperious manner she'd seen his younger brother employ a thousand times. Clearly, he was unconcerned that his subterfuge would be discovered.

"Simple confundus charm and a memory spell. Zeller believes he's already checked me for a human. He thinks that I've been his pet for years."

"Why do so few people know who you are?"

"Why do you think, Hermione?"

She always hated when he answered one of her questions with one of his. It was a teaching tactic that she had come to despise when she was still being molded into the perfect Death Eater. Antonin utilized it on occasion, but mostly, it was Rodolphus who refused to give her the satisfaction of immediately quenching her curiosity. He seemed to find it more beneficial to her education to ensure that she discovered the answers herself. Sighing and not even bothering to hide the rolling of her eyes, she considered his reasonings for remaining a silent part of the village.

"I would imagine it would be because despite your very public defection from the Dark Lord's service, most of the Resistance wouldn't accept you as one of them. Especially not after your history with the Longbottoms."

"I'm pleased to see that your brain hasn't completely turned to shite in the past four years."

Part of her wanted to argue with him that he was wrong, but she stopped herself. What was the point in bringing up the concerns she had about her mental faculties with the likes of him? Knowing what he was capable of, he would only use that knowledge as a weapon against her if it suited his purposes to do so. He didn't need to know everything. Once upon a time they might have been working on the same side. Now? She couldn't be certain of anything. It was dangerous to put trust in one who had not proven themselves worthy.

"I pass messages on to my nephew from time to time. A dog wandering the countryside attracts much less attention than a strange man."

"Yes, I would imagine so."

"Of course, there hasn't been need for me to journey very far lately. It seems that Draco is much more content to come straight to the village for his information."

There was a bite to his tone, a wealth of meaning behind his words. Something about Draco's recent visits to the village did not sit well with his uncle. Hermione had the feeling that _she_ was the reason. He might have respected her a lifetime earlier, but the world had changed. Rodolphus was no longer entrenched in the intrigue and danger of their former world. Perhaps, he wasn't too keen on the idea that she would be the instrument in his nephew's folly.

"He's made several visits in recent days. For what purpose, I can't be certain. He hasn't exactly made his intentions clear to me."

Rodolphus grew more bold in his temper. His light green eyes filled with an anger she hadn't seen in a long time. And _never_ directed at her before.

"What exactly is your relationship with Draco, Hermione?"

This was more than the 'state your intentions' conversation that many concerned family members had with the potential partners or suitors of their loved ones. Though he might not come right out and admit so, Rodolphus wanted her to stay away. He didn't trust her any longer. At least not when it came to the wizard he'd cultivated a relationship with after the war ended despite the drop in his family's respectability. Fifteen years in Azkaban for refusing to give up on their Dark Lord meant that Rodolphus didn't give a fuck what others thought about him or his decisions. He'd earned the right to live his life how he saw fit. Lying to him would not be an option. Besides, Hermione had too much respect for him to do that.

"To be honest, Roddy, I'm not sure. Friends, maybe?"

" _Just_ friends?"

"At the moment, yes."

Knocking back the rest of his tea even though the temperature had to have still been quite hot, Rodolphus rose to his feet. Transforming back into his canine form without another word, he exited the tent. He didn't have to say what was on his mind. She could understand it all too well. Rodolphus wanted her to stay as far away from his nephew as possible.


	77. March 17th

_Author's Notes: Thank you for all of the encouragement for the last chapter! This challenge is extremely difficult, so it can be disheartening to hear how much you suck. I mean, hello, I'm human! Maybe it's "childish" to get upset, but I'd rather feel real emotions than become so cynical and jaded with my hobby that I just expect strangers to treat me like I'm a robot with no heart. So, thank you again for reminding me that there are still lovely people in this fandom. I appreciate it more than you know._

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March 17th

As she had already come to discover, dreams were often the only place in Hermione's life where she could find any measurable amount of peace. When reality was too difficult to face, she could slip into her fantasy world to imagine a paradise that did not exist. Sometimes she dreamt of happier times in her past: learning she was a witch, making _real_ friends at school, Harry. She would wake up feeling nostalgic for a lifetime that could never be again.

Or she would dream of a future where she no longer had to run, no longer had to fear that any second she would be killed. Augustus was usually in those. As ridiculous and foolish as it was to fantasize about any kind of existence with that wizard, she couldn't control her subconscious desires. There was still a great deal of love between them. Days spent under his care while she was sick only reinforced that fact. Years had passed since they were free to be alone together, but little had changed in how they felt about each other. Facing decades stuck as Antonin's wife meant she had to learn how to suppress those emotions that would only complicate an already complicated situation. In her sleep, however, there was no need for control.

She would likely love Augustus up until the very moment she died. It didn't make much sense. In truth, they were fucking horrible for each other. 'Unhealthy' wasn't a strong enough adjective to describe their relationship. There was too much jealousy, too much passion of the _wrong_ kind to be much of a success. What they had often translated to memorable moments in the bedroom and violent fights everywhere else that resulted in bruises and scorch marks from spells cast in anger. Sometimes two people could love each other and be the absolute worst thing that ever happened to each other. Marrying Antonin hadn't seemed like a good idea when she married him. Years later she still wished they could've continued their teacher/student relationship without worrying about the messiness marriage would bring into their lives. At least their orders kept her from making a mistake with Augustus they would've come to regret.

Sometimes she would be forced to relive some of the more gruesome moments of her life when she was asleep. She enjoyed some of those, recoiled from others. No matter how foul the cleanup was, she would never think about Walden Macnair's end without a smile. Thinking about Oliver Wood's death or the raid in Edinburgh that went so terribly wrong when she was a young Death Eater still under Antonin's observation made her sick to her stomach. If she could somehow extract those moments from her brain, she wouldn't hesitate to do so. Many memories were better left in the past.

Hermione sat up abruptly in her bunk inside the empty tent. Unsure of the time or how long she'd been asleep, all she could focus on was the rapid beating of her heart and the cold sweat dripping over her entire body. Details of her dream slipped through her mind, like trying to hold water in her hands. Something about her parents. They were alive. Or were they dead? She couldn't focus her mind enough to discover the answers she needed. It felt like she had a dream about them before. Maybe several times.

Her mind was a fog. Discerning between a memory and dreams grew increasingly more difficult. She could imagine her parents just as vividly as if she had just seen them in the next room. How long had it been since she was with them? Years? Months? _Moments_? She cradled her heard in her hands, desperate for the nauseating swirling of images to cease. Everything was so confusing.

She hadn't seen her parents since the day she stripped them of their memories and sent them off to Australia for their own protection. They'd died there. A terrible accident not long after the war ended. A car, maybe. Or a bus. Maybe a rogue Death Eater? She couldn't remember. All she knew was at the time she learned they were dead, she felt relief. Not because she was _glad_ they were dead, but because she no longer had to worry about them. Selfish, no doubt, but she was hardly keeping it together in those days. One more thing outside of her control to worry about and she was afraid it would all become too much.

But why did she keep seeing the same image over and over again in her dreams? It felt too real to _not_ be a memory. Her parents were older, much older than before they left during the war. They were back at their old house. Antonin was standing in the garden with her father, politely discussing something inane. Tomatoes? Pansies? Her mother sat on a bench smiling with her arm around Ollie. He was at least eight or nine and perfectly content, like he'd been around his grandmother many times before. That wasn't possible, was it?

She rubbed at her eyes, cursing the imperfections of her confusing thoughts. More flashes in her mind of other visits to her childhood home. Antonin was always there and their son was in various stages of development. Were they real? And if they were, how was it even possible? Her husband _loathed_ Muggles. Believed they were of no value whatsoever. She'd witnessed him strike an innocent down many times for no other reason than he was bored or they crossed his path. Making an exception for his hatred simply because they were his in-laws hardly made any sense.

Family meant a great deal to Antonin. Mostly because his own had been such a failure. Both of his parents were dead and he wasn't too concerned about either. There hadn't been much love there for anyone. His mother was a proper Pureblood witch who fell in lust with the dangerous, mysterious stranger from Russia. A dalliance at a high society wedding reception resulted in him. His mother's engagement was broken off and they were hurriedly married to each other before anyone could suspect that she had been disgraced. Though he never asked to be born, and certainly not under such inauspicious circumstances, Antonin's mother spent her life taking out her resentment on her eldest son. Three more sons followed. Whether or not they were a Dolohov in anything more than name was a secret she took with her to her grave. A simple paternity spell could have given them all the answered, but for a reason he never understood, his father never cast it. At least not to his knowledge.

Vadim Dolohov took advantage of the place in British wizarding society that he was offered with his advantageous marriage. Claiming all four sons instead of just Antonin meant that he had more leverage with his influential in-laws. He was hard on his eldest, expecting more out of him than any of the others. No one was positive what happened to Hermione's father-in-law. Before his son was thrown into Azkaban the first time, he disappeared on a trip to his native country and had never been seen since.

Antonin had almost nothing to do with his younger brothers. They were scattered around the world, not a single one interested in taking part in the lifestyle their brother had chosen. It was no matter to him. He had never been close with any of them.

To make up for his shortcomings with his first family, he would, at times, go overboard with their small family. It was important to him that they not only look like a perfectly harmonious, united front, but that they actually _be_ one as well. For several years, she had been able to go along with the illusion he desired. Each passing day it grew harder and harder to keep up the charade.

Knowing how he felt about his family, it was _possible_ that Antonin _might_ overlook the fact that Hermione's parents were Muggles. Without them, Ollie would have no grandparents. It was enough of a reason that she began to wonder if the memories she was having weren't false after all. Of course, she still wasn't clear why she believed they were dead. Maybe they were.

Sometimes when she got confused, her husband would have her drink a potion. Tasting faintly of strawberries, it was supposed to help her clear her mind, help her to calm down when she grew frustrated. Usually, it just made her sleepy and feel like the world was moving around her while she stood perfectly still. When she understood how the potion made her feel, she would fight him, beg him not to make her drink anymore. He almost always won. Claimed that he was trying to help her, trying to keep her from hurting herself.

Every muscle in her body was sore from being tensed. Hermione laid back down in her bunk, hoping that she would be able to relax enough to fall back asleep. Regardless of the time, she wasn't ready to get up just yet to face the prospect of another day. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. Maybe if she fell asleep again her mind would stop turning. Maybe she could figure out what was real and what wasn't.

Part of her, the weakest part of her, thought about leaving again. Thought about going back to Hogsmeade. It wasn't always easy, but at least she wasn't as afraid to be there as she was on her own. Antonin might have forgiven her for attacking him. He could take care of her again.

But, her good sense prevailed. There was nothing left for her back in Hogsmeade. _Maybe_ her husband would answer some of her questions if she went back. It wasn't worth it though. Better for her to exist in the confusion. Did it matter if her parents were alive or not? Deciding that it was easier to just think about herself, she convinced herself that the memories of her parents dying in a tragic accident were real. Perhaps later, when she was no longer forced to be on the run or in hiding, she could separate the fact from the fiction. Until then, she couldn't afford to worry about anyone but herself.

She fell back asleep soon after lying back down. More dreams awaited.


	78. March 18th

March 18th

A night of restless sleep meant Hermione was in no hurry to get out of bed. What did she need to crawl out of her sanctuary of blankets for anyway? She didn't have a job to rush off to. No one was relying on her to keep them fed or alive. Even if her son wasn't in Hogwarts for his first year, he didn't exactly need her anymore. He was more likely to run next door to Mafalda than he was to seek out his mother when she was around. The Resistance villagers seemed to prefer when she couldn't be seen. No one was bothered by her seeming absence. Certainly they weren't seeking her out.

Hermione was bored. Painfully bored. And when she got bored, she grew sullen and depressed. When she used to grow restless, her teacher would set her a seemingly impossible task to keep her occupied. He attempted the same a few times after they were married with little success. Instead, he would gift her a new volume on spells or potions to perfect. Antonin practically built her a library with all of the books he found her when she was bored. She could've used them too.

As much as she might have tried _not_ to, periods of idleness forced her mind to thoughts of her husband and the life she left behind. In all fairness, life with Antonin wasn't always so bad. They had their moments, of course, but there had been a kind of happiness with him too. Maybe not the kind of joy and contentment found in so-called 'normal' families. There had been a lot of laughter in their home. And nights were filled with moans, almost always the pleasurable kind. If she'd known before they were married what she could've had the opportunity to experience in his bed, she _probably_ wouldn't have had done so much to avoid it.

Nothing she told the kind lady who didn't have her arrested for trespassing in her barn had been a lie. Their lives were violent just simply because of their close proximity to the Dark Lord's power. Punishments for misdeeds, perceived or otherwise, bled into their home at times. She was far from being innocent. When they were alone, away from those they always had to remain above, she had attacked Antonin too. Of course, her behavior didn't excuse his. They were _both_ wrong.

His rage terrified him the night he pushed her down the stairs. It had been a reflex she wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for. The two years that followed, when he worked so hard to make up for his terrible lapse in judgment and his dangerous temper, had been the best years of their marriage. A flicker of hope within Hermione that maybe they weren't doomed to a life of abject misery fanned into a flame. Until a long day at their fucked up excuse for an office ended in the back of his hand splitting her lip open.

The physical attacks didn't happen every day. If she stopped to actually consider each and every one, they didn't even happen that frequently. Maybe once every couple of months. Sometimes less. They each had a tendency to bring their work home with them. During successful, peaceful times, their home was quiet. When their regime was threatened and longer hours were required to snuff out the whisper of revolt, they got irritable and nasty. _Both_ of them. In another lifetime when she was a different girl, more naive and less sure of how the world worked, she would've called herself a fool for remaining in a violent marriage for as long as she did. But idealistic Hermione Granger hadn't learned the touch lessons that battle-hardened Hermione Dolohov had.

Like how leaving wasn't always an option. She'd pledged her life to Lord Voldemort's eternal service. He gave her the order to marry Antonin. Going against her master's orders was a death sentence. Admitting that she couldn't stay married to the wizard because he was physically violent with her when he lost his temper wasn't a good enough reason. It showed her to be weak. Any hint of weakness could be sniffed out by the more ambitious and power-hungry Death Eaters. She would instantly become a target. All of the hard work and degradation since she was pulled from her broom cupboard would be for nothing. It was better that she endure Antonin's tempers with as much stoicism as possible and use his repentant moods that followed to her advantage.

She wanted to leave, but she didn't know how it would be possible. Nights she would lie awake in bed imagining how she could grab Ollie and run. In the beginning of her fantasies, she would have never even _thought_ about abandoning her son. Either her only surviving child would come with her or she would remain in the same toxic and tumultuous home. Withdrawing small amounts of money at the bank and having the goblins secretly exchange it for Muggle currency helped her believe that eventually she would have enough to get them both out of Hogsmeade and away from the influence of her husband.

As time went on and she hid more and more around her home, her thoughts began to change. Oliver grew more and more like his father every single day. Not only in looks, but in mannerisms and behavior. He began to emulate his father's actions, including his unpredictable temper. There was only one incident when he was ten years old where he tried to strike out at his mother in the same manner as his father. One incident that was quickly stopped by a stinging spell to his gut from his mum's wand and a punishment down in the basement with his papa that left enough of an impression on him that he didn't ever raise his hand to her again. She didn't ask Antonin what he did to ensure the incident was never repeated. She didn't want to know. It wasn't exactly a secret that many in their social circle utilized the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse on recalcitrant children. Part of her believed that maybe it was best if Ollie went ahead and understood what that felt like. If he continued to follow in his father's footsteps, he'd become very familiar with the torture curse eventually. A small hope in the back of her mind she didn't dare give voice to was maybe he might even decide to choose a different path.

Oliver would become a liability if she took him with her when she ran. The first opportunity he had, he would give away their location. His father hung the moon and the stars in his eyes. Though she _assumed_ there was love there for his mother too, she knew that he would do anything to get back to his father. When it was obvious that she couldn't take her child away, Hermione gave up her plan to run. The Muggle money remained where it was. Her other supplies stayed packed up. She would just have to endure what her life had become for the foreseeable future.

Everything happened so quickly the day of Oliver's eleventh birthday. Antonin was a perfectionist. Nothing was ever good enough, a fact that he appeared to take great pleasure in informing his wife. Enough time passed that she couldn't even remember what he was upset about. No doubt it was something meaningless and unimportant. Frustrated that he was whispering his criticisms in her ear with all of their guests in the same room, she didn't even bother to discreetly exit to the kitchen. She made it to the kitchen sink before he was steps behind her, his exit much less dramatic than hers.

"Come back to your guests, Hermione."

"Give me a minute."

"You're embarrassing your son on his _birthday_."

All she needed was a minute to herself to calm down. That's it. Ordinarily, her husband was perceptive enough to understand what his wife required. Entertaining, especially inside his home, put him on edge. Any time a member of their small family dared to put a crack in the false façade that they were the perfect family, he would get angry. Knowing that going back out to the room where their guests had assembled to celebrate the milestone in their son's life would be a mistake until she was less annoyed, she didn't turn from the sink.

Something in her snapped when Antonin squeezed her arm roughly in his large hand and tried to pull her back. It was a motion he'd done more times than she could count since the very first days that she lived in the house as his student. Hard enough to leave bruises that she covered with long sleeves or glamours, he wasn't gentle when he wanted her to do as he ordered. Usually, she just went along with what he wished. It was easier that way. That day, however, she didn't want to be grabbed again. She'd _told_ him over and over again in the privacy of their bedroom when emotions had calmed that she didn't want him to grab her like that again. Why wouldn't he listen?

She couldn't even remember picking up the fork. It was in her hands and shoved into his right eye before she realized what she was doing. His startled shout of pain seemed to only spur her on further. The moment he released his grip on her, she reached for the knife that had been used to carve the roast they served for lunch. With bits of meat still clinging to the blade, she slid the metal across his torso. Louder shrieks echoed in her ears. Antonin was the expert with the knives, but he'd taught her a few tricks. Finding the perfect spot to slide the weapon in between his ribs, she pushed. Her husband collapsed to the floor, taking the knife with him, before she could make much of an impact. The door flew open and the shocked blue eyes belonging to Corban Yaxley took in the scene at his feet.

Running away from her next door neighbor and close friend had been difficult. She almost didn't make it. Even when she arrived at the gates with Corban hot on her heels, she kept going. To stay meant to face her death. She wasn't ready to die yet. All shouts and pleas from the wizard she once quite literally trusted with her life were ignored.

As she lay in her bunk remembering the details of that day, Hermione was surprised to find that she couldn't remember slicing and then stabbing Antonin with the large knife. Of course the large amounts of blood on her skin and clothes made sense, but somehow, she'd been able to _forget_ how brutal her attack had been. If there hadn't been at least one St. Mungo's Healer in attendance at the party with her son, there was no way that her husband would have survived.

Maybe she didn't want to remember how bad it all was because she didn't want to imagine what her son witnessed. Did he see his father lying in a pool of his own blood while his mother fled the scene? The whole affair must have ruined his birthday. Eleven was such an important age too. Would Ollie ever be able to find it in his heart to forgive her for what she'd done?


	79. March 19th

**My apologies if you're getting this update notice twice. Stupid formatting problem. Grr.**

 _Author's Note: So many interesting theories have been popping up the last few chapters! While I won't give out any spoilers, I would like to encourage you all to remember the problem-solving principle of Ockham's Razor (or Occam's) - the simplest explanation is usually the right one. ;)_

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March 19th

After too much time cooped up in her tent with no promises of anything changing any time soon. Hermione forced herself outside when the sun had gone down. With the gradual increasing of temperatures, more and more residents were taking advantage of the outdoors. Months stuck inside their homes while winter raged outside made everyone anxious for some fresh air. She was no different. Except for the fact that she waited until the village was quiet and more were already snuggled up in their warm beds. It was easier that way, less awkward.

Her mind felt clearer than it had for awhile. After spending almost two full days entirely in bed in an effort to put an end to her dizziness and disorientation, she felt much better. Antonin always hovered over her when she felt similarly in the past. At times, she welcomed the surprisingly nurturing nature that came out of him when either she or Ollie was sick. Usually, he drove her mad with his insistence that she drink more potions or rest more or a dozen other obnoxious suggestions. Much like his fits of rage, her episodes of confusion and melancholy were common occurrences in their family. Sadly, it seemed there would be no hope for their son to _not_ spend the whole of his existence surrounded by dysfunction. It was in his blood.

She stared at the waxing crescent moon high in the sky. The new moon was over and it was gradually returning to its full state. Her thoughts turned to Fenrir. How had he fared with the Full Moon he was gearing up for when she had to leave him? She couldn't imagine he had any unusual difficulties. Transformations had been a normal part of his existence for the better part of a century. It was sentimental and foolish to worry. But, she couldn't help it. Thanks to her husband and Rabastan, she'd had to leave him so abruptly, long before she was truly ready.

It bothered her more than she cared to admit that she was so rattled by almost being caught that day. They were _so_ close. Rabastan even touched her. Just the thought of her near-assault made her skin crawl. He could be a disgusting excuse for a man at time. He could also be a great deal of fun as she learned years earlier, but his behavior that day not only frightened her, it gave her a glimpse into what their victims must have been thinking right before they succumbed to their own torture. She didn't like it. Though she had no doubt that Fenrir would've ripped him apart, limb from limb, if Antonin hadn't stopped him, she still felt sick to her stomach when she recalled that day.

What would have happened if Fenrir's plan didn't work? If Antonin had ripped off the shirt covering her identity? It would have been a terrible scene. His absolute loyalty to her would've meant that the werewolf would likely have done what he could to prevent her capture. Who would have emerged from the bloodbath victorious was anyone's guess. Rabastan and Antonin were both formidable foes on their own. Together, they might have been unstoppable. Whatever the outcome, it was evident that at _least_ one of them wouldn't have survived.

Hermione shook her head in an attempt to clear those disturbing thoughts out of her mind. They were ruining what was shaping up to be a pleasant walk. Too much time hiding inside the tent lying in bed wasn't good for her mental or emotional well-being. If she didn't figure out some manner to be active or useful, she would go mad. Or maybe, _madder_.

The sound of footsteps behind her startled Hermione completely out of her thoughts. An official protection might have been granted as long as she stayed within the wards, but she knew enough about human nature and how the world was _actually_ run to believe she was completely safe. Unsurprisingly, when she turned around, she saw a smirking William Wood. She was grateful that no one had thought to tell him where her tent was located. No doubt he would have taken the opportunity to slip in undetected to slice her throat open. Or worse. He might have had no intention of making her death as quick and painless as she made his little brother's.

She didn't have the energy to deal with him. Especially not after she'd spent so much time stuck in her own head. If she could spend the rest of her life avoiding the wizard, she would be quite pleased. There was a time in her life, and it truly wasn't that long ago, when she wouldn't have hesitated to get rid of the annoyance. Wood was the kind of enemy she didn't keep for long when she was a Death Eater. He would have been dead at the end of her wand with hardly a second thought. As much as she might have been trying to turn over a new leaf and distance herself from the monster she'd allowed herself to become, there were times when she was tempted to fall back into her old ways. An obsessed cretin like him would never give up on hurting her until she was dead. Or he was.

"Lovely evening for a walk, is it not?"

"It _was_."

His overly cheerful and false friendly tone grated on her nerves. She sped up her steps in a fruitless effort to put some distance between them. He simply walked faster. Feeling him only a few meters behind, her wand hand itched. What she wouldn't give to be able to at least sting him in the gut with a spell! Her magic would be tracked and her position uncovered. Antonin _might_ be willing to ignore the Dark Lord's orders that the Resistance's section of Devon be avoided. He had little to fear from the Resistance and less to fear from their master. It had been easy to tell for a long time that he was growing weak. Soon, a day would come when not even the most heinous and darkest of magicks would keep his increasingly frail body animated. The head of the snake would die, leaving the body in severe jeopardy. Unless a strong enough candidate stepped forward with near-unanimous support, the Resistance could swoop in and reclaim their lost country.

But, she didn't even reach for the handle of her wand to reassure herself of its presence. Besides, her reflexes were still quick enough even after months of disuse to curse the arsehole if he tried anything first. Wood didn't need much provocation to strike. She knew to not trust the fact that he was ordered to leave her alone within the wards. Like she already figured out early on in her residence in the unexpected village, no one would hardly kick up a fuss if she was harmed. Wood could _probably_ strike her in the heart with an Avada in the middle of the community with every single resident watching and he would still walk away with little more than a slap on the wrist. She couldn't count on the promise the leaders made that she would remain unharmed. Not when a clearly disturbed man was on the loose and stalking her every move.

Time was not healing William Wood's wounds. If anything, the longer he went without avenging his brother's death, the worse off he became. Even in the short months since their paths first crossed in Edinburgh, Hermione could see a large change in him. He was breaking under the strain of whatever demons whispered in his ears. A chuckle slipped out of her mouth unbidden. It amused her. Maybe it took a crazy person to recognize another.

"Are you sneaking off in the dark to find another innocent victim to torture and kill?"

All desire to laugh again faded. She sighed deeply, annoyed that she couldn't just be left alone for a simple walk. Was this going to be the rest of her life? Doomed to be eternally annoyed by those she wronged? She just wanted to go back to the safety of her tent. Before she could direct her steps back to her hidden home, she needed to shake her shadow.

"No, Wood, I'm not. I just wanted some fresh air. _Alone_."

He scoffed, but didn't stop following. She wasn't sure what she was going to have to do to get rid of him. If he knew where her tent was, he might try to set it on fire when she was inside it or something just as deplorable. Draco's privacy spells only worked so far. She wouldn't be able to hide the tent if Wood witnessed her disappear with his own eyes.

"I haven't seen you in several days."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Brushing off her sarcastic remark, he continued. This was not a man who was easily deterred. Yet again, she wished she could utilize her magic to eliminate him as a threat. Or maybe even some of Antonin's cursed blades. At the very least, she wanted to figure out a way to shut him up.

"Don't know where you've been, but I think you're too much of a coward to try to run again. At least not without Malfoy's help."

She kept walking, determined to not let the man get to her. He wasn't worth the aggravation. Perhaps he was simply trying to anger her to the point that she lost her temper. If he could kill her in apparent "self-defense", no one would get angry with him for striking out. She refused to give him the satisfaction no matter how sick of living she was gradually becoming.

"After all, it's not as if you can use magic. Not unless you want your beloved husband to know where you're at, which I'm sure you don't. And no one is going to teach you how we cloak our magic in the Resistance."

Exhausted and suddenly wanting nothing more than her bed, she stopped and spun on her heel to face the man eye-to-eye.

"I'm not afraid of you, Wood. Either go ahead and kill me, or leave me alone."

His usual scowl marred his handsome features. It was obvious that he was considering just how it would be possible to do as she demanded. When he didn't immediately respond and seemed in no hurry to act on his wishes, Hermione took off running as fast as she could towards her tent. Wood hesitated for a few seconds, but soon was almost caught up. Knowing that he couldn't witness her disappear, she took a circuitous route around houses and other community buildings. She was able to breach the protective spells surrounding her temporary home while he was still trying to turn a corner. Angry, he ran right past her hiding place and crossed over the wards to continue his fruitless search for his prey.

Hermione slipped back into the tent, undressed, and crawled into her bunk. Maybe it would be safer if she walked outside only in the daytime when there were other witnesses about. William Wood was not going to give up easily.


	80. March 20th

March 20th

Hermione's eventful stroll through the village the previous night discouraged her from wanting to leave the safety of her tent any time soon. Long after the sun rose in the sky the next morning, she remained in bed. It was a lazy act, she knew, but she couldn't find it in her to care much about that fact. Unlike days earlier when she felt the confusion and dizziness come over her entire being like it always did during one of her 'episodes', there was nothing but sheer stubborn rancor keeping her in bed.

What was the point of even trying to go about her life normally when there was nothing that made any sense? She knew she was feeling sorry for herself, succumbing to a depressive state that did her more harm than good. Still, she didn't stir from her bed. Sleep was an escape that she could afford. It took little effort and was completely free. And, if she was lucky, she might even be able to eke out a better existence inside her dream world. Nothing that she did mattered to anyone else alive. Better that she spend what time she had unconscious.

The sound of a soft voice calling out her name jarred Hermione out of a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up in bed to see what the commotion was about. None of the lamps were lit inside the tent. They weren't needed before she fell asleep again. At some point in the midst of her relentless self-pity, she'd managed to sleep away the entire day. Darkness had fallen outside. Realizing what time it was, the reason for her guest became clear.

Sarah Jordan mentioned more than once since the day she announced she was moving out of their home that she was always welcome to come back to share a meal with her family. Hermione was even sure that the charming witch actually _meant_ it too. The invitation had been kind, but not once had she taken her up on it. Once she was out of their home, she felt a sense of comfort and relief that fell over her that she wasn't ready to give up just yet. To be certain that the woman who recently vacated her home didn't go hungry, Sarah made her a special basket of food each night that would keep her fed the entire next day. It was yet one more kindness Hermione didn't expect or deserve.

"Are you in here, Hermione?"

She was ashamed to be found in the state that she was in, but there seemed to be nothing for her to do than to admit she was still in bed. Calling out quietly from the curtained off section that held the beds, Hermione could feel her cheeks burn with humiliation with each step Sarah took closer to her refuge. There wasn't even time to get up and get dressed in an effort to make it _seem_ like she hadn't been in there all day.

"Are you ill?"

The concern in Sarah's voice struck Hermione right in the chest. She wasn't used to other people caring about her well-being. At times, Antonin could be frustratingly obnoxious in his need to care for her, but even that was somewhat selfish. She was his ticket to the top of the regime. Without her by his side, he _might_ have risen as high in the ranks as he had. It wasn't a sure thing, though. The Dark Lord kept her as his prized pet. Some of the influence that her husband gained was simply because of the woman he slept next to each night. Keeping her healthy and happy was a major incentive to the wizard who needed her to be successful.

"No, I'm not sick."

She wasn't sure how convincing she sounded. Based on how the slightly older witch crossed the room to check her temperature with the back of her hand, not very. Sarah did a cursory examination of her without being terribly intrusive. It was maternal instinct coming out. She was nothing if not an excellent mum. _Much_ better on her worst day than Hermione had been on her very best.

"You don't feel warm to the touch. Did something upset your stomach?"

Hermione was touched that the woman appeared to genuinely care about her well-being. She had certainly done nothing to deserve it.

"I'm all right. Simply tired."

The basket that she always brought Hermione's meals in had already been set down on the kitchen table before she sought her out. With her arms unburdened, Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, an overly familiar gesture that made her feel ill at ease. Why the woman was seeking her out with so much concern was a mystery. Hermione wished she would just go away.

"You're not happy here."

It was not a question and certainly not something Hermione could deny. What would be the point? It was the truth. There was nothing to be gained by saying otherwise. She didn't nod her head or make any other show of agreement. There was no need. Sarah understood.

"Do you miss your son? Oh, what am I saying? That's ridiculous. Of course you do."

Hermione was in no hurry to contradict the other witch. Though she knew she _should_ miss Ollie terribly, sometimes it was so much easier to not even think about him. Compartmentalizing her thoughts was sometimes the only way she was able to carry on with the nasty business of living. She knew she was too critical of her own failings as a mother at times. If she allowed herself the freedom to dwell too much on what she left behind in her haste to get away from the bloody mess she made of her husband, she struggled to keep from running back. Her son very likely wished that another woman was really his mum, but she still had a responsibility to care for him.

"Do you… well, do you maybe miss your husband too?"

What should have been a fairly straightforward and innocuous question caught Hermione completely off guard. She hadn't told anyone in the village what she had done to her husband when she ran away from Hogsmeade. Even when she was staying in the Jordan home in Wales she hadn't divulged that awful story. It wasn't common knowledge. Any news of a high-ranking Death Eater being attacked and almost killed by another would have been immediately covered up. If there was even a _hint_ of dissension in the ranks, their regime could become a target. They had to remain a united front. A salacious story of a wife stabbing her husband in the eye with a fork and then almost murdering him with a kitchen knife would've shown weakness.

"I shoved a fork in Antonin's eye and sliced him with a knife I used to carve a roast. That's hardly the act of someone who would miss her husband."

If she was horrified by the story, Sarah had the grace to pretend like it was every day that a friend admitted to such savagery. Hermione half-expected her to run from the tent in fear. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"I think most wives imagine all different kinds of gruesome ways they could murder their husbands. I learned the incantation and wand movements for an ancient blood-letting curse once when Lee was getting on my nerves. Never used it, of course, but it made me feel calmer when I imagined what it would feel like to try."

Hermione stared at the soft-spoken woman with wide, unbelieving eyes. Never in a thousand years would she have imagined there to be something so cold and calculating inside a kind-hearted woman like Sarah. Was she right? Did _all_ wives fantasize about murdering their husbands from time to time? Realizing she'd shocked the hardened, dangerous Death Eater into speechlessness, a quirk of Sarah's lips quickly turned into a chuckle. The sound was infectious. Both women laughed until tears rolled out of their eyes and their sides hurt. Some of the melancholy Hermione felt earlier in the evening began to dissipate. Maybe she wasn't as different from other women after all.

"It's okay to miss your husband, Hermione."

"Our marriage was ordered. We weren't in love."

She didn't know why she was so quick to dismiss the very idea that she could be feeling lonely for the idea of her husband. It seemed ludicrous one second and all-too-apt the next. Emotions truly were complicated.

"Maybe not in the beginning, but it's almost impossible to stay so close to another person for so long without feelings developing. Something called the principle of propinquity, I think. You shared a home, a son, a _life_ together. Feelings develop."

"We respected each other in the beginning. It might sound awful to you, but I even _admired_ him. He's a very… well, he's a very charismatic man when he sets his mind to it."

"We don't always get to choose who we love. Sometimes it just happens. If I'd had my choice, I would've found a wizard from Wales who had no interest whatsoever in stepping outside the borders of the treaty. But, I fell in love with a man with a history of fighting impossible causes with friends who were involved with the very heart of the Resistance. I followed him here, not because I _wanted_ to be a part of the Resistance, but because he believes in it so passionately, I didn't have the heart to say otherwise."

Arguing about whether or not she loved Antonin seemed an enormous waste of time to Hermione. Whatever her feelings for her husband were, or had been, didn't really matter. She couldn't ever hope to go back to any kind of life with him again even if she wanted to. That part of her life was over. It was best not to dwell on that which she could not change. Realizing that her companion wasn't interested in continuing the discussion, Sarah rose to her feet and changed the subject.

"Do you have everything that you need?"

"I believe so. Thank you."

"It feels strange to not have you at home. We're all missing you."

She didn't doubt the older witch's sincerity. Even if she didn't know that Sarah was a Hufflepuff, Hermione could discern that she wasn't a person who spoke without truly meaning what she said. As comfortable as she had grown living in their house, it was best that she stay away. She wondered if she shouldn't tell Sarah the concerns she had about Lizzie. They had a right to know what their daughter was showing too much interest in. Just as she was about to say something, she stopped herself.

Sarah extracted a promise before she left that she would come by for tea in the next few days. Though she said she would, Hermione had no intention of honoring the pledge. The further she stayed away from Lizzie, the better. Perhaps in time, the girl would find a new interest, something else to fascinate her instead of Death Eaters.


	81. March 21st

March 21st

The day after the first day of Spring held a great deal of promise. New life awaited the rest of the world. Some of the leaves were returning. Flowers were hinting at blooms. Hermione always loved when the seasons changed. Or, rather, she _used_ to love when the seasons changed. Back when they actually meant something to her existence.

Since moving into the village filled with the Resistance, she hadn't had much need for any hope of life returning to the barren world. Warmer temperatures didn't necessarily mean an easier life for her. Stuck inside the village's protective wards and living inside the old tent, she was simply _existing_ one dismal day after one boring day. If she had known what a prison the canvas would turn into, she would've thought harder before she accepted the perceived gift from Draco. Of course, if she'd known how awful it would be to live amongst the rabble she'd spent the better part of her life actively fighting against, she would've thrown that scrap of parchment with the address to Lee and Sarah Jordan's home in his face.

Following her unusual conversation with Sarah the night before, she had been unable to think about anything but how confining her limited world had become. She wanted to leave, wanted to go anywhere else. Augustus' house in Cornwall no longer seemed like the worst idea. Nor did attempting to cross the border into another country. Maybe if she made her way to the coast, to a busy port city, she could find passage on a ship going _anywhere_. The thought of a new life in a new country was terrifying, but not nearly as suffocating as the idea of not going anywhere at all.

If she allowed herself to stop and think rationally, she was upset that she recognized after Sarah left the tent that there had been more truth to her statement than she cared to admit. She _did_ miss her life at times. Yes, even her deranged husband who was known to grab her arms too tightly, slap the back of his hand across her face and worse. It wasn't logical. Freedom from the tyrant who had completely consumed her life since their son was conceived should have given her peace, a comfort that she couldn't find any other way. When Sarah brought up that it was okay to miss her husband, she thought the woman was a fool. Only in the quiet stillness of her tent did she realize that against her better judgment, she longed for the normality of her past.

There was danger and pain and violence in her life amongst the Death Eaters. Most wouldn't be able to survive half as long as she had without cracking under the strain. Hermione found an existence with those who would kill her without a second thought if ordered to be a much more welcoming prospect than what she was currently experiencing. Her tent had become just another prison.

Life outside of the Resistance's stronghold might have been unpredictable, but at least she was doing _something_. She never imagined that she would long for the days when she was moving from place to place searching for a quiet corner to sleep in and stay warm enough to not die. Listening to Draco's pleas that she trust him and not think too terribly of him when she arrived at the address in Devon was a foolish mistake she shouldn't have made.

As the sun began to sink in the sky, she moved around the space that had been her temporary home shoving everything she had scattered around her living quarters back into her beaded bag. Though she tried to keep all that she owned close to her in case she had to run at a moment's notice, she had been slack in the days since she entered the tent. Draco Malfoy had a terrible influence on her that she was determined to break. She couldn't stand to spend another moment cooped up with nothing to do. A person operating at full capacity could go mad if asked to attempt such a feat. Demanding it of someone like her who had already been through quite enough in her lifetime was damaging, to say the least.

She wondered where the wizard had been. Days had gone by since she'd last been graced with his presence. His position within the ranks of the Death Eaters meant that he was almost always on the move. Like those fugitives he was ordered to track, he rarely stayed in the same place for more than a few hours at a time. Still, she hadn't expected him to all but abandon her after gifting her the cloaked tent. When she found a St. Bernard walking through the village one evening, she rushed out to speak to him, to ask him where his nephew had been. Rodolphus snubbed her instead of meeting her in private to answer her questions. Hermione thought it unlikely that she would get her former ally on her side anytime soon. Their past was clearly in the past.

Again waiting until most of the nearby residents were asleep, she made the decision that she would no longer sit idly by waiting for answers she was likely to never get. With her beaded bag fully packed and a vague idea where she would go next, Hermione stepped outside into the night. She was only just about to cross the protective wards when she heard a voice call out to her to stop. The temptation to ignore the wizard with the most bizarre timing was strong. When it was clear that she wasn't about to heed his warning, Draco stepped in front of her, blocking her exit.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere else."

"Why?"

Frustration filled every cell of her being. For such an intelligent wizard, he could ask the dumbest questions. How could he not understand how unbearable her existence had become? It was bad outside the Resistance's village. Inside, it was immeasurably worse. At least when she was on the move she didn't have to worry that the vast majority of people in the immediate area were fantasizing about her vicious murder. She had freedom to move, views other than canvas walls to stare at all day and night. With the exception of Sarah and Lee, no one else even spoke to her. Well, unless it was to taunt her like Wood or warn her to behave herself like Charlie.

"'Why'? Tell me _why_ I should stay, Draco. I'm tired of no one telling me anything."

When his first instinct was to refuse to answer her question, Hermione pushed him out of the way of her exit. One more incident of refusal and she was going to lose the very last of her patience. She was only a step or two away when she felt an arm slide across the front of her waist. Startled by the familiarity of the touch, she halted. Though used to having men grab her arm to get her to follow their demands, she was caught completely off guard by his gentle grasp. Hardly pressing his body against her back, Draco moved his lips to just outside the shell of her ear to whisper a secret she knew he wasn't supposed to tell.

"The Resistance wants you to be a spy, Hermione."

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, but it did. Of course they would want to use her in such a dirty, underhanded manner. Their reasons for needing to make certain that they could trust her or that she wasn't the same brainwashed, loyal Death Eater she had been for years were clear. What they were asking was no small thing. Sighing, she ignored the subtle increase of the pressure of Draco's arm around her front and how more of him pressed against her. There were more important matters on her mind.

Spies were not treated kindly within their regime. To uncover one was a brutal, disgusting business. In the early days, spies were everywhere. One never knew when they could trust a person or not. Even families were often caught in the middle. The Weasleys were a perfect example. Half were _for_ Lord Voldemort and half were vehemently against. A single wrong word in front of the wrong family member or once-trusted friend could find someone in the middle of an interrogation with the likes of Rabastan Lestrange or Hermione herself. Certainly not a place anyone would want to be if it could be avoided.

When the problems with spies and other deceitful individuals residing in the new world they were trying to create reached a critical level, a new policy was instituted straight from the Dark Lord himself. No longer would spies be punished on their own. If a person was discovered to be passing classified information to the wrong person or even fraternizing with undesirables, they would be forced to watch their families tortured and executed first. Fearing for one's own life was not always enough deterrence. Knowing that they might have to witness their beloved mother or their young child be murdered was a much better incentive to keep out of trouble.

If she was uncovered doing _anything_ for the Resistance while pretending to be back in her master's fold, she would be subjected to watching her son and what remaining family members she had pay the price for her. Even as her mind cleared up from days earlier, she still struggled deciphering between fact and false memory. But, if her parents were somehow still alive, they would be found and dragged to her place of execution. Ollie likely wouldn't be spared. Not even with Antonin as his father.

She knew more about the execution of suspected spies' families than she cared to. After all, it had been part of her duties. One particularly devastating incident several years earlier involved a familiar face from her days at Hogwarts. A longtime Ministry worker and supposedly loyal to the regime, Michael Corner was found to be passing information to his old girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. Punishments were harsh and they were swift. Hermione would never forget the former Ravenclaw's screams when she stood in front of him with his eight year old son bleeding all over the front of her robes. She didn't like to murder children, especially when they were truly innocent of the crimes of their parents, but order _must_ be kept.

 _That_ was the fate the Resistance was expecting her to subject her only child to. It was brutal, disgusting. Hadn't she already been a shit enough mum to Ollie without worrying about him meeting the same fate as the other children caught up in their parents' sins?

" _Please_ don't go, Hermione."

She didn't make any promises that she didn't intend to keep that night. Only agreed that she would stay, but only for a little while.


	82. March 22nd

March 22nd

Very little conversation passed between Draco and Hermione when they returned to her tent the night before. Though she was frustrated with the wizard and there was a great deal she would have _liked_ to say, she kept her mouth shut. Stirring up aggravation and emotions would only make her miserable. She was tired of being miserable. Instead of allowing him to continue to _not_ answer her questions, she didn't ask anything. Once inside the tent, she made her way to her usual bunk and climbed in.

If Draco found her behavior to be rude or odd, he didn't say anything. Since the beginning of the year he had had enough experience around the witch to understand something of her moods. One doesn't spend several days alone in a tent with someone else without learning at least some of what makes a person tick. Likely exhausted from his own adventures in the real world outside of the protective cocoon she had been living in, Draco made himself at home, lying back in the bed he'd used the last time he slept inside the tent.

Hermione slept fitfully the entire night. Thoughts about the Resistance wanting her to become a spy naturally took up a great deal of her limited thinking capacity. Even when she was able to drift off to sleep, her mind kept returning to thoughts of what would happen if she was discovered. Nothing seemed to be worth the risk. _Nothing_. What could the Resistance offer her as incentive to put not only herself, but her only child in mortal danger? As she was living at present, all she had to worry about was _her_ death. Even someone as clearly mentally deranged as William Wood only cared what happened to her. It was _her_ side that exacted such devastating punishments from their enemies.

While trying to shake off the upsetting feelings that plagued her when she woke up from a terrible dream in the middle of the night, she heard the sound of Draco returning to the tent. Where he had run off to was a complete mystery. Perhaps he sought out his uncle or another resident in the village. His life as a tracker meant he was able to move without making hardly a sound. It was only because she was wide awake that she heard him at all. Knowing without even needing to ask that he wouldn't put to rest any of her curiosities if she asked, Hermione turned back on her side in an attempt to fall back asleep.

The smell of bacon frying roused her several hours later. Just like he had when they were in the woods together, Draco woke up before her to prepare a simple breakfast. She might have been still leery of speaking to him after he revealed the big secret the night before, but her stomach had a rule against refusing a hot breakfast.

Neither of them broke the silence over their meal. Sometimes it was more pleasant just to sit back and enjoy the quiet. They were less likely to get in a terrible argument that way. Hermione was used to spending tense, awkward meals with a wizard. She'd been doing it for most of her life.

Just as they were finishing up the last of the simple breakfast of bacon and eggs Draco prepared, the flap to the tent opened. Ginny Weasley entered her father's old tent with the confidence of one who feared little. She looked exhausted, like she'd been woken up in the middle of the night from a deep sleep with devastating news. At least Draco's late night errand suddenly made sense. He must have sent the military leader a message warning her that he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"Could we have a word, Hermione?"

The formality of Ginny's tone still sounded so foreign to her former friend's ears. There had been a time when they were very close. Now, they were complete strangers. Each woman had a hardness to their personality that had developed as they grew older. Their younger selves likely wouldn't even recognize the people they had to become to survive in their world. It was a fact that should have devastated Hermione and it likely would have, if she allowed herself to dwell on the past. There was nothing to be gained from looking backwards to imagine what might have been.

"I suppose we should."

Ginny took a seat at the table without an invitation. Understanding that the discussion they were going to have was going to be personal, Draco began to stand up to leave. A touch of Ginny's hand on his forearm stopped his movements. Hermione felt her eyes narrow at the gesture. What right did she have to order him about? As soon as he was settled back in his chair, their visitor turned her full attention to Hermione.

"Draco sent me a message."

"I assumed that when I heard him creep back inside this morning."

His light grey eyes shot up to meet hers. Clearly, he thought he had been so clever and sneaky. She almost laughed in his face. Too much cockiness would get him killed if he wasn't careful.

"We hadn't planned on asking you to… to be a…"

"'Spy'?"

"Well, yes, if you want to call it that."

She considered briefly arguing with Ginny over semantics, but decided it was a waste of time. Either the witch would tell her the truth or she wouldn't. Up until that moment, she still hadn't made a single promise or vow to anyone that she couldn't ignore if she so chose. They might _want_ her to spy for the Resistance, but that didn't mean that she had to do anything they said.

"The point is, we hadn't planned on asking you to do anything until we were certain that we could trust you, Hermione."

"And do you trust me now?"

It was an honest question that she didn't expect an honest answer to. She would have been a fool to admit that she trusted Hermione now. Either a fool or a liar. Too many sins had been committed in the past to wipe clean the slate. Quickly, it became evident that Ginny was unsure how to respond. She had never been one to tell lies even when a harmless fib could have been kinder. No doubt she assumed that telling Hermione she didn't trust her would make the Death Eater offended and unwilling to help. Which would have been further from the truth. She'd spent her life working with people who she didn't trust and who didn't trust her. Being upfront and honest would earn her more respect in Hermione's eyes.

"Not any further than I could throw you without magic."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected truthfulness, Hermione stared into Ginny's brown eyes in shock. The bubble of a giggle formed in her throat that threatened to cross her lips. Ginny's mouth began to quirk into into her own hint of a smile.

"After I told you about my daughter, I smuggled her out of the country."

Her admission made her laugh loudly. The younger witch joined in with her own laughter while Draco sat perfectly still staring at them with an incredulous expression that only further inflamed their mirth. When it was clear he didn't understand anything that was happening and might possibly believe both women had completely lost their minds, he rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair to wait for them to stop.

"I'm glad to see that you have more sense than I gave you credit for, Ginny."

"Enemies can sometimes become temporary allies when it's necessary."

"Indeed. What do you and the Resistance want me to do for you?"

There seemed no valid reason to delay the meat of their discussion any longer. Hermione wanted to know exactly what was expected of her and what she could hope to expect in return. She didn't do anything for free. What motivated her to 'fight the good fight' when she was a teenager no longer applied. She wasn't the same person. Idealism and the urge to protect her best friend from death could no longer be called upon. She wanted _tangible_ rewards.

"We meant what we said when we suggested that you could be valuable in bringing other Death Eaters over to our side."

"It's adorable how you always say 'we'. Who is really in charge?"

Ginny wasn't derailed by the question of the Resistance's leadership. Perhaps she even expected it. Taking a deep breath and _attempting_ and failing to hide the frustration in her voice, she explained that their leadership was a collective. Everyone brought different strengths and talents to the group. There wasn't one single person in charge because they all had their own individual value. Everyone had a voice and was free to express their opinions and ideas. Hermione resisted the temptation to tell her what a ridiculous idea it was to have dozens of different opinions floating around. How were they ever going to be taken seriously if there was so much internal debate? It was best that there only be one viewpoint, one way of thinking that everyone was required to adhere to or shut up about. Strong leadership couldn't be determined by the ordinary citizens. They were too stupid to know what they needed.

"Do you understand that if I am discovered to be a spy that not only will I be murdered, but so will my family? My son will be killed in front of me?"

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm also aware that _you_ were often the hand that swung the sword in the execution of innocent children."

She wasn't going to allow Ginny to get under her skin. There was no reason to remind her of her sins. She had to deal with them every single second of her life. _No one_ knew her crimes better than she did. Brushing off the witch's last remark, she went straight to what _she_ wanted out of the deal.

"If the Resistance was to finally overturn the Dark Lord and create a new world as you seem to believe you will, I don't expect anyone to allow either my husband or myself to go without being killed for our crimes."

When Ginny started to protest, Hermione held up her hand to stop. She didn't want to lose what respect she had for her former friend with a bald-faced lie.

"You can make all of the promises that you want that I'll be spared in exchange for helping you, but I don't believe it. At some point, you will come calling for my head."

"What is it that you want?"

"I want a promise from _you_ , Ginny, that whatever happens, my son is not to be harmed. He doesn't get executed along with his parents. He's spared."

"We have never been in favor of murdering children."

Hermione relaxed a little. Of course that was the truth. How many times had she taken down a Resistance member because they were so intent on protecting a child? Too many.

"And for good measure, I want Mafalda Yaxley to be spared."

"But she's the wife of a…"

"I _know_ who she is. She's never been a Death Eater. She's a good woman who got caught up with bad people. And I want your assurance that she won't be harmed. She's more of a mother to my son than I've ever been."

Ginny nodded in agreement. Later, Hermione would insist that everything be written down for her peace of mind.

"And I demand that you teach me how to cloak my magic."

"I don't have the authority to…"

"It's non-negotiable, Ginny. Either you teach me to cloak my magic or I won't help."

She sighed. It was a big request.

"I'll have to speak with the others."

Ginny rose from the table. Their discussion was over for the moment.


	83. March 23rd

March 23rd

Even when one believed they were being completely discreet, there is a feeling that is difficult to mask when someone stares for any length of time at another person. Perhaps it was because of her years as a Death Eater that Hermione could identify the impression of eyes boring into her while she appeared to be sleeping. Maybe all of her training with Antonin prepared for what it would be like. She wasn't sure. It didn't matter. More than a few times being able to pick up on that prickly sensation saved her life when others around her meant her harm.

She didn't expect to feel it while she was lying in the bed she had become too familiar with inside her tent. The degree of intensity didn't give off any alarms that she needed to be concerned about her safety. Without even opening her eyes to confirm her suspicions, she was fairly confident in the fact that she was aware of who was the guilty party. There really only could be one person.

The previous day following Ginny's impromptu visit had been fraught with tension between the permanent and occasional residents of the tent. Without really knowing Draco very well, Hermione couldn't even begin to understand what he was thinking or feeling about the whole incident. She got the impression that he wasn't keen on her actually taking the Resistance up on their request that she become a spy. It might have been a silly thought. Why else would Draco have made such an effort to test her trustworthiness and make sure that she found her way to the village if not to offer her up to the Resistance on a silver platter?

He hadn't said a word the entire time the two women spoke, but he didn't miss a single syllable that was uttered. Only moments after Ginny made her excuses to leave the tent, he made a production of putting his shoes on and exiting too. All day he was gone. Hermione assumed he had gone off to resume his tracking of fugitives until he returned late just as she was preparing for bed. His only communication was a nod and grunt. Although his behavior was decidedly strange, she didn't press him for answers. He wasn't likely to give them even if she asked. One thing about their acquaintance hadn't changed - he was frustratingly tight-lipped.

The prolonged attention was making her uncomfortable. After deciding that she couldn't bear it another moment, Hermione opened her eyes. Even in the dimness of the tent she had no trouble meeting Draco's light grey eyes still staring across the small space. When it was obvious that he had been caught staring, he didn't even make an attempt to pretend otherwise. He continued, not once even offering an apology or explanation. It was bizarre.

" _Why_ are you staring?"

Hermione sat up, pulling the blankets tightly around her body as if that would stop the stares. He didn't immediately answer. Only sat up in his own bed, not even caring that the blankets fell off of him revealing his lean, bare chest. Every other time they'd spent a night together in the tent, they had each been careful to remain as modest and respectful of the other as possible. There was enough to worry about in their situation without adding uncomfortable tension to it all. As much as she might have tried to avert her eyes, it was difficult. Draco either didn't mind or even realize she was getting an eyeful of his fair flesh.

"Are you actually considering what Ginny's asked you to do?"

There was a bite to his tone that she hadn't heard before. At least not for many, _many_ years. What had changed in such a short period of time to make him behave in such an odd manner?

" _Yes_ , I am. Isn't that why you wanted me to come here in the first place?"

Draco sighed, but didn't answer. She could feel frustration begin to rise up in her blood. He was acting like a petulant child. Like he used to when they were in the castle and he wasn't getting his way. If the next words that came out of his mouth were something similar to 'my father will hear about this', she wouldn't have been the least surprised. He didn't look like the child he once was. Clearly, that wasn't what was important.

"What I _wanted_ isn't what's important. I was asked to track you down and determine if I thought you could be trusted or not."

"You tricked me to get me to come to this village. Right in the middle of the Resistance. Around people who would rather see me dead than alive."

"That doesn't mean I think what Ginny's asking of you is what you should do."

She didn't understand why they were arguing. Why did he care so much about what she did? Every single thing about the wizard confused her. From the first day of the year when he entered the room she was sleeping in and _didn't_ attack her, she hadn't been able to figure out what he was trying to do. One second to the next he appeared to contradict himself. Part of her wished that she'd never crossed his path. Or maybe that she'd made it the front door of her house that day before he grabbed her. Maybe this would've all been much easier.

"I thought you were all for the Dark Lord being brought down. The name Malfoy might actually mean something again if he is."

It was a low blow. Hermione didn't even mean to say it. If she'd been thinking clearly, she wouldn't have stooped to such pettiness. Draco's pale eyes flashed with a rage that might have frightened her once upon a time when she had anything to lose. Another lesson she'd learned from Antonin so many years earlier was that it was never wise to kick a dog when he was down. To call attention to the fact that his family was considered an embarrassment and disgrace was unkind. He was well aware of their reputation. Having it thrown casually into his face did nothing but anger him. Briefly, she considered apologizing until she decided it would only make the situation even more awkward. It would be best to try to push the conversation on.

"Do _you_ think I should do what they want?"

Draco sighed again. The slump of his shoulders proved that some of the tension was lessening. It was a question she asked not because she thought it would just make him calmer, but because she truly wanted to know his opinion. Strange how her world had changed enough to the point that his thoughts actually mattered to her. If anyone had told her months earlier that a moment like this would happen, she would've assumed they were mad. Funny the changes that time wrought.

"You could be invaluable to the Revolution. You could also be killed."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not afraid to die. Somedays I almost wish it would just go ahead and happen."

" _Don't_ ever say that again."

If she thought he had been angry earlier when she brought up the painful reminder of how far his family had fallen in their society, she was startled to see how vehemently he insisted she watch her words. There was a shift in the anger still present in his eyes. Subtle, but still there. It was more intense, more _personal_.

"I don't understand what Ginny and the others are playing at. When she told me what they were considering asking of you, I didn't believe it. Part of their agreement with one of their largest supporters on _our_ side was that you were to remain unharmed. Asking you to spy is hardly keeping you from being harmed."

"Who's protecting me, Draco? Which Death Eater is helping them?"

He was reluctant to speak again. There were only a very small handful of Death Eaters that would even be bothered if anything were to happen to her. Even fewer who would actively conspire against the Dark Lord's regime. She wanted to know who she had to thank for caring.

"I would've assumed that you would've already figured that out some time ago. Your mind used to be a great deal sharper."

 _Only_ because she had insulted him earlier with her remark about the Malfoy family did she let that statement slide. Just as he was sensitive about his family, she was just as touchy about her mind. Poking fun at her was unfair and likely done only as a retaliation. She would pretend this one time that it didn't bother her. If he attempted to insult her again, he would regret it.

"Who is it?"

"The man who kept you hidden up in his hotel room for several days while you _claimed_ you were sick."

Hostility and the faintest hint of what sounded like jealousy colored his tone. That didn't make much sense to her, however. There was no reason at all for him to feel that way. She believed she was just imagining the frustration. Choosing to ignore it for the time being, she considered his words instead of his tone.

"Augie?"

A single nod was the only answer she got in return. Of course it made sense. Why else would Augustus send that missive with Draco containing the bluebell and the simple plea that she trust the other wizard? To be honest, she was frustrated with herself that she hadn't put the clues all together. It wasn't a difficult concept. Her mind, no matter how warped and exhausted, should have been able to make sense of it all.

Her frustration quickly turned from her own mind to Augustus. If he was aiding the Resistance in exchange for her protection, where was he? Why was he still in France instead of right there with her?

"Do you still love Rook?"

It wasn't any of Draco's business. It wasn't _anyone's_ business but hers. Her relationship with Augustus ended a long time ago. She'd created an entirely different life since he was ordered to find his estranged wife to set an example for the rest of the country. What her feelings were for the wizard shouldn't have mattered.

"I think I will always love Augie."

The truth was sometimes difficult to speak and hard to hear. Draco threw the blankets off the lower half of his body as he rose to his feet. There was more anger in his features that she couldn't understand. Why would he care so much? Not even bothering to hide the fact that he was annoyed, the tracker picked his discarded clothes and boots off of the floor. He disappeared into the main room of the tent without speaking another word. Short minutes later, Hermione heard the tent flap lift and fall back. Nothing but silence remained.


	84. March 24th

_Author's Note: Friendly reminder to be careful what you assume. You might find yourself disappointed. ;)_

* * *

March 24th

After his rather dramatic storming out of the tent the previous morning, Hermione hadn't seen Draco. She thought he might have simply gone off to calm down from their surprisingly tense discussion, but he'd never returned. Either he was back tracking the trail of an undesirable or he was avoiding any contact with her. One possibility made sense, the other none at all.

For the rest of the day and part of the next she tried to imagine what it was that she said to make him so upset. They might have spent more time together in that year than they had ever had before, but that didn't mean that she understood the man. So much about him was still a mystery she wasn't even sure that she cared enough to uncover. Sure, she liked when he came to the village. At least for a little while she felt like she wasn't completely alone. Few who had been so affected by the last war and its aftermath were able to keep both their hands and their consciences clean. She appreciated that there was at least one soul within the immediate area who had some idea what it had been like to survive under the Dark Lord's orders.

She didn't expect anyone to forgive her for her crimes. They were too many, too brutal. Even if she attempted to make up for everything she had done, under orders and willingly, there weren't enough days in a single lifetime to atone. Not even a magical lifetime that could easily last as long as two centuries. In truth, she didn't _want_ anyone to absolve her of her sins. She preferred to carry them around in her gut, reminding her every few seconds what she was capable of. Sometimes they helped her remember she could be strong, other times they reminded her how weak she really was.

But analyzing every word that passed between them the previous morning brought her no closer to understanding why he behaved so oddly. He didn't seem to want her to become a spy for the Resistance which made even less sense than his storming out. What other purpose would he have for bringing her to the village if not to encourage her to take them up on their request? _Nothing_ a Death Eater did was done out of the goodness of their heart. There was always an agenda or they didn't last long in the Dark Lord's forces. He had his own reasons for seeking her out. Had they changed over the length of time they were back in each other's lives?

Hermione hadn't made up her mind one way or the other whether or not she was going to put herself and her son in danger to work with the Resistance. Sure, she might have said she would consider it to get Ginny Weasley to teach her how to cloak her magic, but not once did she make a single promise. Knowing how to perform magic without Antonin being able to pick up the trace was her ticket to _actual_ freedom. Maybe she could disapparate across the Channel or imperio some ship captain to take her to another continent. Pretending to be a spy, at least in the beginning, could get her what she wanted. After all, she wasn't a selfless being any longer. If there wasn't something tangible for her to gain, she wasn't going to do it.

It was also possible that the reason why Draco was so angry with her the previous day was because he _knew_ that she would be more likely to renege on any promises made to spy for the Resistance. Had he become so determined to restore the glory to his family's name that he actually _believed_ in what they were trying to accomplish? She'd insulted him in their discussion when she brought up how low the Malfoys had fallen. Was that why he was so upset? She could understand being prickly about a sore subject like that. It would be perfectly understandable that he would want to distance himself from the woman who spoke so lightly of something that had to be quite painful. He might have gone "all-in" with the Resistance. "Drunk the potion", as they sometimes said. Perhaps he was observant enough to know a rat when he saw one. Hermione had no sense of honor to keep her from stooping to lows that were unseemly. Somewhere along her journey since she was ripped from the broom cupboard still covered in the blood and ash from the Final Battle, she'd learned how foolish a thing honor could be.

The longer she dwelled on the possibilities to explain why he'd behaved so strangely, the more annoyed and frustrated she became. When had her life become so void of any excitement that she had to pick apart the words a wizard uttered like some sixth year schoolgirl? With no promises of Ginny returning to inform her whether or not she would be taught to cloak her magic, Hermione knew that she needed some fresh air. The canvas walls were apt to drive her crazy if she stayed within them much longer.

As much as she might have preferred to wait until darkness had fallen to take her walk, she knew she couldn't afford to get caught alone by an enemy like Wood again. He had gotten very close to starting the odious task he'd been fantasizing about. She couldn't let him catch her alone again where there were no witnesses. Unless she had a companion to go walking with her, she had to resort to stepping outside of the tent only when other residents were out and about. They might run from her in terror, but at least they were potential witnesses to hopefully deter any would-be assassin.

Deciding that she would walk past the Jordan home just in case they were outside enjoying the warmer weather, she set her course. It only took a couple of hate-filled glares from a gathering of witches who would love to see her dead to make her change direction. Walking in front of the homes brought too much attention. Instead, she circled round to walk behind the back gardens.

The Jordan family's home was in her sights and she could hear the familiar laughter that belonged to her fellow Gryffindor when the opening of a garden gate startled her into stopping. Too much time spent in the same place had made her reflexes slow. She hadn't even heard the footsteps of another soul because her focus was so intent on her destination. It was a deficiency that would get her killed one day.

Her sudden appearance behind his back garden was every bit as much a surprise for Tiberius Zeller as it was for Hermione. Each of them stood perfectly still staring into the other's shocked eyes for several awkward seconds that felt like much longer. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next. He was an unknown variable. As the instrument in his daughter's death, she could very likely be in grave danger, but somehow, she didn't feel the fear that always accompanied a moment she knew her life was in peril. Understanding that she had the option to make the interaction less uncomfortable by rushing away, Hermione dropped her gaze to her feet and continued towards the Jordans. Only a footstep or two away from the disgraced Ministry official and his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"May I ask you a question, Mrs. Dolohov?"

There was just the tiniest hint of pleading in his tone that could have easily been missed if one didn't have as many years conducting interrogations as she had. It took a great deal for a proud man like him to ask for anything. Her curiosity warred with her good sense. She spun around on her heel to face the man again. With a single nod, she gave him permission to continue.

"My Rosie… did she… did she suffer?"

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping. It was a question that she knew a hundred different parents would like to ask her. There had been many families she had been responsible for tearing apart. Some of them she still continued to feel remorse for; others, none at all. She regretted what happened to Rose Zeller, but not the part she played. The casting of the Avada to her heart was a mercy. After what the disgusting Snatchers did to her when they were instructed to leave her unharmed, she was left with no choice. The girl wasn't going to be good for anything else after that. Even her parents wouldn't have known what to do for her.

But, she couldn't be completely honest about that, could she? There were still plenty of people alive who believed that murder was murder was murder. No degrees, no exceptions. Because she ended the life of a woman who had only just begun, she was damned. Very few loved ones of those she'd killed over the years in her time as a loyal Death Eater ever spoke to her when she crossed their path. Usually they were too angry or too frightened to want to draw attention to themselves. She was thankful that this wasn't a conversation that she'd had to have often.

"She was not supposed to be harmed at all."

The lie dripped from her lips so easily. In truth, Rose _was_ going to be harmed, but in a much different manner. Hermione had plans for a pretty, well-placed girl. She could have been a very valuable informant if the cretins hadn't mucked it all up.

"My orders were clear. She was to be picked up and brought to me _unharmed_. When she was brought in…"

Seeing the dignified older man's eyes fill with tears threatened to do her in. He didn't need to know the details, didn't need to know how she had been bleeding and no spell could stymie the flow. How she cried and begged for mercy. No parent needed to have _that_ image of their child burned into their brains. Another lie wouldn't hurt him.

"It was an accident. She got caught up in the crossfire. She was dead before she knew what was happening."

Tiberius sighed, his shoulders drooping in an imitation of her earlier gesture. The relief he felt was written all over his face. Hermione could feel a little solace at that. Having to go the rest of his life believing his daughter was savagely murdered and died in great pain would eventually make him go mad. At least her lie could spare him that fate.

When he didn't ask her anything else, she turned back around to continue on the path. She didn't even make it another step before she looked over her shoulder at the wizard that hadn't moved.

"As punishment for their failures and for hurting your daughter, I made certain the two Snatchers died screaming."

The corner of his mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile. Peace fell over him.

"Thank you."

Hermione nodded once and resumed walking.


	85. March 25th

March 25th

Another day passed with no sign of Draco. Hermione was frustrated, but made the decision to ignore her feelings. Maybe his decision to stay away hadn't been personal. His position within the regime meant he was expected to come running when summoned. While it often left him a great deal of time to do as he pleased, when he was needed, he had no choice but to drop whatever he was doing in a moment. Perhaps, after he calmed down but before he had a chance to return, he'd been summoned.

Idleness was the only reason why she even had the opportunity to try to decipher another's motivations or emotions. In her old life, when she was kept busy with her family and with her role as a respected Death Eater, she rarely had time to stop and think too long about anything. She could see how someone could go mad after too long wrapped up in their own thoughts. Or how a person could become paranoid and unrealistically convinced that the world and everyone in it was out to get them.

For the first time in all of the many years that she'd known him, she began to understand the appeal of Antonin's garden. She'd lost count the number of times she'd teased her deadly, ferocious husband for liking to crawl around in the dirt tending his tiny plants or how he enjoyed sitting on a bench overlooking the small part of the world he'd been able to tame to his rigid specifications. It allowed him the chance to think about something other than the insanity of the world they lived in outside of the rickety gate he'd fixed a hundred times. When every other part of his life was uncertain, he could find a minute amount of control in planting and caring for the various plants. It was his way of grabbing hold of the last bit of sanity that hadn't been stripped from him in Azkaban.

Learning how to cloak her magic would give her _something_ worthwhile to do in the time she was left alone. There might even be a flicker of hope that she could finally have something within her control again. Waiting on Ginny to return with the decision of the other Resistance leaders was not an easy task. She was beginning to believe that William Wood was right. They would be foolish to teach her their tricks. A day might come when she might use it against them.

Sunday mornings were typically lazy in the village. Very few in the wizarding world ever rushed off to church services. Faith in a higher power was almost unheard of in the community that could bring forth fire and death at the end of a stick. Its lack was an oddity that once upon a time interested her. She knew a Muggle-born wizard who rose as high as the Head of the Magical Maintenance Department at the Ministry. When her duties brought her to London, she'd engaged in many interesting discussions and debates with him about why organized religion hadn't gotten its hold on those with magic. Sometimes her mind would travel back to those days and she wondered what ever happened to the man. Had he survived all of the numerous purges that plagued the Ministry over the years? Or was he still wandering through the building making certain that the floors remained mopped and shiny?

Knowing that she would likely remain unbothered if she went out to enjoy the early morning sun, Hermione stepped out of the tent. After a quick survey of the immediate area showed that no one was about and looking in her direction, she crossed over the invisible barrier protecting her unusual home. No one else appeared to be outside, a fact that she was glad to discover. Walking alone was a much more attractive prospect.

"I was just on my way to your tent."

The witch's voice startled Hermione out of her thoughts. Spinning around, preparing for an attack she knew would one day come, she didn't immediately loosen up when she realized that Ginny Weasley stood only meters away. No matter how civil the two of them had been since their paths crossed again, they were not friends again. They never would be. _If_ they one day ceased to be enemies, she would be surprised. Too much had gone on to wash away the past entirely. Ginny showed no visible reaction to her bizarre behavior and clear mistrust. Likely they were having similar thoughts.

"I spoke with the others."

Hermione, curious to know what the next words coming out of her mouth would be, relaxed only slightly. She couldn't afford to get too comfortable around any member of the Resistance. That was how one ended up dead. And she should know. Plenty of complacent foes ended up on the wrong end of her wand. Whatever came out of the woman's mouth next would determine whether or not Hermione even _entertained_ the _possibility_ that she would become a spy for them. She meant what she said. Either they would teach her how to cloak her magic or she wouldn't lift a finger.

"I imagine that couldn't have been an easy discussion to have."

Ginny's lips turned up in a small smile. She was amused. After a moment to think over what the older woman said, she shook her head and let out a quiet chuckle.

"No, it definitely was _not_."

Part of her wished that she could have been there to witness the event. Not as a participant, of course. More like the fly on the wall. It was probably for the best that she couldn't. No doubt lots of unpleasant statements were made about her that she didn't want to hear. Hermione knew enough about her shortcomings and failures without needing her enemies to freely discuss them where she could listen.

"What was the decision?"

She prepared herself for rejection. It made the most logical sense. If the situation was reversed and Ginny was living on the outskirts of Hogsmeade amongst the most loyal and powerful of the Death Eaters and their families, Hermione wouldn't have wanted to offer her the same. Any weapon in an enemy's hand could be the instrument in their death or the death of a loved one. She understood that there would be many within the Resistance who would prefer she remain unarmed. Readying herself for the sting of rejection wasn't the only internal preparation she was making. Her decision was made in that moment. If they told her 'no', she was leaving. There would be no point to stay.

"Several were against it. I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that."

Hermione shook her head. She began planning her next steps. Maybe she could go back to Fenrir's for a few days. Just until she had a better plan.

"But, in the end, we decided that it was a fair request. We're asking you to put yourself and your son in danger."

A few beats passed before Hermione grasped that her condition hadn't been rejected. The Resistance was actually going to share with her their secrets. She could hardly believe it.

"Someone will be by your tent tomorrow."

Ginny nodded her head in her direction and took off walking towards the center of the village. There was no need to follow her. She'd said all that she would on the subject. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, Hermione could feel the tiniest bit of hope begin within her. Whether she ended up actually following through with spying or not, she would know how to cloak her magic, how to use it without alerting her husband or any of her former comrades.

She was almost free.


	86. March 26th

March 26th

Only the anticipation that she would finally be useful again kept Hermione from going completely round the bend the day before. After her short meeting with Ginny in the middle of the lane, she returned to her tent to begin the long wait for the day when she would begin her training. Her excitement was palpable. All thoughts about Draco and his bizarre behavior flew out of her mind. There were more important things to dwell on.

Like the potential for her freedom. She had yet to make her final decision whether or not she would do as the Resistance was asking her once she learned enough to keep her use of magic a secret. To be fair, she could have _years_ to think about her choice and still not be prepared to make it. There was too much that could go wrong if she had to go back to her old life to gather information and recruit new supporters. Would all of her running for the past almost year be for nothing?

It was her natural instinct as a parent to want to do what she could to ensure a prosperous and safe future for her child. Even if she wasn't a great mum, or hardly even an adequate one, she still feared that the world they were living in would chew up her son and spit him out into a bloody blob of unused potential. If the Resistance or any of their allies were eventually successful in overthrowing the Dark Lord's regime, Oliver wouldn't be safe. Not unless she'd made certain provisions for him beforehand. Was she willing to risk the possibility that her inaction would get him killed?

She didn't think she would actually make her final decision until the last moment. Dwelling on it and considering all of the different possibilities was all well and good, but she worked better under pressure. There was still much she needed to know about what her mission would be. Living once more behind enemy lines wasn't going to be easy. It might not even be possible. Despite what she'd heard from more than a couple of people in recent weeks, she did _not_ believe that her husband was missing her presence in his life. Certainly, she didn't believe for a moment that he was actually _sad_ that she wasn't around. She'd stabbed him in the eye with a fork and then sliced his stomach and stabbed him in the ribs with a knife! He would be a fool to welcome her back into his home with open arms. Every second she was there, he would be on the defensive, ready for another attack to come without warning.

But again, for Oliver's sake, she had to at least consider the possibility of returning to Hogsmeade as a spy for the Resistance. She was under no delusions that she wouldn't have to one day pay for the crimes she committed in a painful manner. One could only run so far from their past mistakes before they caught up. Denying her son at least a _chance_ , no matter how slim, that he would be able to survive beyond his parents' demise in a world controlled by the very people he was raised to scorn and fear, wasn't what a good mother should do.

Sleep, her one escape from the reality she'd been forced to endure, didn't come easily after Ginny's announcement. Hermione was out of bed earlier than probably every other resident in the village the next morning. Unable to sit still for a single moment while she waited for the mysterious Resistance member who was going to stop by to teach her their secrets, she kept her hands busy by brewing a pot of tea before the sun came up and taking her time sipping each and every drop. Just as she was about to rise from the table to brew more, the tent flap opened to reveal her mysterious guest.

Apparently, the courtesy of announcing his arrival before stepping inside her home was something that Aberforth Dumbledore wasn't prepared to offer. Hermione knew enough about how to effectively interact with one's enemies to understand what he was doing. From the very start, he wanted her to understand that _he_ held the power. It was an iron-fisted enough action to make her smile despite her dislike of the man. He might be there to teach her how to cloak her magic, but he wasn't going to be too friendly. Just what she appreciated.

"Are you ready to go?"

She hadn't expected to be asked to leave her tent. In her reasoning, she was perfectly safe inside the temporary canvas home to learn exactly what she demanded she be taught. Despite years of practice keeping her face an expressionless mask when required, her confusion must have been all too apparent. Dumbledore sighed and rolled his eyes as effectively as any teenage witch.

"We can't very well have our lesson _here_. Not only do we need more space, but there are many who wouldn't be too pleased to see what I'm doing with you."

Of that, Hermione had little doubt. If the general population in their small village filled with Resistance members and their families learned that one of their greatest enemies was being taught how to use magic effectively without being caught, they would not be pleased. Their secret was jealously guarded. She was sure there was a fear that if the wrong person discovered their methods, it wouldn't take long before the other side learned the best way to combat their magic shields. And if she was honest, they weren't wrong to fear that would happen. She knew better than anyone that that would be _exactly_ what the Dark Lord would order.

The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon when she stepped outside the tent behind the former tavern owner. No one else was yet outside, something she was sure was planned. After a quick glance around the area to be sure no one was watching, Aberforth stepped outside of Draco's protective circle. He didn't look over his shoulder to see if she was following, simply expected that she would. Hermione stayed just a few steps behind him up until the moment he crossed over the village's wards.

She knew the rules. As long as she remained inside of the village, she wasn't to be harmed by anyone. Not even those who would desire nothing more than to see her dead at their feet. If she followed Dumbledore, she would be at risk of being attacked. But, if she didn't follow him, she wouldn't learn what she desired. She hadn't gotten so far along in life without paying close attention to the suspicious thoughts that crept up on her from time to time. Perhaps, he was luring her over just so he could get rid of her. Not that she would blame him. It was a clever ruse. Maybe Ginny had been lying the day before and there was never any intention to teach her. The dirty work of getting rid of her now that she was inconvenient might have fallen to the elderly wizard for no other reason than he drew the short straw or it was his turn or whatever ridiculous, egalitarian method the Resistance used to decide who did what.

He was at least ten meters over the invisible line before he realized that she wasn't following him. Stopping and spinning on his feel to face her, he didn't even try to disguise his frustration. Her reasons for not following dawned on him after just a moment or two. Sighing, he lowered his eyes to where her feet were still standing still.

"No one is going to harm you if you follow me."

She didn't move. Aberforth closed the distance between them in just a few strides of his long legs.

"Will's not even in the country. He left yesterday to check on his daughter."

Still, her feet stayed inside the wards.

"I promise that you will not be harmed."

Hermione had to make the decision to cross over the line. She had to take a chance. Staying behind would keep her safe, but she wouldn't learn how to cloak her magic. Following the wizard might end in her death or he was being truthful. Deciding that she had nothing to lose, she crossed over the wards.


	87. March 27th

_Author's Note: Please remember that I can't respond to your questions if you don't sign in. But, Confused Guest, I would recommend going back and looking over the times that Hermione has basically said she would let them teach her how to cloak her magic, but that didn't mean she'd decided to spy for them. Learning how to cloak her magic means freedom. She's not afraid to lie to them long enough to get what she wants. Also, keep reading. ;) Nothing is simple in this world._

* * *

March 27th

Learning how to cloak her magic did not come as easily to Hermione as she hoped it would. For too much of her life she had taken for granted how quickly spells came to her. Even without much practice or thought, she was able to perform some of the most difficult magic there was. When she first joined the wizarding world as an obnoxious eleven year old intent on learning everything that she could, she made great strides to be successful as a way to prove to those around her that she _deserved_ to be there. Likewise, in the years she was under Antonin's tutelage, she worked hard to prove that she was just as worthy of the Mark on her arm as anyone else. A thirst to show everyone what she was capable of had been her motivation for most of her life.

A different sort of mania overtook her as she stood in the empty countryside with Aberforth Dumbledore struggling to put into practice what he was teaching. No longer caring whether or not she could _prove_ she was worthy in someone else's eyes, all she cared about was making certain that she learned for herself. It was her life on the line. Her future. If she had any hope for continuing her existence outside of her former home, she had to keep at it, keep practicing no matter how long it took.

Nothing about the kind of magic Dumbledore was using made the least bit of sense. Used to being able to _feel_ magic and use it intuitively, what he required from her went against everything she had ever been taught. Not only was she stripped of the wand that she'd been using for longer than she could remember, she had to consciously think about her actions before she made them. In the past, she was able to just let the magic run freely from her body and out of the tip of her wand. She never had to worry that it wouldn't work when she needed it to. It always did.

Dumbledore taught her a mixture of meditation that felt ridiculous and ancient incantations that she'd never heard before. Everything about cloaking her magic felt weird and unnatural. She hated every second. More than a few times she was tempted to simply give it all up. Only her stubborn nature kept her from throwing the unregistered and supposedly 'untraceable' wand in the wizard's face. Well, that and the fact that he'd had to Side-Along Apparate her to the middle of nowhere to complete their training. She wasn't even sure she knew where she was. Practicing where a member of the Resistance might stumble upon them was not a good option. Nor was the very real fear that she would mess up and use the magic she wasn't supposed to. Antonin or one of the other loyal Death Eaters would come rushing to their location. If she was found anywhere near the Resistance stronghold, all hope that she could become an effective spy would be dashed.

She didn't like the disconnected feel of the magic when she was finally successful with her first spell. For far too long she had been used to magic being a _part_ of her, an extension of her being. Actively working to suppress what was natural had been almost impossible. If she hadn't been so desperate, she wouldn't have continued. Cloaking her magic was her ticket to getting out of the village, getting out of the country even. She suspected strongly that Wood was just waiting for an opportunity to end her existence. He would never forgive her for the part she played in his younger brother's death. A man as tenacious and determined as he would eventually be able to discover her hiding place within the village wards. Draco's protection spells were helpful, but not infallible. Ginny's former lover would get to her one day.

So she kept working, kept trying the breathing exercises that felt like useless rubbish. Dumbledore might have made an effective teacher if he cared more about his student. Likely, he was much more patient and careful with those actual Resistance members who he took under his wing. In many ways, he was a great deal like his older brother. In others, she couldn't imagine two relatives being any less alike. With Albus Dumbledore, one never knew where they stood. He was secretive and manipulative in how he moved people around his chess board. Aberforth had no issue with telling a person _exactly_ what he thought of them. There was no wondering. He was much more honest and straightforward than his older brother.

"You're bloody hopeless! Why am I even bothering to waste my time to try to teach you something that you'll never get?"

The frustrated words came out of his mouth in a growl. Hermione considered throwing caution to the wind and Avada-ing him right in the chest. She would gladly risk being captured by Antonin just for the satisfaction of ending the existence of the man who had berated and insulted her for the better part of three hours. It was unlike her to be unable to work hard enough to grasp any magical concept. She wasn't sure what the problem was. Had she been away from magic for too long? Had her magic been dormant for too long? Whatever the issue, she was exasperated.

"I should've never agreed to this. You'll never get it. Too much Dark magic has tainted your soul. Just go back to Unforgivables. That's all you'll ever be good for."

Hermione was _determined_ not to fail. Even if there was an element she struggled to understand. Aberforth said that if she was to be successful cloaking her magic, she would be able to _feel_ it happening. So far, all she'd felt was a tension headache building up behind her eyes. His relentless insults did not help her mood either. She was discouraged, ready to give up.

"Maybe you should just give up, pack up your wee tent, and return to your husband. Forget any hope you might have to start a new life. It's never going to happen."

Every word that came out of his mouth only further inflamed Hermione's sense of inadequacy. Why _was_ she even bothering? Even if she figured out what she needed to do, she didn't even know what she was going to do next. Running away would only solve her immediate problems in the short-term. Eventually they would catch back up with her again. Spying for the Resistance might bring about a different world where her child might be safe. She still wouldn't be allowed to live long enough to really experience the new world. Spy or not, she would have to face the executioners for her past crimes.

His suggestion that she just return to Antonin struck her harder than she realized it would. A reminder of the conversation she had with Sarah days earlier brought up a strange influx of emotions. The Dolohovs weren't the happiest family around, no matter how perfect they tried to make their façade. There might be a small chance that he would forgive her for running off and leaving him in a pool of his own blood. He'd almost killed her when he pushed her down the stairs, after all. Was it inconceivable to think that she had no chance for a life away from the wizard she was forced to marry?

"Your son would probably like to have you back. Boys need their mums. Even if they're complete shite and never done anything good a day in their life."

Bringing up Oliver was low, even for Dumbledore. Hermione lifted her eyes off of the ground to glare into the wizard's face. No longer defeated, she had an urge to rip the man to pieces. A wand wouldn't even be necessary. How dare he!

"Just go back to Hogsmeade. Tuck your tail between your legs and return to your family. It's not as if you will ever do anything good that Oliver could be proud of."

The magic came from within. Seeping out of her pores and traveling down her arm, Hermione needed an outlet for the bizarre energy. Concentrating on the unfamiliar wand in her hand, she willed a nonverbal stinging hex out of the end. Not caring that she was likely to be tracked down for the use of magic, she wanted to make Dumbledore hurt.

Aberforth hissed when the hex met his flesh. Hermione prepared herself to run. Antonin or one of his loyal comrades would pick up on her Trace in an instant. She didn't regret stinging the wizard for a second. After what he said to her and the imperious manner in which he stared down at her from the length of his nose, she wanted to do much worse. She waited for the tell-tale pops of Apparition.

They never came. At least a solid minute passed before she realized that Dumbledore was no longer in any pain from her hex. Counter spells were easy. At least another minute or two passed before she realized that no one from her old life had come to drag her back to the feet of her master. Only when she gathered up enough courage to look the man in the face again did she realize he was smiling.

"Knew you had it in you. Just had to find your motivation."

Hermione didn't know how to respond. When he was talking about her son, it all happened so quickly. She wasn't even aware that she'd been successful in finally cloaking what came naturally.

"You'll need to keep working on it. Practice until it comes to you without even a moment's hesitation."

She didn't argue when he ended their first lesson moments later.


	88. March 28th

March 28th

Every free moment that Hermione had was spent practicing what Aberforth taught her two days before. She wasn't foolish enough to try to cast actual spells yet on her own inside her tent, but she could at least practice the fundamentals of the meditation and incantations required. It wasn't enough that she was successful because her latest teacher provoked a strong emotional response. She had to get proficient enough to perform on a whim. Seconds mattered. She couldn't afford to dredge up thoughts of her son every time she needed to cloak her magic.

With a renewed determination that she would soon be able to make some serious decisions about her next steps, her mind wandered back to thoughts of becoming a spy for the Resistance. It was curious that no one had approached her yet to discuss the actual details of what they wanted from her. Though she might have _claimed_ she was willing to help just to learn their secrets, she still wasn't sold on the idea. At least not until she knew exactly what she was expected to uncover. It seemed that if they were truly serious about her returning to her old life to work for them that someone would have already been by to give her more information.

She was weary of being left in the dark. Too much of her life had been spent at the feet of the Dark Lord privy to almost all of his plans. She'd grown selfish and expectant of being told everything. This new existence was too difficult at times. How could the leaders of the Resistance expect her to be any kind of asset at all if she wasn't told anything?

Tracking down one of the witches or wizards who filled Tiberius Zeller's living room for top-secret leadership meetings was not an easy task. Hermione never knew when any of them were even in the village. Most of them spent as much time out in the field as possible. Hiding behind the barrier of the village's protective wards wasn't furthering their ultimate cause any. She'd thought that Aberforth might return for another lesson, but as morning turned to afternoon and then early evening began, she knew not to expect him.

Deciding that she could always go to the Jordan family's home to find out _something_ , she ignored the uneasy feeling she always experienced when she stepped outside of her tent. Careful to avoid anyone enjoying the gradually warming weather, she rushed to the path she'd discovered days earlier behind the houses to slip into the back garden. To her surprise, she didn't even have to knock on the back door to find a member of the family. Lee was headed straight to the shed he completed his broadcasts with a serious, determined expression.

Hermione caught him just as he was opening the door. As distracted as he clearly was, he still was kind enough to grant her a warm grin, almost as if he was actually pleased to see her. Whether he was genuine or simply an excellent actor wasn't something that she'd been able to figure out just yet.

"Do you have a few minutes to talk, Lee?"

His smile slipped. He turned his eyes to the interior of the shed and seemed to be on the verge of telling her to 'bugger off'. But, Lee had always been too polite. It was a trait she worried would get him into serious trouble one day.

"I'm about to broadcast a special report. We just heard from London."

She tried to hide her disappointment. He had been her one hope for any kind of direction until one of the other leaders decided to lower themselves to seek her out again. Considering she had grown used to being completely ignored for days at a time, she didn't anticipate there being any kind of visit for a while yet.

"Come inside. When I've finished my report, we'll talk."

It was difficult to say 'no' to Lee's suggestion. Every other time he'd made a broadcast for the Resistance, she'd made it a point to not listen. She didn't want to know what was going on outside in the real world. Like the proverbial ostrich, she preferred her head firmly buried in the sand. It made her choice to abandon her family easier when she didn't know about the danger. Instead of a refusal coming out of her mouth as she expected it to, she surprised herself by accepting his invitation.

Lee was pleased to show her to the chair next to his at the table where his wizarding wireless set and microphone sat. She was hardly on the seat before he already had a channel open. Improvements to his equipment meant broadcasting to those souls brave enough to pick up the Resistance reports had become more frequent and reliable. No doubt Albert Runcorn was working himself into a frenzy trying to figure out how to block their signals. As much as she might have grown to like Albie over the years, she wished him nothing but failure in that endeavor.

"Verified reports from our brothers and sisters in London have confirmed that the infamous Leaky Cauldron is no more."

Hermione pushed aside all uncharitable thoughts about Albie's propaganda department to focus her full attention on the words Lee spoke. What could he possibly mean about the pub that they had all known since childhood was 'no more'?

"A massive explosion in the notorious establishment about an hour ago destroyed much of the structure. Known in recent years for being a place where You-Know-Who's Death Eaters liked to visit, a large number of them were in attendance when the explosion took place."

Her stomach began to twist in knots. There was always a danger in the lifestyle others like her had chosen. They all were aware that each time they stepped outside the safety of their homes to fulfill the orders they were given by their master might be the very last time. While she wouldn't go so far as to discount all of their crimes against humanity and wizardkind by calling any of them 'good people', there were a number of Death Eaters that she cared deeply about. Some she would even admit to loving.

"It has been reported that there had been a large gathering, similar to the one that took place at the end of January. Exact numbers of those inside are not known. All we are certain of at this point is that there were several fatalities."

She fought the sudden urge to rush off to London to find out for herself who was killed. Lee mentioned that the gathering was similar to the one in January. Did that mean that the ambassadors from the other countries were there too? Was Augustus back in the country? It would be just like him to get himself blown up. He desired to be in the middle of everything. That had been the biggest reason why he found life in France so objectionable. Well, other than living with his hateful wife, of course. He hated being away from the seat of power, away from the excitement. If he was in the country, he would've been right there in the thick of it.

" _Unverified_ reports are claiming this is a victory for the Resistance. Details, no doubt, will surely begin to trickle in very soon. Expect more broadcasts in the very near future."

Lee had nothing else to report on the incident at that point. While he gave his standard warning to be constantly vigilant to those foolish enough to be listening, Hermione's mind travelled to the other possibilities. Her husband might be amongst the dead. Was she already a widow and didn't even realize it? If so, what did she do next? She might not have to answer to Antonin for what she'd done to him _that_ day, but she knew that she would have to face the Dark Lord at some point to be punished for her defection. And if Antonin was killed, what would happen to Oliver? Abandoning him when he still had one parent, especially the one he appeared to love the most, was bad enough. Leaving him completely alone was unconscionable.

And Draco. Would he have been there too? She didn't want to think that the wizard who was responsible for bringing her into the relative safety of the Resistance was gone. They hadn't left things on a good note. She was still confused by their recent exchanges. If he was amongst the killed, she would never learn what was the true cause of his bizarre behavior.

"I'm sorry about that, Hermione. Now, what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

All she could do was just stare at Lee with wide, unblinking eyes. Did he not grasp the severity of the situation? Did he not understand that though they might have been the enemy, she was worried that she had just lost loved ones? Awkward seconds passed before it dawned on him.

"Shit, Hermione… are you…"

She didn't give him the chance to finish asking if she was all right. It was a ridiculous question anyway. Of course she wasn't. Jumping up from her chair, she rushed out of the shed for fresh air. One more moment inside and she feared she might suffocate.


	89. March 29th

March 29th

No one had any information about what really happened in London. Or if they did, they couldn't be arsed to care whether or not Hermione knew. As soon as she left Lee's shed the evening before, she walked around the village, ignoring the laughter and joyful voices of her fellow residents. Never before had she felt so distant, so _other_ , from the people she lived amongst. What happened at the Leaky Cauldron was a cause for celebration in their minds. She cared about too many people who were likely there to even consider the potential positive ramifications of the attack.

There had been other successful Resistance campaigns in the past. Many of her former comrades had been killed over the years because occasionally the rabble got something right. Once, when she was heavily pregnant with Ollie and in Diagon Alley finishing up the shopping that is always necessary when a new baby is set to arrive, there had been an explosion in one of the apothecary shops. Initially believed to be a terrible accident in the back room that served at a laboratory, further investigation uncovered an elaborate bomb in the cellar made entirely with Muggle materials. Someone within the so-called benevolent Resistance dirtied their hands with innocent blood.

Four people were killed that day, including a small child belonging to Marcus Flint. Up until that point, the former Slytherin Quidditch Captain hadn't made the decision to throw his lot in completely with the Dark Lord. He'd been a simple citizen, just trying to make it in the new world with his nose clean. Unimaginable grief and anger of epic proportions emboldened him enough to throw his body at the feet of their master and declare his unending allegiance. From that day on, he had been one of the most vicious Death Eaters alive.

Antonin's response to learning she was present the day of the bombing was to forbid her from leaving the village until the baby was born. She'd been set to argue with him until the stress of the day's events put her in St. Mungo's. Her Healer was the one to make the final decision that she remain on strict bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy. At least he'd saved them the inevitable row. Hermione did as she was ordered.

Knowing how close his family had come to being injured or worse, Antonin made it his mission to secure Diagon Alley. His position as the Dark Lord's veritable Right Hand meant he had unlimited power to achieve his goals. It was an embarrassment to the regime to discover that they had been bested by Muggle technology. A new department was created within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to solely deal with the search for Muggle bombs and weapons within public areas throughout the country. They were all proud to state that there had not been an attack on the civilian population in Britain since that day. All further attacks were confined to purely Death Eater related strongholds and raids.

Hermione wasn't sure if any of the victims from the explosion of the Leaky Cauldron had been innocent bystanders caught up in the violence of an attempt at revolution. Considering how popular an establishment it was, the chances were very likely. Even if there had been a large gathering of Death Eaters inside one of the back rooms, there were still potentially guests in the upstairs rooms or passersby on the street outside. Many citizens accessed Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. The Resistance was amplifying its aggression, not caring who it hurt in the process. Perhaps they were of the opinion that the ends justified the means.

If there had been more news about the incident uncovered in the time that she left Lee's shed and the next evening when she could hardly sit still inside her tent, she was unaware. No one was likely to come seek her out to let her know the extent of the carnage. As long as she lived amongst the Resistance, it must have been assumed that she had completely turned her back on her former life. Or, maybe more likely, there were those who enjoyed leaving her in the dark. There were always those who got a smug sense of satisfaction out of using their limited power to make those they despised miserable. It was also possible that they were too busy celebrating their good fortune and successful campaign to give her fears a moment's thought.

Draco hadn't returned to the village. She thought that he would be back at the first chance that he could. More than a few times when they had time alone to speak she told him how much she hated being left out. She might not have always wished to know what was happening out in the real world, but she didn't appreciate when everyone around her had knowledge that she didn't. It wasn't as easy to pretend that everything was fine when she saw the faces of the Resistance members practically giddy with excitement. If he hadn't returned, it was possible that he was one of the fatalities.

She wasn't sure how she would feel if that turned out to be true. Their relationship, for lack of a better term, had certainly evolved since the night he startled her inside the Muggle's house for the first time. Maybe they weren't exactly friends, but she thought they were at least working up to that. He seemed to legitimately care whether or not she became a spy. With his own eyes, he'd witnessed what happened to those who tried and were unsuccessful. As strange as it sounded, she'd gotten the impression that he might actually care what happened to _her_. Finding out he was dead would be a complication she didn't want to imagine.

Unable to just sit around the tent or pace up and down the canvas space, she headed outside. Pushing aside all fears that she could be attacked alone in the dark, she set out for Tiberius Zeller's house. If the one person she was certain would know about Draco's fate was about, he would be skulking around outside.

The moment Rodolphus saw her approach the back garden, he found a dark place between two hedges to transform. He didn't waste any time at all encouraging her to meet him in his hiding place. Though their interactions in recent days had become cold and even uncomfortable, the animagus seemed determined to put that aside for the time being.

"Have you heard anything from Draco?"

Few times in her long acquaintance with Rodolphus had she heard such desperation in his voice. He was always a man who could remain calm and collected in even the most trying of circumstances. To know that he was worried for his nephew was both heartwarming and frustrating. Clearly, he would have no information to give her.

"No, I was coming to see if you had."

Rodolphus ran both of his hands through his hair, an obvious indicator of frustration.

"He was supposed to bring me a report last night. I waited at our usual meeting spot for over three hours."

Hermione feared the worst. Very little would keep him from a scheduled rendezvous with his uncle. Between the two of them, they provided the Resistance with a great deal of important intelligence. It was even possible that reports that Draco had given were used to ensure his own demise. She shook her head, willing any further negative thoughts out.

"I'm going to London. I'm not coming back until I know for certain."

Moments after his harried declaration, Rodolphus transformed back into his Saint Bernard form. Hermione watched the creature bounce away on his oversized paws into the darkness. She wanted to follow him, wanted to leave too. Answers she wanted wouldn't be found within the village. Sneaking out of the Zellers' back garden, she weighed her options. Leaving put her in danger, but staying might drive her mad. By the time she reached her tent, she made the decision to stay for one more day. Maybe more news would come tomorrow.


	90. March 30th

March 30th

Still no one came by Hermione's tent to tell her which Death Eaters were killed in the explosion even days after the fact. They were all still too busy celebrating their victory to consider what the lack of viable information was doing to her already frazzled brain. She hadn't slept more than an hour at a time since she heard Lee's first broadcast. Shutting her mind off long enough to rest was an impossibility. Too much to think about.

And every noise, real or imagined, inside or outside her tent sent her running to find out if Draco was finally going to return to relieve her of her misery. He had all the answers she sought. Seeing him again, learning that her one potential ally in the whole fucked-up village she lived in was whole and unbroken would do wonders for her psyche. The waiting was unbearable, maddening.

Rodolphus hadn't returned either. Knowing the tenacity of that wizard on a first-hand basis meant that she understood he would not be back until he knew everything. Not only would he seek his nephew, he would linger long enough to discover what he could. Few, even amongst the Death Eaters, knew about his special skills. It was incredible the amount of knowledge he would uncover posing as a friendly dog.

She tried to ignore the sinking fear that the longer Rodolphus was away, the worse the news when he finally came back was apt to be. Tried and failed miserably. Long experience amongst the Death Eaters taught her that no news was decidedly _not_ good news. Preparing herself for the very real possibility that he would have nothing good to tell her _if_ he even returned became a priority.

Thoughts of Antonin's fate annoyed her more than they concerned her. Their relationship had always been complicated. She would never make a foolish declaration that she had ever been in love with him. She hadn't. Feelings might have existing that were difficult to place and she might admit to feeling a _kind_ of love for him, if and only if pressed. What sustained their marriage for so long was a mutual sense of respect and orders from their master. Left to make her own choices, Hermione would probably still be flitting from random bed to random bed trying to block out the screams and memories that kept her mind continuously flooded. Maybe she would already be dead, a victim of her own poor decisions. There had been a few nights in her past she could hardly remember because of her thirst for illegal potions or because of the curses shot at her by angry wives.

Antonin, as much as she hated to admit it even to no one but herself, was the biggest reason she was still around, still capable of running away. He might have hurt her physically more than anyone else ever had, but he was far from being the person who'd hurt her the most. That was an honor reserved for an infuriating wizard with a fondness for mystery novels who she knew would never leave his wife. Not even to run away with the witch he claimed to love to start a new life somewhere else.

Hermione pulled at her curls, willing her thoughts to turn from Augustus. It was easier to not think of him, to imagine he'd been nothing but a pleasant dream she'd been forced to wake up from. Antonin was the one who kept her alive when so many in their world were of the opinion she was nothing but a worthless enemy. He taught her how to survive, how to _thrive_ in an environment that was so foreign to all she'd ever known. It would've made more logical sense to fall for _him_ instead of the wizard who disappointed her at every step. Love, it seemed, was an emotion that didn't require sense.

Not knowing the fates of either man was driving her mad. She longed for nothing more than to see Draco waltz through the tent flap to set her mind at ease with more details of what happened in London. For a reason she couldn't fathom, it was easier to push aside worries that Draco had been killed. Of course she knew that it was a possibility. Even working alongside the Resistance for years wasn't a guarantee that he would be spared from becoming collateral damage in one of their terroristic acts. There was always a chance that _he_ was the one who caused the explosion. She didn't want to imagine that he was so entrenched in the Resistance that he would willingly die for it.

But, just because she found it easier to push away worries about Draco didn't mean they didn't have a nasty habit of finding their way back to haunt her. Against her better judgement, she'd somehow managed to develop something akin to an _affection_ for her former classmate. Suddenly, it mattered whether or not he was dead. Only months earlier she wouldn't have had a single moment's worry about his fate. Strange how much could change in such a short time period.

The swirl of worries and fears in her mind threatened to make her sick. Hermione knew that if she spent another moment inside the tent just waiting she would only make herself worse. She needed some fresh air. At least that might convince her that she was doing _something_ except standing around. Idleness wasn't helping.

She didn't stray far from her tent. Draco's wards only extended a few meters in every direction. Just far enough that she could stretch her legs and little else. If she had been thinking clearly, she would've realized much sooner that the very fact that the wards concealing her tent from the rest of the village hadn't come crashing down was a good sign that Draco was still alive. Most wards of the kind that he used wouldn't survive long past the caster's death. She calmed down only slightly. If he was alive and hadn't come back to the village, there could be an even more sinister explanation. Could he have been discovered as a frequent associate of the Resistance? Perhaps the very reason he was still gone was because he was dragged to the feet of their master to face his punishment.

Only the sudden arrival of Ginny Weasley to the usual Apparition point outside of the village pulled her attention away from her increasingly terrifying thoughts. Draco could very well be in the dungeons of the castle being tortured for all of his secrets. He could at that moment be confessing to aiding her in her fugitive state. Or even telling Antonin exactly where he could find his intractable wife. If it was possible, Hermione was even thankful that her former friend chose that moment to return. It gave her a chance to seek out answers, to feel like she was doing _something_.

"Yes, Hermione? What do you want?"

Ginny didn't seem the least bit surprised by the other witch suddenly crossing her path. Perhaps she had been expecting this moment. It wasn't unreasonable to imagine that Hermione would assume she had more information than anyone else.

"Who died at the Leaky Cauldron?"

The red-haired witch sighed and stopped in her tracks. Spinning on her heel to come face to face with Hermione, she sighed a second time in as many seconds.

"We still don't know. Lestrange is usually the one who finds those details out for us, but no one's seen him for days."

"He went to London to look for Draco."

"Of course he did." A third sigh escaped her mouth. "Draco hasn't been seen either. Details about the explosion are being kept pretty guarded right now. No one is talking. We think there's fear that the public will panic. Makes us think that one of the fatalities was high-ranking."

Hermione's stomach sank. Yes, it would be like the regime to not share everything with the ordinary witches and wizards. Especially if one of the Dark Lord's favorites was amongst the killed. She thought the possibility that her husband or her former paramour were dead highly likely. Closing her eyes, she willed away the dread that plagued every cell.

"Oh dear. Upsetting news?"

She did _not_ have the energy to deal with William Wood. Every interaction with him was fraught with tension. Hermione looked forward to the day that she could walk away and never have to see the horrid man again. When she opened her eyes, she met his. He seemed amused.

"Worried that your little mates were killed the other night, are you?"

Ginny hissed at Wood to stop, but the damage had already been done. There was nothing further to be gained from spending a single second in either of their presences. She wouldn't get her answers. As she watched the redhead drag her ex by the arm and away from the immediate area, she knew she had to learn how to fully cloak her magic as soon as possible. She needed out of the village.


	91. March 31st

_Author's Note: I'm not going to lie. I'm always surprised by the hate for Wood. Lol! You all do remember that Hermione_ **murdered** _his little brother, right? I'd be pissed and hungry for revenge too! I love my brother! Hermione is one of the bad guys in this story. If that changes or not, is still yet to be seen, but don't forget she's done plenty of murder... and **liked** it. ;)_

* * *

March 31st

The moon was high in the early morning sky as all of the village slept except for a single soul. Hermione wasn't sure of the time. Too late to be called night and too early to be called morning. It was that in-between phase just before the world began to brighten with the first of the sun's rays. She hadn't even bothered to climb into bed. There seemed no reason to try. She was too awake, too anxious to sleep.

For the first time since she'd started her journey as an escaped Death Eater almost a full year before, she found herself craving the potions Antonin would make her drink when her mind began its kaleidoscopic spin. As much as she hated the feeling of heaviness that was always a side-effect, at least she was calm. It had been a long time, weeks, maybe even months since she'd felt at ease even for a single moment. Blissful unconsciousness sounded heavenly.

A battle had been raging within her since she spoke with Ginny the previous afternoon. Or was it evening? She couldn't remember. Everything was bleeding together. Time was moving too quickly and dragging on too long all at once. She had to go. She had to stay. Her son needed his mother. Her son deserved better. If Antonin was dead, she had to take care of Ollie. If Antonin was dead, Ollie should be taken care of by Mafalda Yaxley. She should rid the world of the misery of her existence. She had to stay alive to keep fighting for a better world.

Everything made sense in one breath. In the next, nothing. She used to resent her husband for drugging her with potions she didn't think she needed. Once she imagined in her paranoia that it was simply one more method he used to control her behaviors. Hardly the same pliable and terrified child she'd been in those early days in his house, she knew it frustrated him when she didn't behave as he wanted. She loved to frustrate him, to wind him up just until the moment he was prepared to explode. It was a game she played. When he started forcing her to swallow the hated potions she resented him, hated him for changing the rules of the game. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her husband truly had her best interests at heart.

She shook her head. No, she was being foolish. The fear that Antonin might be dead was the _only_ reason she was having charitable thoughts at all. There was no reason to be sentimental. Even if it was true that he was dead, what did she care? Wasn't she the one who tried to kill him in the middle of their son's birthday party when he was only in the next room? What right did she have to be worried when he was almost dead at her hands months earlier?

Idleness and the lack of information were taking their toll. Moving through the tent, Hermione picked up all of her meager possessions she had strewn around the space to pack away in her bag. Staying too long in the same place made her lazy, sloppy. The relative safety of the village made it unnecessary to remain ready to run at a moment's notice. She needed to remedy that shortcoming.

As she moved towards the beds, she heard a sound. Spinning on her heels fast enough that she almost fell over, she could've cried when she saw Draco enter. If only she remembered how, of course. All thoughts of packing to escape left her embattled mind. There was nowhere else she would rather be in that second than where she was.

At first glance, she was pleased to discover that the wizard didn't appear to be injured. Dressed all in black, he was rumpled and his hair was far from the perfection he always strived to achieve in school. Every ounce of him drooped with exhaustion. The reason he hadn't rushed back to the village suddenly made sense to her. If he wasn't injured in the explosion, he would be expected to put his prodigious tracking skills to work to root out the suspects. He likely hadn't slept in days.

She didn't know where to start. A thousand different questions ran through her mind. None of them seemed important enough to ask. Draco wasn't in a hurry to speak. Each step he took in her direction was a struggle. Acting quickly before his legs could give out, Hermione rushed to the table to pull out a chair for him. He only just made it in time. Almost immediately he began to relax. Unsure what to do next, she busied her hands with brewing tea. Spring might be upon them, but the nights were still chilly. His eyes, gradually becoming less guarded and fierce the longer he was seated, never ceased their frank surveil of her frame. And still, neither spoke.

"Who was killed?"

The question slipped out as she placed the steaming teacup in front of her guest. He was making her nervous, a feeling she wasn't used to. It was the absolute worst question to ask first. She knew it before the last syllable was uttered. Based on the raw fury that crept up on the wizard's countenance as she asked, she knew he felt the same.

"Scared Rook didn't make it?"

Hermione didn't understand why he was so bitter. From the moment he stormed out the tent after their heated discussion _that_ morning, she hadn't been able to figure out his reasons. There was an evident hatred there that hadn't existed before. If she'd been younger and less jaded by the reality that the world morphed into, she might have believed that _she_ was the motivation for his anger. But, that didn't make any sense. It wasn't as if Draco cared for her. He'd never cared to spend more than a few moments in her presence before the whole mess began on New Year's. Choosing to ignore the heat in his words, she pressed on.

"No one here knows anything. Ginny said that someone important must have been killed because they don't want the citizens to panic."

Draco scoffed. The rolling of his eyes was so reminiscent of the teenager he'd once been that she could almost imagine they were back at Hogwarts. Only the deep scar on his left cheek and the subtle wrinkles in the corners of his tired eyes gave any indication that a significant amount of time had passed.

"Don't tell me that you're actually worried that your _husband_ is amongst the dead?"

She didn't like this Draco. He was too much like his younger self. Too arrogant and mean. She half-expected him to call her a 'dirty, little Mudblood' with each breath he took. When he pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robes to take a deep swig, she understood at least partly. Not only was he exhausted, he was drunk too. Whatever had happened in the last few days must have been difficult for him. She felt sympathy for him in the same moment she wanted to riddle his body with deadly and painful curses.

"Tell me, Granger. Would it make you sad to learn that your husband was dead or would you be relieved?"

Even if she knew the answer to the question he was asking, she would never satisfy his curiosity. Wasn't it enough that a large number of the Death Eaters were well aware that she'd tried to kill Antonin? Lots of the marriages of those situated in the highest levels of the regime were hardly ideal. Their lives weren't easy. Trying to push the perception onto the rest of society that they were all happy, perfect families wasn't a task many were up to. She and Antonin were hardly an exception. Public perfection often came at a high price in private.

"Is Antonin dead?"

She didn't want to play his game. Drunk Draco was a dangerous arse. Part of her wanted him to leave the tent, answers or not.

"No, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that your husband made it out of the explosion with hardly a scratch."

The level of relief she felt at hearing that he _wasn't_ dead surprised Hermione. With him still alive and unharmed, she didn't feel the urge to rush back to Hogsmeade. Her son would be cared for without her there. Antonin was a good father in his own way. At the very least she knew Oliver was safe.

"But Rook on the other hand…"

Any measure of relief she might have felt hearing that Antonin was all right disappeared in the next breath. She was no fool. Every single person with a Dark Mark emblazoned on their left arm was in constant danger of being killed even without the Resistance and their bombings. Simply stepping outside their homes put a target on their backs. Not just from their enemies, but even from those that they might have considered their friends. It wasn't uncommon for one Death Eater to end the life of another. Hermione had done it many times herself for various reasons. Augustus' life would one day come to an end, likely violent. Possessing that knowledge didn't make it any easier to hear.

"Is Augie dead?"

The words stuck in her throat. She hated herself for the feelings that still lingered. How many years would need to pass before she could forget the man? Would they both have to be dead first? Draco took his time answering the question, leaving her in agony. Only after he'd knocked back the rest of the contents of the bottle did he meet her eyes again.

"No, he's not dead, but it was a near miss. Damn fool was in the wrong place."

She felt the tension in her shoulders melt away. Yes, there were others that could've been caught up in the violence that she still cared about: Allie, Corban, Theo, even Ron to an extent. But, knowing that Augustus wasn't dead yet removed the last bit of her worries. Still, she longed to know the details that no one else but someone who had been there would know.

"Who was killed?"

Draco rose from the table in one swift motion. Throwing the empty bottle at the cast iron stove that provided the heat to the tent, she gasped in shock as the shards of glass flew. The exhaustion that plagued him only minutes earlier was non-existent. Glaring at her, he mumbled in his drunken state only just loud enough for her to hear.

"Guess I shouldn't have expected much of a greeting."

Before she could say anything in response, he raised his voice.

"Maybe you should run off to Cornwall."

The wizard stormed out of the tent moments later. Hermione didn't know what to make of him. She only hoped that the next time their paths crossed he would be sober. This other side of Draco made her nervous.


	92. April 1st

April 1st

Though it might have taken her a long time to settle down after Draco's abrupt exit, finally knowing whether or not the three wizards she had been concerned about were alive or dead took a lot of pressure off of Hermione's shoulders. She finished off the rest of the neglected pot of tea, analyzing the bizarreness of her interactions with the wizard before she felt her eyelids droop with exhaustion. Whatever it was that had made Draco behave so strangely was a mystery that she could solve later.

She extinguished all of the lights and slipped into her comfortable, familiar bunk. While she knew that she would likely be better off escaping the village, she no longer felt the urge to do it immediately. For the moment, she had the answers she needed. There was nothing keeping her from relaxing in bed, _finally_ catching up on some of the sleep she had sorely missed.

Much of the day that she had her anticipated visit from Draco passed by with her unconscious. Several days of worry and anxiety had been a strain on her body. Once she knew that her husband was safe and there was no reason to rush back to Hogsmeade to await her punishment and care for her child, she settled down considerably. Learning that Augustus was still alive also helped. Years might have passed since they last had an intimate moment together of any consequence, but she hadn't lied to her former classmate. She would likely love Augustus Rookwood up until the very moment that she died. It didn't matter that she knew they would be doomed if they both left their spouses to try to run away together. Love, like she'd discovered the hard way throughout her life, rarely made the least bit of sense.

Despite his rather abrupt exit, she had been grateful that Draco took the time to come to the village. She knew that he had been through a lot even if she didn't have the details. Perhaps one day soon they would be able to have a conversation about what was wrong when they were both sober and calm. He didn't have to come by to ease her mind at all. Maybe that was why he had been so melancholy towards the end, spouting off about being foolish to expect a better reception. She had been so relieved to find out that both Augustus and Antonin were still alive that she didn't even stop to thank him. It was wrong.

As the first day of the month dawned and she'd spent the better part of an entire day catching up on all of the sleep she'd lost in the days worrying about who was killed in the explosion, she was startled awake by what sounded like a fist banging on the top of what passed for her kitchen table. Few in the village knew where her tent could be found. Hoping foolishly at first that it might be Draco returning to continue their discussion, she leapt out of her bunk without care that she wasn't fully dressed. Clad in her pajamas, she made it just a few steps outside of the curtain that had been hung to separate the living space from the sleeping space before she stopped in her tracks. It was _not_ Draco.

"Hurry up and get dressed, lass. I don't have all day."

Aberforth Dumbledore certainly had an _effective_ way to make his presence known. Since their last lesson where she'd actually managed to sting him in the stomach, there had been no indication that he would return to keep teaching. Determined not to miss her opportunity to get better, Hermione rushed back into the sleeping area to change. On a whim she didn't exactly understand, she made certain that even her dirty clothes were pushed back inside her beaded bag. She'd spent too long in the village. Her chance to leave without worry that William Wood was behind her to curse her in the back presented itself.

It bothered her more than she would admit to leave behind the tent that had become her temporary home. There were so many memories attached to it from her former life and her current that she wanted to pull it down to take it with her. If she succeeded in escaping from the Resistance, it would be very unlikely that she would be able to come back to retrieve her property. Instead, she made sure that she took one last lingering look around the interior of the tent before she stepped outside behind the wizard.

He took her back to the same empty field that they'd practiced in before. Almost at once his training intensified. He began to expect even more out of her than the previous times they met. It was evident that the Resistance was trying to push through the rest of her training. Was it because they were wanting to make her leave the village to go out into the field as a spy even sooner?

Dumbledore's first spell struck her right in the chest before she was ready. Dueling using cloaked magic was a step above where Hermione was comfortable. She had only _just_ learned how to perform magic at all with the unfamiliar wand. How often did the wizard expect her to have to defend herself from attack? After a few more hits that hurt her pride more than her body, she discovered she was able to apply the principles he'd already taught her to the more active form of magic. Of course it made sense that she might have to duel an opponent. Spies were in almost constant danger.

Remembering what she had been asked to do by the Resistance wasn't good for her concentrating. She knew she was distracted. _Knew_ that she was making a fool of herself. Hermione didn't understand why it seemed that Aberforth appeared to take her failures personally, but he did. Perhaps he was the kind of person who didn't like how a student's inability to perform reflected on him as a trainer. It didn't really matter. His frustration grew higher with each subsequent curse she was unable to block.

"You're distracted! This kind of ineptitude will get you killed. You realize that, don't you?"

She didn't know what to say. Each moment she was with the man seemed to further solidify the fact that distancing herself from the Resistance was the right move to make. It wasn't entirely his fault, but his repeated reminders her that she was learning a skill that would save her from the attacks of the brethren she was once a proud member of certainly didn't help. Running from the organization she'd pledged her life to was one thing. Actively teaming up with the enemy to work against it was another. She couldn't be a spy. Not only was it dangerous, she felt no peace in her gut about it. Every single time in her life that she'd ignored that feeling of warning had almost gotten her killed. Lowering her wand, she stared up at the man who had been so determined to teach her to be successful.

"I need to leave."

"We can return to the village when _I_ feel you are ready. This lesson is not over."

"No, I need to _leave_."

Her meaning became clear. In an instant, his blue eyes darkened with rage. To forget that Aberforth Dumbledore was a formidable opponent for even a moment was dangerous. The wizard stalked closer to his student, the air around him almost crackling with the raw energy brought on by his fury.

"The _only_ reason why I agreed to teach you _anything_ was to make sure that you would do as you were told. We need a spy. We've never had one as well-placed as you would be."

"I'm not saying that I won't come back. I just…"

He knew a lie when he heard one. She had no intention of returning to the Resistance. Her time there had been educational, but that was it. If there was to be a large Revolution, she wanted nothing to do with it. She only ever felt like she could breathe when she was outside of the confines of the village. Returning to an existence hiding in a tent was no life. She'd rather be dead than continue.

"If you leave, you will be an enemy again."

"I never stopped being an enemy while I was here."

There was no reason to argue. Even Aberforth knew she was telling the truth. Her presence had simply been convenient. The exact moment that she no longer was convenient for the Resistance, she would be killed. But he couldn't let a potentially valuable asset walk away.

"Consider what you are saying."

"I have. I'm leaving."

The last man who grabbed her arm in the same manner that Dumbledore did ended up in a puddle of his own blood. Dumbledore got off easy. She wasn't surprised when she felt the grip of his hand. He would try to intimidate her into staying if she let him. She'd spent a long time allowing others to tell her what to do. It was exhausting and hadn't yet worked out well to her benefit.

She knew that she acted rashly when the stunner came shooting out of the end of her wand straight into the man's stomach. As he crumbled to the ground, Hermione knew she had to leave quickly. The magic erupted out of her without thought. There had been no cloaking. If she lingered, she would be captured.

Sounds of multiple figures suddenly popping into existence around her filled the quiet countryside. Based on the sheer number that arrived, it was evident that Antonin was stepping up his efforts to find his wife. He'd brought help. Though it all happened so fast, mere moments really, she was able to look over her shoulder as she spun in place to disappear. Her eyes met her husband's dark brown eyes for the briefest of seconds. Before he could finish calling out her name, Hermione was gone.


	93. April 2nd

April 2nd

Cornwall was perhaps the absolute worst destination for Hermione following her near escape from capture by her husband and his loyal goons. As foolish as she knew it was to run to the one place where she knew she would be suspected of running, her feet were landing on Cornish soil before she could do anything about it. In her haste, she allowed her magic to lead her somewhere else. Her heart, however, seemed to have no concern for her safety.

It was tempting to run straight to Augustus' house, bang on the door, and beg for shelter. Not only did she want to see with her own eyes that Draco had been telling the truth about his chance for recovery, she wanted to simply hear his reassuring voice. Emotions were weaknesses. That was a lesson she'd had to learn the hard way more times than she cared for. When the dust settled after the events from the previous day, Antonin was certain to make a trip to Cornwall to check if she'd arrived.

She didn't know where else to go. Before she'd gotten entangled with Draco and the Resistance, she existed just by staying on the move constantly. No longer did that seem like an attractive prospect. As much as she might have complained about being stuck in the village inside her tent for so long, having at least a modicum of stability had been nice. The thought of returning to an existence of just wandering from place to place with no set plan put her on edge. She wasn't sure that she had it in her to do that again.

There was a grove of trees not far from Augustus' house that could be used to hide in while she kept an eye on his house. Far enough away that they wouldn't immediately be suspected of being a refuge, they were close enough that she could see if anyone entered or left either the front or the back doors. She climbed up one of the trunks, grateful that at least _some_ of the leaves were starting to return. Though not much, at least she could be somewhat partially concealed if anyone happened to look up.

She didn't trust herself to even try to use the cloaked magic again. A concealment charm would have been welcome. Her nerves, however, weren't up to trying. From the moment she stunned Aberforth Dumbledore and had to flee, she hadn't been able to sit still for longer than a few minutes. Summoning up the necessary relaxation required to cloak wasn't going to be possible. Even her hands still trembled. She would never feel guilt for what she did to the horrible man. _He_ grabbed her arm and she would no longer suffer the indignity of being grabbed like that by a man without dire consequences being meted out. A woman had the right to defend herself from danger. She would _never_ feel sorry for what she did. She might regret the consequences of her instinctive reaction to being grabbed, but she did _not_ regret defending herself.

It had been a close call. There were a few other times in the previous months she knew that Antonin was close to catching her. That incident was the first time she had actually _seen_ him. If she had been just a little slower, all would have been over. A small voice in the back of her mind whispering its taunts that maybe being caught would've been best for everyone clouded her thoughts. At least her problems would've been over. Or, they would've only just begun, she tried to remind herself in the rare moment of clarity.

Seeing her husband again brought up an influx of emotion that she hadn't expected. It was easier to imagine him being the monster of epic proportions that her addled and terrified mind made him out to be when he wasn't around. She could dwell on all the very worst qualities he possessed, all of the very worst memories of their life together. The sound of his laughter intermingling with hers as they laid in bed late at night going over the details of their day like any other mundane married couple was beginning to be a distant memory that might have even belonged to someone else. The tender touch of his hand was almost forgotten, only to be replaced with thoughts of the all of the times that he physically hurt her. Seeing him again, seeing his familiar eyes filled with what could only be described as _concern_ made it harder to think only of the worst parts of her husband.

More than a few times in the past she wondered what might have happened if Augustus had never taken it upon himself to protect her cupboard. Pushing aside all concerns that she would have been violated like all of the other female captives were likely harmed at the end of the war, she wondered if real feelings for Antonin might have crept up on her if she didn't have Augustus in the background mucking it all up. Beyond her training and proving to those who doubted her that she was loyal to the regime, she only had Augustus. From the very beginning she attributed an unhealthy level of expectation on a mere mortal. If he hadn't been in the picture, maybe she could have seen her teacher in the light he longed for her to see him in.

He had too much pride to come right out and admit his feelings, but she'd always known how Antonin felt. That had been part of the cruel fun of taunting him. Because he was vocally against her relationship with the former Unspeakable, Hermione enjoyed rubbing it in his face. And when Augustus was a complete idiot and ended their relationship for a ridiculous reason that didn't even make sense, she knew the other wizard was pleased, hoping that that would give him his chance to swoop in to claim her for his own. She resented his joy even if he was careful about concealing it. So in retaliation, she continued to upset him by inviting other men into her bed in the room next to his. Forced to listen to depraved acts that she knew he would like to perform with her, he'd grown even more difficult to live with.

If their relationship had been allowed to grow and develop without Augustus' constant presence, maybe they would've even been able to find true happiness together. Certainly they made more sense than she did with Augustus. They had more in common when it came to interests and personality traits. Each of them had the same thirst and desire to prove themselves. Their ambition to rise to the top was unmatched by anyone else. Hermione used to wish that Antonin had been the one who took it upon himself to station himself outside her broom cupboard. Maybe life would have been less complicated. Maybe their eventual marriage would've been happier and filled with less violence.

But, there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past and the 'what-ifs'. She could dream about how life would have been different, but she couldn't say for certain that she would've been correct. Given a time turner and the ability to change the past, she wouldn't have gone back to change her relationship with her husband. She would've gone back to when Albus Dumbledore was still alive and uncursed to tell him the locations of the horcruxes. Maybe that could've made the difference. Or everything would have happened exactly as it had.

She stared off in the distance towards the house that had once held so many happy memories of clandestine meetings and long, lazy weekends. Her relationship with Augustus was one of the few aspects of her past that gave her any joy. Whatever the pain and heartache she'd experienced with the wizard when the visits to Cornwall were no longer possible had been worth it. Even if she never felt it again, at least within the walls of that home she had once felt loved.

There was nothing left to do but wait to see if anyone showed up at his house. Antonin would be there in a second if he suspected that she might make her way back. She had to be careful, had to stay out of sight until she positive that the coast was clear.


	94. April 3rd

April 3rd

No one entered Augustus' home or exited in the entire time that she stayed in the grove of trees watching. Of course, it was unreasonable to expect that she would've remained awake the entire time she was waiting. Even someone with as an active imagination as Hermione had to eventually find rest. Not foolish enough to risk falling out of the tree when she was asleep, she'd climbed down from her perch to rest on the ground.

While it was possible that there had been movement while her eyes were shut, she didn't think it likely. Her instincts were honed enough that she was super sensitive to all of the noises in her general vicinity. Besides, Death Eaters weren't exactly known for being stealthy and quiet. Once upon a time they were forced to remain in the shadows sneaking around to fight their opponents. But as soon as the Dark Lord took control of the country, they no longer had to operate in the shadows. Their bravado and their assuredness that they would remain unchallenged meant that they lost a number of their skills in being subtle and quiet. She would've heard Death Eaters from a mile away.

The only indication that there was anyone inside his home at all was the steady curl of smoke rising from the chimney. It might have been spring, but his drafty old house was cold most of the year. Only in the hottest part of the summer did the fireplace remain empty. They would sleep with the windows open on those nights, pajamas unnecessary. She felt heat rise in her cheeks at the memories creeping into her mind. There had been happiness in her past. She only hoped that one day she could find it again.

By nightfall two days after the incident with stunning Aberforth Dumbledore, she knew she had to make her next move. Either she crossed the grass to knock on the front door to alert Augustus of her presence or she moved on. Lingering in the shadows of a group of trees was no way to live. Her time living in the village in either the spare bedroom of the Jordans' home or in her own tent made sleeping outside more difficult. She'd gotten too comfortable. Returning to a life on the run no longer seemed like a great idea. Part of her wished that she'd just gotten over her aversion to life in the village. At least that way she could be safely inside somewhere and not have to worry about her next steps.

She wanted to see Augustus with her own eyes. Wanted to see how damaged he'd been in the explosion and if he was going to be all right. Hearing it from Draco's mouth was one thing, but seeing it something different entirely. It was only her desire to see him that gave her the strength she needed to move her feet towards his front door.

It was impossible to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside the modest home through the windows. Any witch or wizard worth their salt knew how to charm their windows to retain the utmost in privacy. One might believe they were looking in on a domestic scene only to discover it was nothing but an elaborate spell. Much like the enchanted windows in the Ministry of Magic could be changed to display whatever weather the Magical Maintenance Department desired, she knew that Augustus' windows were charmed to shield the true activity inside his home from prying eyes. She had to trust that he was alone. It seemed unlikely that his wife would bother herself enough with his well-being to cross the Channel to check on him, but she couldn't be completely certain. Violetta Rookwood had proven herself to be unpredictable on numerous occasions.

She stood in front of his door for at least a solid minute before she could raise her hand to knock. Worries that she was making the wrong decision plagued her from the very second she ascended the first stair. If she misjudged what could happen next, she might end up back in Hogsmeade. Augustus, much like his cantankerous wife, was unpredictable. She didn't _think_ he would turn her in, but it wasn't something she was willing to stake her life on just yet. Being overly trusting of anyone only got a person killed.

The first knock was hesitant and soft. She hated how her cowardice could sneak up on her at the worst times. It had been a long time since she was forced to be brave. Or at least to fake her own false confidence. Realizing that she was doing nothing but embarrassing herself with her timid behavior, she knocked again much harder.

"Keep your shirt on! I'm coming!"

Augustus' annoyed voice from the other side of the door brought a smile to Hermione's lips. At least he didn't sound like he was in too terrible of shape. The sound of his heavy footsteps grew louder. She waited impatiently for the twist of the doorknob.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Antonin? She's _not_ …"

The rest of his words caught in his throat when he realized who was actually standing outside his door. Augustus blinked several times without speaking. Evidently, her arrival was a bit of a surprise. The moment he regained his ability to think clearly, he pulled her quickly inside by the wrist. His door was shut and bolted. Before he gave any explanation for his bizarre behavior, he peeked out the window, scanning the area around his house. Only then did his shoulders droop and he exhaled.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

She hated that she was disappointed by his reaction to seeing her. In her mind as she imagined how this moment would go for the previous several days, she thought he would at least seem a bit more excited. He acted almost as if she was a burden. It was enough to make her want to run back out into the darkness. Realizing that he'd been less than welcoming, Augustus sighed and reached her hand.

"I'm sorry, love. It's not that I'm not glad to see you. It's just…"

"Antonin's been here?"

There was no reason to lie. Despite keeping what she _thought_ had been a thorough eye on his house, somehow Antonin had been able to slip by without her noticing. She was ashamed of how out of practice she was. If she ever had to return to Hogsmeade and to her former life as a Death Eater, she would be at a disadvantage. All of the valuable skills she once possessed would need to be relearned.

"Three times."

"But, I've been watching the house for days. Not once did I see anyone."

Augustus squeezed her hand. The same patronizing expression she was used to seeing on her husband's face appeared on his. One of the negative aspects of being in a relationship with a man old enough to be her father was the annoying tendency to be treated like a child from time to time. She ripped her hand out his grip. He only sighed again before speaking.

"Likely bad timing, pet. You look exhausted. Maybe you were asleep when he came?"

It was a plausible explanation even if she hated him pointing out that she must look absolutely dreadful. Sleeping outdoors did leave a lot to be desired. She only hoped that she would be able to stay long enough for a hot shower.

"Why did he keep coming back?"

"He thinks I'm lying. You've really led him on quite the chase the last few days. He's very concerned about you."

If she never heard another person tell her that Antonin was _concerned_ for her, she would be happy. No one alive knew him like she did. They wouldn't understand that the only person her husband was ever _concerned_ for was himself. Unless, of course, she considered their son. Sometimes he had a tendency to go a bit overboard when it came to Oliver. Whatever the strange emotion that seemed to have overtaken the man she married, it definitely wasn't concern. He was simply a talented actor.

"If he thinks I'm here, I should go."

She was two steps towards the door before she felt Augustus reach for her hand again to stop her. Moving his body in front of the way out, he didn't relinquish his hold. The air in the house grew heavy with an awkward tension.

"No, don't go. You've only just arrived."

"If Antonin's already been here three times…"

"It's late. Stay the night. If you want to leave in the morning, I won't stop you."

Even with the worry that her husband would be back to search for her again, she didn't want to leave. Nodding her head in agreement, they both relaxed. He promised to find something for her to eat while she took advantage of his unlimited hot running water.


	95. April 4th

April 4th

Following her heavenly hot shower and a simple meal, Hermione found herself too tired to stay awake. The issue of the sleeping arrangements caused a few moments of uncomfortable awkwardness. When she'd been stuck in his room at the Leaky Cauldron burning up with a high fever, there had been no question where she would sleep. There was only one bed. In the house that he'd grown up in, however, there were several empty bedrooms.

She appreciated that he didn't immediately make the inappropriate suggestion that she share his bed. Everything was already complicated enough as it was. They made polite, inconsequential conversation while she devoured the first hot meal she'd had in days. Whatever his injuries had been during the explosion, he appeared to be improving. It was evident that he was still quite exhausted from the nasty business of healing. When neither of them could hide their yawns, he showed her to his younger sister's old bedroom, only two doors down from his.

The bed was adequate, hardly luxurious. She knew the man had expensive taste when it came to where _he_ had to sleep. What his guests had to endure was of no concern. He had always had funny ways about him. Her usual rule of sleeping in her clothes so as to be ready to run at a moment's notice seemed silly. While living in the Resistance's village, she didn't worry about what she wore to bed because it seemed highly unlikely that her husband or one of his cohorts would be able to find her in the middle of the stronghold. Her biggest worry was actually whether or not someone from the inside was going to harm her while she slept. What she wore didn't seem important. Likewise, if she was uncovered staying in Augustus' house that night, she had bigger problems to worry about than her attire.

As tired as her body was, it was difficult to fall asleep. Though she'd lost count the number of nights that she'd actually slept under that roof in her past, she had never done so without Augustus lying next to her in the room down the corridor. Every sound in the old house elevated her discomfort. It might have only been the wind, but she allowed her mind to imagine so much worse that she feared she wouldn't find rest there at all.

Sometime after midnight she gave up trying to ignore the creaking and groaning of the house. She threw off the covers. Her bare feet padding down the carpeted corridor sounded loud in her ears. She hoped that she wasn't waking up Augustus. He might have been trying to play down the severity of his injuries, but she knew him well enough to know that he had suffered in the explosion. Rest was necessary if he hoped to return to his former self. And as much as he might have groaned and protested if she said so out loud, she knew that his age was a hindrance to his healing.

"Hermione?"

She groaned. All of her care to be as quiet as possible had been for nothing. Stepping inside the once familiar bedroom, she could see the outline of her former paramour raised up on his side staring in her direction. Augustus might have been covered in shadows, but she still knew how to read him simply by the tone of his voice. He was sleepy and fighting it. He was also worried about her.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. Are you all right?"

"Can't sleep in the other room."

His soft chuckle brought a reluctant smile to her face. She was grateful for the darkness of the room. He didn't need to know all of her secrets. Remembering exactly where the edge of the bed was, Hermione lifted up the covers on the side she used to always sleep on. Augustus didn't protest as she slid in beside him.

"I hope you don't mind."

The wizard's response to her statement was to move across the bed close enough to her that he was able to settle in behind her and wrap his arms around her frame. Hermione melted into the embrace. How many years had it been since they were last in the same position? London at the Leaky Cauldron didn't count. She had been sick and he'd been the perfect gentleman always staying on his side of the bed. Prior to sharing that bed with him, it had been over thirteen years. Amazing how much time could pass and it still feel like none at all.

"I think we're both too tired for anything other than sleep."

Augustus laughed. His breath tickled the back of Hermione's neck. She could close her eyes and imagine that they were still stuck in the past. Her marriage didn't take place, her son didn't exist, the day that she tried to murder her husband certainly hadn't happened. It was easy to forget all of the worst aspects of their relationship when she was held in his arms again. There were very valid reasons why they ended their relationship and it wasn't all because the Dark Lord ordered him to return to his wife.

"To Hell with sleep. We can both sleep when we're dead."

She knew he was only teasing. While she shoveled the meal he'd prepared for her while she was in the shower in her mouth, she watched him swallow multiple potions. Concerned, she'd all but forced him to tell her what was wrong with him. At first he tried to wave off her concerns until he remembered how stubborn she was. He gave her only the barest of facts. If she was there any length of time, she would drag the entire story out of him. Until then, she knew enough to know that he was too injured and too medicated on potions to do much more than squeeze her breast with his hand and make a crude joke about his non-existent erection poking her in the back.

He had been fortunate. Like Draco said, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bomb went off only steps from where he was seated. It was intended to cause as much damage as possible to the Death Eaters leading the meeting. Her husband and a couple of others were the prime targets. Augustus' insistence that he be near the action so as not to miss anything almost got him killed. He'd broken several bones that had to be set by Healers. His left ear still rang and when it stopped, he was warned that he might never hear out of it again. There was still shrapnel stuck in his side that his Healers promised would eventually come out once they learned a spell that was capable of such a delicate procedure without injuring his internal organs further. Muggle weapons were still so foreign to them. He really should have been dead. Likely only his own personal brand of stubbornness kept him alive.

"I'm glad you are all right, Augie. I was worried about you."

The press of his lips in her hair was his response. She didn't need anything further. What they had would always be complicated. Words weren't necessary. Still cradled in his tight embrace, Hermione finally relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.


	96. April 5th

April 5th

Waking up in Augustus' embrace was a surprise Hermione hadn't been expecting. Part of her felt like the previous two nights had all been a dream. She certainly never believed that she would once again be back in the same place with the man who once meant so much to her. Too much time passed. It was all too easy to ignore the warnings shouting inside her brain to snuggle deeper into his arms.

The exhaustion that plagued them both, one because of his injuries and one because of her travels and anxiety, meant that neither one of them stirred from bed for many hours that first day, long past the point that it was acceptable to remain in bed. Hermione knew that it was wrong to take advantage of the situation. Just her mere presence was putting them both in a great deal of danger. Antonin wasn't likely to give up on the notion that she was somehow tucked away in one of the dark corners of the old Rookwood house.

Her husband's jealousy was legendary. Everyone who had ever spent even a single moment in his presence knew that it was the emotion that affected him above all others. If he thought that the Dark Lord was paying more attention to a lesser-deserving Death Eater, the unlucky recipient would find themselves in possession of a new enemy. He was not timid about removing those he considered a hindrance to his path of total power. When someone looked upon his wife with anything bordering on lust or admiration, he grew angry. Many times in their marriage Hermione had to shout at him that she was a person, _not_ his possession.

And Antonin's hatred for Augustus was legendary. There had been a time, long ago, when the two men would've considered each other friends. Certainly when her protector arrived at Antonin's house that first time after she left the window open, her teacher had been happy to see him and invite him in for tea. Their friendship soured soon after it became evident that Augustus' purposes for being in his house were a bit more nefarious than he cared for. When Hermione didn't return from France with the others after her first mission without him, her future husband considered removing his competition from the equation entirely.

Yes, it made perfect sense that Antonin would come running straight to Cornwall. The largest reason why she refused to stay any length of time in his house after Augustus took her out of the Leaky Cauldron was because she had the suspicion that her husband would eventually make his way there to see for himself that she was hidden. Likely he'd been there over a dozen times since she disappeared. He probably had even been to France more than once to make sure the Ambassador wasn't keeping his wife tucked away in a little cottage in the French countryside. Where Augustus was concerned, Antonin would never be able to think clearly and without the raging jealousy that had always been a part of his personality. Because of his known feelings, she couldn't ignore the worry in the back of her mind that she should've seen him approach Augustus' house at _least_ once when she was hidden in the grove. She knew she could've been asleep for one, possibly two visits. All three? Highly unlikely. _Something_ was off.

When she first tried to stir from the bed, Augustus' arms tightened their hold. He was in no hurry to let her go. She just had to laugh. He had always been possessive. Truthfully, she didn't really want to leave either. It felt peaceful back in his bed again. Even if nothing beyond the kiss to the top of her head happened, she was glad to have had the opportunity to relax in his arms once more. It was _almost_ like jumping back into the past.

"Don't leave just yet. I'm afraid if I let you walk out that door, I'll never see you again."

"It would probably be best for both of us if you didn't."

Augustus' sigh tickled the sensitive skin on her shoulder. She forced her body not to shiver. It would send the wrong signal. As much as her mind might have been rushing to thoughts of recreating some of their best moments from the days when they couldn't keep their hands off of each other, Hermione knew it wasn't a good idea. Not only was he still recovering from his injuries, but that presented a set of complications that she just wasn't prepared to deal with. Not yet.

"I've been worried about you since the first time Antonin dropped by. He told me you were attacked by the Resistance."

Hermione wondered what happened to Aberforth Dumbledore after she Disapparated away. Part of her felt guilty that he got caught up in the mess. The rest of her, however, wasn't too concerned. He knew from the very beginning what he was getting mixed up in when he chose to ignore the Dark Lord's generous offer of continuing to operate his pub in Hogsmeade for just the simple act of swearing his loyalty. He could've spent the remaining years of his life happily living in the village that he'd made his home. It wasn't exactly like he hadn't been used to serving questionable clientele. The bread and butter of his business was made up of those souls who weren't exactly welcome to cross the threshold of Madam Rosmerta's more respectable establishment.

"It was more that _I_ attacked the Resistance."

She knew from bits and pieces of information that Draco and Ginny granted her that Augustus was mixed up in the whole nasty business too. Even over a decade since they were forced to end their romance, he was still pulling the strings he could to keep her protected. What his part in the whole planned revolution was was still unclear. Knowing that if there was one person alive that she _should_ still be able to trust, she elaborated.

"Aberforth Dumbledore was teaching me how to cloak my magic. I wanted to be able to cast spells without Antonin being able to use the Trace to find me."

"What happened? Antonin said you'd stunned the wizard. I didn't realize it was Dumbledore."

"He grabbed me. I didn't appreciate it. Instead of cloaking my magic, I made a mistake. Stunned him by instinct."

If Dumbledore was able to escape from the predicament she put him in, he would be a genuine miracle worker. She didn't think it was possible though. Which meant that he was likely in the custody of the Death Eaters. Probably had already been dragged back to Hogsmeade and then on to Hogwarts to await his fate. Despite it still being a functional school, the castle had many uses those days. Much like the third floor corridor had been off-limits her first year, there were entire sections of the school, especially down in the dungeons, that were forbidden. Dumbledore was most likely in one of the cramped cells deep in the bowels of the castle. Or, he could be in Rabastan's custody in the Ministry of Magic. Neither location was much better than the other.

The Resistance would never trust her again. Not that they had already. Besides few people knowing that she was receiving lessons from the wizard, it looked bad. He was attacked, Death Eaters arrived, and she disappeared. It wouldn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to believe she'd orchestrated the whole ordeal. After many, _many_ years of eluding the Dark Lord, she'd been able to deliver Dumbledore right into his hands. She wouldn't blame anyone for thinking she'd done it on purpose.

At least she no longer had to worry that they would call upon her to become a spy. It was small comfort. She truly did feel badly that she'd been the reason why one of the main leaders of the Resistance was captured. He'd been kind to her, in his own way. Because of him, she might even one day be able to escape from the country completely. She would always be grateful for what he taught her in those few lessons.

"I'm starving and you need to eat something to keep your strength up. Old men like you take longer to heal."

Hermione wiggled out of his grasp. She needed a few minutes to herself. Augustus' amused chuckles followed her out of the bedroom.


	97. April 6th

April 6th

Hermione stared out the kitchen window to the crashing waves of the ocean only a few hundred meters from the house. Something about the area where Augustus grew up calmed her down better than just about any other place. When they stayed behind in France for their first days alone, he'd rented a cottage near the ocean. They could hear the sounds of the waves crashing against the beach, the birds squawking above. It had been so peaceful. Many times in the years since she would close her eyes and try to picture every beautiful detail of those weeks.

Neither one of them wanted to return to their chilly native country. Especially not to spend the first weeks of autumn in Scotland where their master made his home. She had just gotten to the place where she was feeling like herself again. Or rather, the version of Hermione that was left over after all of the training and grief had ripped her apart from within. It had been exhilarating to feel _normal_ , to feel like she wasn't fighting against the entire world for the chance to survive.

Augustus made her feel like she was more than just another soldier fighting for the Dark Lord. He reminded her with every brush of her lips against her skin, every flick of his tongue, every thrust of his hips that she was a sensual being worthy to be worshipped. It was a heady experience that she found herself addicted to. Stripping away their titles and positions with their clothes, they became man and woman, nothing more and nothing less. She could have easily spent the entirety of her existence in his bed. What was supposed to only be three days turned into three weeks.

She was half-convinced when they finally returned to Hogsmeade to answer their first summons in all that time that she would never be allowed to leave Antonin's house again. It was no secret that he had the ear of the Dark Lord. When they didn't come back with the others, he likely rushed to their master to beg him to call him back. Lord Voldemort had more important concerns to worry about than what two of his Death Eaters were actually up to on a mission abroad. All he cared about was the fact that they were able to track down two additional Resistance members in the extra time they spent in France. No one needed to know that they were both tied up in the cellar of the seaside cottage for the better part of a week, the raucous carnality of their captors a constant assault to their ears.

Antonin did what he could to keep the two of them apart. Her training became more intense, her missions with him more frequent. If he thought time away from each other would cool their ardor, he'd clearly never heard the cliché about absence making the heart grow fonder. Instead of deterring the budding relationship, her teacher only ensured that they became more _creative_ in their exploits and rendezvous.

Her thoughts were so far away in the past as she sipped at her first cup of tea that she didn't even hear the other occupant of the house enter the kitchen. She wasn't even aware of Augustus' presence until his arms wrapped around her front, carefully pulling her body against his. They both stared out at the waves, their respective minds drifting off to thoughts better left tucked away in the furthest recesses of their minds. As much as they might like to, they would never be able to go back in time. She could've stayed in the familiarity of his embrace for a lot longer. She might have allowed it too if his stomach didn't loudly protest its lack of food.

"Let me make you some breakfast. You need to keep up your strength."

"Don't leave just yet."

She did as he bid. Truthfully, she wanted to be nowhere else. There was a comfort standing in the window with his arms around her that she longed to continue. In the time that she'd been in his house, they hadn't done anything they would come to regret later. Everything had been perfectly innocent. She'd cared for him as he rested. It was nice to feel needed again. She knew that if they continued in the vein they were in, their actions would eventually escalate to a point with which they could not return. They were embarking on dangerous territory.

"I like to stand in this window and think about you."

Hermione sighed. It was a lovely sentiment, but definitely not one she needed to hear. Coming to Cornwall wasn't shaping up to be one of her better ideas. At the time, when she was rushing away from the scene of her crime against Aberforth Dumbledore as quickly as she could, she didn't even mean to land where she did. Half a kilometer from his house, she _knew_ she should've headed straight for a Muggle bus station. With multiple visits to the house already since that day, it was only a matter of time before her husband returned.

"Augie…"

"I have so many regrets, Hermione. _So_ many. You are right there at the very top of the list."

"Augie…"

"When I was lying in the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron, unsure what was happening, _you_ were the one I thought of. You are _always_ the one I think of."

Despite his protestations, she removed herself from his embrace. No longer were they simply embarking on dangerous territory, they were already there and settling in for a long winter. She didn't have the strength to reject him in that moment. If he continued, she would hand herself over to his keeping, body and soul. She had to keep her wits about her.

Disappointed with how she moved across the kitchen, Augustus lowered himself down into a chair at the table with a heavy sigh. Hermione busied her hands with pulling out food from the cupboards to cook. She couldn't trust herself around the wizard. There was too much history there. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, but she could feel his eyes watching her every move. Only when she laid a plate in front of the man and reached for his potions did she speak. All she could think of was the explosion. She _still_ didn't know the details.

"What happened that day? In London. No one with the Resistance could tell me."

He didn't want to talk about it. That much was evident by the manner in which he stabbed at his eggs with his fork. Hermione was persistent enough to ask again. She'd rarely been unable to get him to answer her questions in the past. Perhaps despite the passage of so much time, some things remained the same.

"Your husband is campaigning. _Quietly_ , of course, but campaigning nonetheless. Someone must have tipped off the Resistance that we were meeting that day in the back room. My Knut's on Tom, the proprietor. He's been wanting to get rid of us for years. _Hates_ that we meet in the Leaky Cauldron."

"You really think that the wizard would put his business, his livelihood at stake just to get rid of some annoying customers?"

"Yes, I do. It's been a while since you've been to one of those meetings, love. At least as a participant."

Remembering how he threw her over his shoulder to carry up the stairs to his private room just a short time ago, he winked. Hermione snorted. Maybe she hadn't been at the last several meetings, but she knew what they entailed. They were all alike. Knowing that Antonin was no longer being as clandestine in his efforts to ensure he had enough support to throw their master over was a bit of a surprise. Of course he'd spoken to her in whispers in the privacy of their own bed. Outside of that sanctuary, however, he was more careful.

"Seems like a ridiculous reason to blow up his own business. He was always paid, wasn't he?"

"I'm sure money wasn't the issue. But, it doesn't matter. Tom was killed."

"Hardly seems likely that he would be the one responsible then."

One thing had always been certain from the moment they first spoke through the keyhole of the broom cupboard: they could argue about anything and _everything_. Augustus had the good sense to drop his speculations about poor, dead Tom. Hermione could understand at least to an extent why the man wouldn't want the Death Eaters in his pub, but considering they were regulars who always paid their tab and even slipped him a little extra to turn a blind eye to some of their activities, she didn't agree with Augustus' assessment.

"Who else died? I heard that there were multiple fatalities. Ginny Weasley said that the newspapers were keeping the names quiet. She assumed it had to do with someone important being killed."

As the days wore on, she had enough time to think about each and every Death Eater she would be sorry to hear was dead. There was a long list of those she hoped made it through the attack. Considering he was right there in the midst of the violence, Augustus should be able to set her mind at ease. Or, give her the bad news, whichever the case might be.

"Young Theodore Nott was killed."

Hermione felt her stomach clench at the news. Though she might not have been terribly close to Theo, she had always liked him. He was Draco's best friend. Some of the wizard's bizarre behavior from the night he came to her tent made a little more sense. Beyond just simply being drunk, Draco was grieving the loss of one of his few friends. She felt sorry for him and hoped she would one day have the chance to offer her sympathy.

"Bloody shame too. He was a good kid. Too bad his worthless father couldn't have taken the brunt of it."

"Who else?"

"Mostly minor Death Eaters. A few new recruits. None you'd probably recognize. The ink on their NEWT reports still wet. Everyone else got out with just bumps and bruises."

He wasn't referring, of course, to himself. As much as he might have tried to lie to her about the severity of his wounds, she knew him too well. When his breakfast was gone and his potions consumed, Augustus made his excuses to return to his room. She spent the remainder of the day checking on him to make sure he didn't need anything and trying to ignore the worry that he was still not telling her everything.


	98. April 7th

_Author's Note: Several of you have shared some very interesting theories about what you think has happened or is going to happen next in this story. I love it! I just wanted to let those who weren't aware know that in the Facebook group The Death Eater Express, we have a Spoilers/Theories album where you can share your wildest theories with other readers. It can be a fun place to interact with other readers. (I love sneaking on it to see what everyone thinks.) Please check it out if you are interested!_

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April 7th

The next morning began much like the previous. Carefully slipping out of bed to not wake Augustus, Hermione took her time enjoying the luxurious shower in his bathroom. Though there was a serviceable place to wash in the tent, it was nothing compared to what she was able to take advantage of in his house. A man who enjoyed long, hot showers, preferably with a much younger witch, Augustus made certain that no expense was spared when he redesigned the bathroom of his childhood home. She could remember many pleasurable experiences underneath the enchanted flow of water.

When her shower was completed and she was dressed for the day, Hermione slipped out into the corridor making hardly any noise. An unexpected side-effect of so much time on the run made her surprisingly quiet on her feet. Of course, it also helped that the wizard she was currently sharing a home with for the time being was under the influence of a number of strong potions. It bothered her that he was still required to drink so many even after so much time had already passed. If his injuries were that severe, shouldn't he still be in a hospital ward in St. Mungo's being cared for by the finest Healers?

She stood once more in the kitchen window staring out at the vastness of the ocean. A fantasy of climbing in a boat at the shore and heading out into the open water until she found another life took root. It was ridiculous to imagine such things. Not only was she terrified of so much water, she didn't know where to go. Better to stay where people and things were familiar. There were a number of opportunities to get herself killed in the unknown.

Antonin hadn't made a return trip to Cornwall. Either he had given up his mad idea that she was somehow tucked away in her former love's home or he was too busy dealing with the affairs of the regime. She got the impression it was the latter. Any time her husband set his mind to something, it was damn near impossible to get him to change. It could be frustrating and exhausting. He likely was biding his time before dropping in again. She wished that he would stop searching for her. It was a foolish wish that would never come true. Until she was discovered, he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

Peeling herself away from the window, she forced herself to begin the task of making breakfast just as she had the day before. It gave her the opportunity to keep her mind from traveling down roads it was best to avoid. The chance to feel normal was all too rare in her current form of existence. She would take each offer that presented itself.

Much like every other man that she'd ever known, Augustus was led to the kitchen by his nose just in time for the first meal of the day to be completed. He gleefully sat down at the table following her instructions. The moment she laid the plate in front of him, his hand reached out to cover hers. A wealth of emotions neither of them could express out loud passed between them when their eyes met. Nothing beyond the feel of his body snuggled up behind hers or her head resting on his chest had transpired between them since she arrived. Not only his injuries were preventing the escalation of any physical activities they were both desiring. Something else, some kind of barrier still stood between them. Maybe it was the futility of it all. They could spend weeks, months, even years together pretending like they were happy before the proverbial sword came crushing down between them again.

Hermione pulled her hand out of his grip, ignoring the pained expression that crossed his handsome face. She wasn't ready to go down a path they couldn't come back from. If either of them started that journey again, it would end in nothing but sorrow. Her heart, cracked and shriveled up as it might be, could not handle another break. All Augustus would ever be to her would be another chink in the fragile armor she'd been maintaining since her best friend was murdered on the floor of the Great Hall by her master. He could break her in a second, if he wished.

"How did you get involved with the Resistance?"

She lowered herself into the chair directly opposite his with her own breakfast. His light eyes widened in surprise at her inquiry. Usually, she wasn't so blunt. She hadn't even given him the opportunity to fully wake up before asking the hard questions. Taking a deep sip of his tea to wash down a bite of his toast, Augustus took his time before answering. No doubt he foolishly hoped she would change the subject if he took too long. Perhaps, the years apart made him forget some of the most basic personality traits she possessed. Dogged tenacity was high on the list.

"You realize that is a dangerous accusation to make, don't you, love?"

His first statement made her roll her eyes in annoyed frustration. The wizard was an expert at deflection and deception. Only his ill-fated acquaintance with the coward Igor Karkaroff sealed his fate so many years earlier. If Karkaroff hadn't been so concerned with saving his own sorry arse, there was no doubt in the minds of anyone who knew Augustus well that he would've been just fine. He would've been able to keep going in his life as an Unspeakable with no one being aware of just what he had done.

"Then perhaps you need to be more careful with who you choose to associate yourself with, _love_."

The mocking of his endearment didn't sit well with the wizard. Dropping his fork onto his plate, he focused the intensity of intimidating his glare at the younger witch. She'd seen this side of Augustus a few times in the past and never liked it. When dealing with dangerous men like him, there was a delicate balance that had to be carefully tread. Though he had never hurt her _physically_ , there was always the chance that a Death Eater could eventually be pushed too far. She'd seen it on numerous occasions. Determined to not give an inch, she stared back at him with her version of the same expression.

"I'm not as involved as you imagine. I don't know everything they do and they certainly aren't in a rush to tell me either. I had no idea you were even mixed up with them or living with them. No one told me. I mostly just pass along information to Malfoy. Sometimes, when he's feeling generous, he tells me if you're all right. It all seems like a waste of time now."

"You asked me to trust Draco. I did. Then he told me you were the one who insisted the Resistance keep me protected."

Augustus' shoulders drooped with his sigh. Picking up the discarded fork, he pushed the eggs around on his plate without actually taking a bite. She could only imagine what was going on in his mind.

"Yes, I _tried_ to keep you protected. Just one more failure in a long list of them."

He had a tendency to feel sorry for himself at times. Hermione hated when he grew melancholy and started to blame himself for everything that was wrong in his life, her life, the world at large. It could be exhausting and she didn't always have the energy to reassure him that all was well. She rolled her eyes, refusing to believe _anything_ was as dire as he made it out to be.

"I'm afraid you're back at the top of the list of the Resistance's enemies."

Without explaining himself further, he pointed his wand to a stack of newspapers just barely visible in the open door leading to the living room. Several editions of The Daily Prophet flew through the air to land in front of her. Curious by his rather mysterious and dramatic display, Hermione picked the first of the papers off of the stack to search for answers. Since arriving in his home, she'd avoided all forms of communication or news from the outside world. She didn't want to know what was happening. It made it harder to forget how much danger she was in.

It didn't take long at all to discover what Augustus was upset by. Two pictures graced the front page of the wizarding paper: one of an angry and bloody Aberforth Dumbledore being dragged away in chains between two large Death Eaters and one of Hermione wearing some of her finest robes and smirking. It was an old picture, at _least_ two years old. Taken right after some ridiculous bother at the Ministry was under control. Something about stirrings and rumblings of dissension in the Improper Use of Magic office. She couldn't remember the details, only that it was certainly not recent.

 _Crazed Resistance Leader Aberforth Dumbledore Finally In Custody; Hermione Dolohov To Be Honored By The Dark Lord For The Capture_

She threw the hateful parchment down on the table in front of her. When she'd heard from Draco weeks earlier that the regime was pretending like she had just gone away on holiday or that she was spending more time at home with her family, she hadn't truly believed him. She didn't understand how she could be missing from the public eye for an entire year and no one knew. Was the regime that desperate to keep the news that she defected under wraps that they would lie about her role in the capture of a Resistance leader? Snorting and rolling her eyes yet again that morning, she knew the answer. Of course they were.

"Dumbledore's likely to be executed after his interrogation is complete. I can't imagine there's any way to get him out of it now."

Unable to listen to another spoken word, Hermione rose from the table. Ignoring Augustus' pleas that she not go outside, she threw open the door. She needed some fresh air.


	99. April 8th

April 8th

Following her rather dramatic exit over breakfast, Augustus gave Hermione the space she needed for the rest of the day. Using the excuse that his potions made him sleepy, he disappeared into his bedroom while she continued to do what she could to calm her nerves. A long walk along the water didn't help in the slightest. All the fresh air did was remind her again of how small she was in the vast, dangerous world.

The gnawing guilt in her gut that she was to be the reason why the last member of the proud Dumbledore family met their end would not abate. It was funny to her that there were people she had _actually_ been responsible for killing who gave her less anxiety than the man who simply got caught up in the accident that was her life. He was just the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. Of course, she reminded herself when the guilt became suffocating, if he hadn't grabbed her arm so roughly, she wouldn't have had cause to curse him in the first place.

After the terrible incidents of that day, the Resistance would never want anything to do with her again. While that would ordinarily make her happy, she knew that the situation was much worse than it had been before. She knew it looked bad. Only a few within the ranks of the organization knew that he had been giving her lessons to cloak her magic. Learning that she was alone with Dumbledore when a large number of Death Eaters, including her own husband, showed up didn't look good. It was easy to see how they could jump to the conclusion that it was all a setup.

She _might_ be able to convince Ginny Weasley that it had all been an accident. They might not have gone into great detail about the reasons why she was running from her husband, but she thought there might be enough of their old friendship, their old affection for each other, that she _might_ be willing to listen to what she had to say. If she listened to the lies that William Wood was likely whispering in her ears at every turn, that might become an impossible task.

Augustus was right. She was now at the top of their most hated enemies list. In their eyes, she betrayed them after they gave her shelter and the assurance that as long as she was within their village she was safe. To pay them back by luring one of their own out of the protective enchantments and calling for her comrades was unforgivable. It didn't matter that none of it was the least bit true. What _seemed_ to be fact was more often accepted as fact when the reality was more difficult to explain. If their paths crossed again, which she rather thought they probably would, she would be in even more danger than before.

As if she needed life to get any further complicated. She had been sharing a bed for several days with the man who'd broken her heart years earlier. Still doing nothing more than just sleeping next to the other, she knew that they would not be able to keep the dynamic up much longer. _Something_ would have to change whether they wished it to or not. It was tempting to imagine that she could somehow go back in time and pretend like nothing was wrong, but she wasn't that naïve. _Nothing_ would ever be the same. They continued to skirt around the topic of the future as much as possible. When Augustus wasn't sleeping due to the potions he was still having to take, they passed the time making as inconsequential conversation as possible. Neither of them wanted to be the one who brought up the difficult topic first.

Following another simple dinner prepared by his house guest, Augustus wasn't ready to go back to bed. His convalescence was making him grow irritable. If he had to spend another minute in bed longer than he had to, he complained that he would go completely mad. Instead of breaking apart after the meal was over as they had every other night, he suggested they both enjoy the evening air in the back garden together. Truthfully, Hermione was slightly annoyed at the suggestion. She'd been looking forward to doing nothing more substantial than curling up with one of his books in front of the fireplace that had to always be lit. The chances of them bringing up a topic she wasn't prepared to discuss grew higher each moment they spent in the other's presence.

He would not be deterred. Not even by very valid concerns that someone might be watching the house to see if he had any unexpected visitors. They had been fortunate that no one saw Hermione take a stroll the day before. It wasn't wise to take too many chances. Only when he promised that they would be well-shielded from anyone not in possession of an effective invisibility cloak did she relent. Seated outside in the cool night air, no one was in a rush to break the spell of silence. After several minutes, Augustus, just like he used to, couldn't remain silent any longer.

"It's been wonderful having you here."

"I've stayed too long. I should go."

There seemed no reason to delay the inevitable discussion any longer than necessary. Augustus didn't have the strength to argue. She could recognize in his countenance when he was too tired for something. It was the same it had always been when they both knew a massive row was about to begin. People changed over time, but not entirely. Just as there still existed some remnants of the idealistic girl she once was tucked deep inside of her, she knew that some of the man he'd once been was still there too.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. Where would you go?"

She didn't have a plan. Not a single idea where to go next. The thought of just wandering aimlessly around the country again made her sick to her stomach. She wasn't sure she had the heart or the fortitude to try that venture again. With the Resistance hell-bent on taking her down now that she was deemed responsible for the loss of one of their most beloved leaders, she would be in even more danger than she was previously. At least before she got entangled in the mess of the Resistance thanks to Draco and Augustus' meddling, she hadn't been an active target of theirs as long as she stayed out of Edinburgh and their corner of Devon. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that they were now _actively_ seeking out her location to punish her for her misdeeds.

" _Augustus_!"

The shrill shriek of an angry woman from inside the house startled them both. It had been a pleasant evening, hardly any sounds at all beyond the wildlife in the area and the continuous crashing of the waves. Hermione leapt to her feet, worried that she was about to be discovered. Only when the voice shouted again did Augustus roll his eyes and stand up.

"If you'll excuse me, my dear, I believe my darling wife is in the fireplace."

Over the years that she was in the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, there had been only a handful of times that Hermione was forced to be in the same room with Violetta Rookwood. If it had been left up to Augustus' estranged wife, they would've never met. She would've preferred that her wretch of a husband remain in England as far away from the home she'd created with some of her distant relatives in France. The pain and humiliation of uncovering her husband's traitorous activities so many years earlier had been difficult for the horrid woman to bear. Hermione felt a modicum of sympathy for what the woman likely had to endure. That is, she _did_ up until the point where the harridan referred to her as her 'husband's little whore'. Any opportunity that the women would find common ground after that moment became impossible.

Chip away at the surface of any marriage and one is bound to find complications they didn't expect. Even those marriages that seemed so perfect on the outside had their dirty, little secrets behind closed doors. Her marriage with Antonin was no different. The Rookwoods, however, were a bit more complicated than most. Unable to get a divorce from her husband while he was locked up in Azkaban, Violetta simply moved on with her life in France waiting for him to die. Few people lived long under the continuous torture of the dementors. It had been something of a disappointment when she learned that not only had her husband survived fifteen years in the notorious wizarding prison, but that he was able to escape. She'd hoped that the war would kill him. Imagining her disappointment when Augustus was forced to reclaim her as his wife under the Dark Lord's strict orders made Hermione laugh. Unless the woman wished to find herself a personal enemy of Lord Voldemort himself, she had no choice.

She considered standing at the crack in the open door to eavesdrop on the conversation Augustus was having with his wife, but stopped herself. It was none of her business. She wouldn't appreciate it if the roles were reversed and Antonin's head was sticking out of the fireplace. Whatever they had to discuss was private.

Several minutes passed before Augustus stormed out of the door with a glass of fire whiskey in one hand and the entire bottle in the other. Hermione's first instinct was to take the whiskey away from him. With the amount of potions he was still taking, it wasn't safe to mix with alcohol. But, she stopped herself. Not only was he thundering mad, it wasn't her place to tell him to do anything. If he wanted to kill himself, that was his decision. She didn't have the right to nag him anymore.

"Wretched bitch! Not a single word when she learns I was almost killed. Not even an owl. But the moment her vault starts to run low?"

He knocked back the rest of the glass in a single swallow. Hermione didn't respond to his rant. She didn't know what to say and feared that if she said anything, they would end up arguing with the other who had the worst spouse. Most of what happened behind closed doors in the Dolohov house was private and unknown by anyone who wasn't present. She suspected that if Augustus knew _half_ of what had gone on over the years, his lifelong rivalry with Antonin would get a great deal less friendly.

"I still wish we'd been allowed to get married. Can you imagine how much different our lives would've been?"

Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that she thought it would be a mistake. Instead, they passed the rest of the evening in companionable silence only occasionally broken up with inane conversation about trivial topics. It was safer that way.


	100. April 9th

_Author's Note: 100 chapters! Ahh! Do you all have any idea how hard it is to keep the secrets of this story?! Haha! I love all of the speculation and theories that are popping up. Part of me just wants to post everything that I already have now because it's making me too anxious to leave you all waiting... but, that would fly in the face of the challenge I've set for myself! So I just want to thank you all for the support you've already given me regarding this story. I know it's not a story for everyone which makes all of the kind words mean so much more to me. It helps me know that I'm not just spitting out words into the void._ Thank you again!

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April 9th

Augustus' injuries were almost completely healed. Or, perhaps more likely, he was stubborn enough to make it _seem_ like he was all right. He continued to drink his potions like prescribed. When the weekend ended and Monday morning came about, he was even responsible enough to go to St. Mungo's for a checkup. He might have made off-color jokes about hoping the Healers would be kind enough to clear him for _vigorous_ activity, but Hermione knew him well enough to know that he was nervous.

She wished she could go with him, if for no other reason than to provide him with emotional support. All of the details of his injuries were still being closely kept to his chest. He claimed he didn't want her to worry. No matter how many times she told him that _not_ telling her only made her imagine scenarios that were much worse than reality, he still wouldn't budge. Some secrets would never be revealed no matter how hard one tried. She only hoped they weren't the kind of secrets that would go to the grave with him.

Sitting alone in his house waiting for him to return put Hermione in a melancholic mood. She didn't care for the helplessness that always accompanied the need for patience. Action was better. The biggest reason why she had been so enthusiastic to join all of the most dangerous missions was because she was afraid of missing out on the excitement. Many of the witches who'd joined the Death Eater ranks after the war had been grateful for the Dark Lord's orders that his most loyal followers marry and have children. Those who found the lifestyle a little too demanding were glad to have a very valid reason to slow down and stay out of the worst parts of the violence.

Hermione couldn't understand those witches. She _hated_ them and resented them for their cowardice. Being forced to stay at home raising a family sounded like nothing but torture to her ears. Far from being the domestic type, she resented the fact that because she was a woman and capable of producing children for the next generation of the regime, she was at risk of losing all that she'd worked hard for. Thankfully, she was allowed to be one of the very last of his Inner Circle to marry. On their wedding night, before she allowed a single touch of her skin, she made Antonin promise her that he wouldn't demand she stay at home to mind the children.

"If I wanted a boring, little wife who didn't want to fight at my side, I wouldn't have picked you, would I?"

Up until that moment, she hadn't believed that Antonin had a romantic bone in his entire body. She enjoyed showing him her appreciation for his statement in a number of creative and enjoyable ways that night. Despite it being forced upon her, that was the first time she considered the fact that maybe being Madam Dolohov wasn't going to be as terrible as she thought. She'd since learned that she was both correct and wrong. Marriage was even more complicated than she'd imagined.

Augustus returned late in the afternoon in high spirits. For the first time since she showed up on his doorstep, he crossed over the invisible line to press his lips against hers. The kiss lasted only about a second and had hardly any heat at all behind it, but it was a noticeable change in their interactions. Hermione hated how her cheeks flushed at what had once been second nature. She used to take his kisses for granted, begrudgingly accepting them even when she was annoyed.

Over dinner, he told her that the Healers were satisfied with how he was healing. Some of the potions he was ordered to take were no longer necessary. It was clear to tell that he had been given welcome news at St. Mungo's. She knew that he had been dreading the moment he was examined. Perhaps something more would be found. Most of his injuries had been internal. The black cloud hanging over his head began to dissipate. With each word that came out of his mouth, he became more and more like her Augustus of old. His joy was infectious. She was glad. Much of her day had also been spent in dread that he would get bad news.

"I'm almost cleared for portkey travel. The Healers said maybe another week."

His announcement was less welcome. Hermione knew that the only reason why he was still in the country was because there was concern that some of his injuries would be aggravated if he tried to use a portkey. The only reason he would need to use a portkey was to return to France. She laid her fork down beside her plate, her appetite gone. Instead of ruining his good mood, Augustus' announcement only made him smile wider. He reached across the small table to take her hand in his.

"Come with me."

Hermione's eyes shot up from where his hand was touching hers to look into his face. There was no hint of a joke. He was serious. How many times had she longed to hear him make the same offer? It should have made her excited, should have made her finally see a light at the end of the dark tunnel she'd been traveling in for way too long. Using his Ministry-approved portkey to get to France with him would be dangerous. Portkeys were almost impossible to get and heavily monitored. Suppose they made it to France, then what?

She had more questions than answers. Each second that ticked by without her agreeing to his suggestion filled the room with an uncomfortable tension. His smile was slipping. Though he knew her well enough to know that she could never just jump into a decision without thinking over all of the possibilities first, Augustus also knew her well enough to know when she wasn't sold.

"From France, we can go _wherever_ you want. Anywhere. I have a friend in MACUSA. They'd be willing to let us in if I just asked. No one could follow us there. Not even Antonin."

The thought of fleeing to the United States filled Hermione with a terror that she couldn't put a name to. Yes, they would be relatively safe there from the Dark Lord's reach. Getting into the country for a witch or wizard wasn't the issue. Being allowed to _stay_ was. Not that she could blame them really. They had enough problems in their own borders. Inviting the inevitable violence that would come with high ranking Death Eaters on the run would be foolish. Augustus' friend might be able to get them inside the country temporarily, but it wouldn't take long before someone in MACUSA demanded they be returned. Their punishments when they got back wouldn't be worth any amount of stolen joy they might have been able to wring from the short period of time they were together

"Augie, I don't…"

"There are hundreds of other countries we can choose. We should've done it years ago."

"Augie…"

Anything else she might have been about to say was cut off by sharp hisses from both of them. The Dark Lord was calling to his most faithful. It had been several weeks since Hermione last felt her Dark Mark burn. She'd been too nervous to ask Draco or Augustus why that might be. Had the Dark Lord given up on her? Or had he been too weak to activate everyone's Marks? More than a few times in the time leading up to her escape from Hogsmeade, her husband had been summoned to the castle by _owl_.

Pausing their serious discussion about their futures for the moment, Augustus rose to his feet. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head. Seconds later he was out the door. The pop of Apparition filled her ears.

She worried that whatever was happening wasn't going to be good. Even if it was a simple gathering, she didn't think he was physically up to making such a long trip to Scotland. No longer did their master call them to meet him in overgrown cemeteries. If he strayed further from the castle than Hogsmeade in the last five years, Hermione certainly wasn't aware. There was a reason why her husband believed they needed to make provisions for the future. The Dark Lord was dying.

Her appetite left out the front door with Augustus. As she settled in to spend the long hours of the night waiting for him to return, her mind travelled to all of the worst case scenarios possible. She wouldn't be able to think clearly until he was back over the threshold once more.


	101. April 10th

April 10th

Her life had become nothing more than waiting. It was growing tiresome to always be on the outside of things. Hermione knew that boredom was better in many ways than getting involved in all of the excitement she'd had before she ran. Though she _knew_ that she was less likely to get killed in a violent manner hidden away in Augustus' house in Cornwall, it didn't make the waiting any easier.

Years of experience taught her that there was no way to tell for certain that a summons from the Dark Lord would end well. Often, they didn't. She couldn't be sure how many times over the years she arrived at a summons terrified that she would never leave. Many times. Several of her fellow Death Eaters had been killed in front of her eyes for some incompetence, perceived or otherwise. Even her safety as Lord Voldemort's favorite pet didn't always keep her safe from the Cruciatus Curse or fears that she would get worse. The uncertainty was how he kept tight control over his followers.

She worried about Augustus. Not just because he was still recovering. What if this was one of the few times that the Dark Lord bothered to use Legilimency on his Inner Circle? Their master might very well uncover the truth of her whereabouts. Augustus' Occlumency skills were dismal if they existed at all. When she used to tell him to work on that branch of magic, he would brush her off with assurances that he had nothing to hide. She never could seem to make him understand that it wasn't just the Dark Lord's inspections he should worry about. Plenty of others within their same circle were power-mad enough to force a rival's secrets out with Legilimency. Scruples hardly existed amongst them. It was every man for himself. Or herself, whichever the case may be.

And what would happen if he spoke with Antonin? He was foolish enough to walk straight up to her husband to ask him how the search for her was going. _Maddening man_. Antonin might not be a Legilimens, but he could always tell when someone was lying to him. It was a frustrating talent that he'd put to good use in their marriage. Something Augustus said or how he made eye contact or held his shoulders would make her husband suspicious. It was very likely that Antonin would follow Augustus home after the summons. She had to be prepared to run.

As the hours ticked on and the master of the house had still not returned, Hermione grew worried. She couldn't sit still long enough to read a single sentence. Sleep was entirely out of the question. Even if her body was exhausted, her mind wouldn't stop racing long enough to allow a moment's rest.

To keep herself occupied and in a vain attempt to make time speed up, she started to clean the kitchen. Augustus had been able to cast a stasis charm on his meal before he left, a trick many learned after years of countless interrupted suppers. The rest, however, Hermione cleared off the table. Out of respect for her personal feelings on the matter of house-elf slavery, he'd long ago sent his elderly house-elf to his home in France. He'd even promised her that he would never allow another one in his house in Cornwall again. Considering the thick layer of dust that covered much of the house, she knew he was keeping that promise. Wizards could so rarely see the dust they lived in and Mrs. Rookwood certainly didn't cross the Channel if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

At half-past four in the morning, Hermione heard the front door open. Dropping the rag she was using to dust off the picture frames hanging in the corridor, she rushed to see if it was him. If it wasn't, she had only a few seconds to run.

"It's just me, Hermione."

She closed the distance between them in a single heartbeat. Her earlier concerns that he wasn't well enough to answer a summons still had not abated. Running her hands over his arms and then his face, she stared at every inch she could see for visible wounds. He found her attentions amusing.

"Are you all right? You don't look injured."

"Just fine. I've always found the Cruciatus Curse to be quite refreshing if applied correctly."

His attempt at humor was not appreciated. She glared into his smirking face, willing herself not to slap it. Could he possibly understand how worried she'd been? Waiting around for hours, wondering if he would ever come home again, was torture. She didn't understand how the other wives, like Mafalda Yaxley, could do it so often without losing their minds. Those women had _years_ of practice. She wasn't sure she'd last another hour.

"Don't make such horrible jokes. You're not funny."

The grin that rarely left Augustus' lips appeared once more. She hated how it made it so much harder to be mad at him. It wasn't fair. How was it possible that after thirteen years apart, he could still make her forget why she was cross? One of life's damnable mysteries, she supposed.

"Were you really worried about me?"

Hermione sighed once more in frustration. Either he was fishing around for a reassurance that she still felt something for him or he was growing dense in his advanced years. She had half a mind to ask him which one it was. Her patience was growing thin. Seeing him whole and unharmed lessened the strain she had been feeling. The exhaustion she was ignoring threatened to seep back in now that all had calmed down. Unable to meet his eyes out of fear of what she might see if she did, Hermione stared at the buttons on the front of his robes.

"Of course I was."

Two of Augustus' fingers placed under her chin gently forced her eyes to look up into his. The damned smirk that irritated her still graced his lips. She felt the urge to remove it by any means necessary. With her attention focused fully on him, Augustus dropped his hands to her shoulders. Everywhere his thumbs brushed through the fabric of her jumper erupted into goosebumps. Her heart rate increased. The pounding in her ears was all she could hear. How was it possible that one man could have such power over her?

His first kiss was confident, just as if he'd been kissing her for years and had no worry that she would push him away. Frozen as she was, she couldn't even if she wanted to. He'd always had a talent for making her forget why she was annoyed or upset. One dip of his practiced tongue inside her mouth and all of her concerns from earlier melted away. Antonin himself could walk through the front door and she wouldn't care.

They had both been very careful since she entered his home days earlier. It had always been too easy for them to get carried away, to get lost in the other. The physicality of their relationship had always been perfect. It was everything else that caused them grief. Perhaps realizing they were not only encroaching on forbidden territory, but making themselves right at home within it, Augustus was the one to break the kiss to catch his breath.

"I've been wanting to do that since you first walked in my door. Do you have any idea how difficult it's been to keep my hands off of you?"

"So stop trying."

Augustus responded to her simple statement with a deep growl in the back of his throat. His lips pressed hungrily against hers once more. Years seemed to disappear. Once again they were back in France alone for the first time and learning how to make the other pant and scream. Those days had been filled with pleasurable explorations that still made her cheeks burn and her stomach swoop with anticipation each time she recalled them.

She felt lightheaded and giddy from the attention. How many times since she was ordered to marry Antonin and Augustus was ordered to seek out his estranged wife had she dreamed of this moment happening again? Though she hadn't been faithful to her husband in the slightest once her son was born, she never once even entertained the possibility of carrying their relationship on behind their spouses' backs. Not only beacuse he was in another country most of the time, but Hermione knew that her heart couldn't bear the strain of the promise of something that would never come to be. It was too difficult to pretend like they were together when they could never be.

Perhaps she would come to regret this moment of weakness later when it was all over. As the wizard led her over to the sofa without breaking his lips from hers once, she decided not to think about it just yet. There was no sense in entertaining it until there was something to be ashamed for. And by Merlin, she was ready to do more than a few shameful things that night. For thirteen years the past hung over them, waiting for a moment to strike, a moment to remind them both of all that they were missing.

Unable to make it even as far as the bedroom, Hermione sighed at the feel of Augustus' weight settling on top of her as she laid back on the sofa. She forced her thoughts of whether or not she was making a mistake out of her mind. This was not the time for thinking. It was the time for feeling.

Regret always came when it was ready. She didn't have to extend an invitation.


	102. April 11th

April 11th

Laying naked with her legs tangled up in the sheets, Hermione felt a sinking in her gut. It was dark outside, the time must have been at least one in the morning. Augustus lay next to her, asleep and snoring without a care in the world. Their physical exertions the previous morning and then again that evening had been tiring for his body that was still recovering. She glanced over at the man to witness a contented smile still spread across his lips. From the moment they first came together on his couch in front of the fireplace, he had been like his old self again.

She envied him the ability to forget, even for just a moment, all that had happened in their lives since they had to break off their relationship at the orders of the Dark Lord. The way he acted and the way he spoke, one would think that they were at least thirteen years in the past again. Hermione couldn't ignore all that had happened to live in blissful ignorance for longer than a few moments at a time. Of course, it wasn't as if Augustus had to worry about being captured by his homicidal husband and dragged back home to face a lifetime of punishment for his attack. If it was discovered that he was hiding her in his home, the worst he could expect would be some painful curses from Antonin and perhaps a reprimand from the Dark Lord.

If she was caught, she had a great deal more to worry about. Antonin wasn't a forgiving man. She had witnessed firsthand how he dealt with those he deemed his enemies. It was brutal, cruel, and not at all how she wanted to experience the last few moments of her life. Despite what everyone else might have said about him, she didn't believe for a second that he was actually concerned about her wellbeing. She had humiliated him in front of his influential friends. _That_ could not be borne. He might use the sympathy of others to aid him in his quest to recapture what he believed to be his, but she was not fooled.

It bothered her immensely that Antonin hadn't come back to Augustus' house since she arrived. Wouldn't he stop at nothing to ensure he found his hateful wife again? Pushing aside her worries that it didn't seem all that plausible that he could've come to the house three times without being seen, it wasn't like him to just give up. If his instincts were set on the fact that she would eventually show back up in Cornwall, he would soon come pounding on the front door. She wondered if the investigation into the explosion at The Leaky Cauldron was what kept him away. Only his Dark Lord's orders prevented her husband from behaving exactly as he pleased.

In the worst of her anxiety and addled mind, Hermione was embarrassed to admit that she wondered if Antonin didn't have the real Augustus hidden somewhere in the house where he could easily pluck his hair for more doses of polyjuice potion. Maybe her husband was pretending to be her lover all along. But, the illogical thought only served to make her snort and chuckle when she stopped to actually think about it. First of all, polyjuice potion was so illegal it was almost impossible to get. Even Antonin would struggle to acquire the massive vats required to pull off an elaborate subterfuge for so many days. He would have to swallow the potion twenty-four times in a single day to keep up the disguise. That was impossible. She'd seen him sleeping in the middle of the night. He wouldn't be so careless as to sleep in front of her if there was a chance the potion would wear off before he could take another dose.

Besides, there was absolutely no way that he would've been able to push his jealousies and hatred for Augustus aside long enough to play him so well. Also, their personal conversations over the course of the several days she'd been there could never have been possible if he was Antonin. There was so much the man she married couldn't possibly know about their relationship. Antonin might use polyjuice potion long enough to get close enough to catch her, but he wouldn't stay that way for days. It made absolutely no sense when she stopped to really think about it. Augie was Augie. There was no way anyone could pretend to be him so convincingly.

Allowing the line to be crossed with Augustus when he returned from his summons had been a terrible idea. Hermione's entire life seemed to be full of those. To give a person false hope about a future that could not be was cruel. Especially if she allowed herself to believe it too. No matter how many plans they made or promises they uttered, there wasn't a future with Augustus. At least not one that lasted long. An expiration date was always stamped onto their relationship. Just because they delayed it by over a decade didn't mean it wouldn't finally come calling.

In between fervent bouts of lovemaking that reminded her so much of the idealistic child she still was before she married, Augustus whispered promises of a fantastical nature. He suggested over and over again that they sneak out of the country together. For such an intelligent man, he seemed awfully content in remaining in ignorance about the lengths to which they would have to go to accomplish such a feat. Even if he was granted an international portkey to return to France in the next few days, it wasn't exactly as if she could use it with him. Laws were put in place to prevent anyone from using an authorized portkey outside of the Ministry of Magic. Either he would have to smuggle it out, which could result in a lengthy stay in Azkaban, or she would have to sneak into the Ministry with him. Though they could bribe whichever poor soul was in charge of the portkeys allowing British citizens to leave the country, the chance of her getting caught were too great.

Augustus had a number of dreams for how they would spend the rest of their life together. Not a single one of them made any practical sense. They were all pretty fantasies that sounded wonderful in the moment. None of them would work out in reality. His disillusionment with the Dark Lord and his regime wasn't exactly a secret. Many knew that he had some valid concerns about the future of their country. He might have balked and complained when first ordered to make his home in France as the regime's ambassador, but as time progressed, he found fewer and fewer reasons to leave his new home. How he managed to get himself tangled up in the affairs of the Resistance was still a secret he didn't seem in a hurry to explain. But, it was evident that he desired a rather drastic change.

It was tempting for Hermione to cling to his promises as fact. When he spoke of running from the Dark Lord's influence permanently, she could think of nothing else that she wanted more. After being alone for so long running, the idea of having someone there with her was appealing. She might have been willing to throw caution to the wind for no other reason than because she was tired of being alone. Having another person to lean on, bounce ideas off of, and share in the adventure or the danger might make the meaningless existence she'd been living for so long the slightest bit better. What was the Muggle saying? _A problem shared is a problem halved._ Running with Augustus filled her both with excitement and dread. It would never work.

"Love, why are you still awake?"

She had been so consumed by her ever-increasingly depressing thoughts that she didn't even notice her bed companion had woken up. Gently, Augustus wrapped his arm around her body to pull her against his chest. She didn't protest or push him away. Just feeling him next to her helped to calm her nerves. Taking a deep breath, she could feel her body relax.

"Just having a little trouble sleeping. Can't get my mind to shut itself off."

"I used to remember a very effective method to getting you to stop thinking."

His statement was laced with innuendo that made her laugh. With a gentle swat to his bare stomach, they both laughed. Part of what she had always been attracted to in the man was his ability to laugh and make those around him do the same. Before he was convicted of being a Death Eater years earlier when Igor Karkaroff was struggling to save his own sorry arse, he was a well-liked person within the Ministry. He had a number of friends and close colleagues that were shocked to learn about his activities with the Dark Lord. Some of the man he once was never left Azkaban, but he still gave off the impression that he hadn't a care in the world and everything was one big joke. Perhaps because that was so very different from her own personality, Hermione found it irresistible.

"We have to be careful with activity like that considering your age. You might break a hip. That could be quite an awkward explanation to the Healers."

Augustus snorted and kissed the top of her head. If he ever felt embarrassed by the large gap in their ages, he did what he could to hide it. The jokes that they both made concerning how old he was or how young she was were always made in good humor. Sometimes it helped to alleviate the inevitable discomfort that would come about when he remembered he was old enough to be her father and she thought it meant something awkward that she'd never really been attracted to men her own age. Perhaps there was more to the psychology of it all than she was comfortable exploring.

"You're usually right. If it wouldn't hurt my pride too much, I might even admit that the last day, while infinitely pleasurable, has left me a bit achier than I care to dwell on."

Hermione snorted. Through the benefit of their magical genetics, he was only just barely approaching middle age. Assuming he took care of himself and stayed out of risky situations that could get him blown up, he could conceivably live for several more decades.

"Try to get some sleep, love. Whatever's weighing on your mind will be there in the morning when you wake."

Unable to argue with his statement, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.


	103. April 12th

April 12th

A new normal began to take place in Augustus' house by the sea. With the renewal of the more pleasurable physical aspects of their relationship, there had been another shifting between them. Hermione couldn't explain it exactly. Just that she no longer felt the urge to run off in the middle of the night to continue her fugitive state alone. Her traitorous mind would still allow upsetting thoughts and reminders through from time to time, but it was becoming easier for her to push them aside. She wasn't an idiot. She could feel that their time together was coming to an end.

It might have been nice to ignore the niggling thoughts in the back of her mind. Sadly, she was too pragmatic to allow herself to fall completely into the fantasy that she was finally reunited with her one true love after so many years apart and nothing would break them apart. She knew it was a fantasy, one that would crumble with the least amount of pressure applied. Determined to enjoy it while it all lasted, she hoped she gave no evidence to Augustus that she wasn't as sold on the idea of running off into the unknown together as he was.

On an unremarkable Thursday morning, she woke up to find herself alone in bed. Startled to find the spot where Augustus rested not only empty, but cold, she sat up in bed with a fearful worry that something terrible had happened. Not only was he a man who detested mornings and tried to delay getting out of bed as long as possible, he was absolute rubbish at keeping quiet. There were other mornings in their distant past where he tried and failed to keep from waking her up as she slept. For him to be out of bed and to have been so careful about it, _something_ strange was in motion.

She had had a problem since childhood of immediately going to the worst conclusion in any given situation. Her father used to tell her that he'd never met a child more apt to imagine the world was falling around their ears. Of course, he didn't have a lot of experience with children, so his opinion likely wasn't terribly valuable. She firmly believed that because of the negative ability she had to envision all of the ways in which something could fail, she'd been able to save her life and the lives of her comrades countless times. Antonin helped her to hone the skill in their training. Just like Roddy would tell her to trust her gut, she paid close attention to all of the variables.

And the worst case scenario of their current situation would be that Augustus had been dragged away while they both slept for some sort of nefarious purpose. Perhaps her husband was behind it all. Maybe if she got out of bed, walked down the corridor, and entered the kitchen she'd find her lover tied to a chair while her husband made them all breakfast. They had just talked the night before that it was strange that Antonin hadn't made a visit in so long. He should've been back there demanding to know where Augustus had hidden his wife.

Staying in bed was no longer an option the more her paranoia grew. Picking up the first article of clothing she could find in Augustus' wardrobe, she pulled the soft shirt over her head. She was practically drowning in the fabric made for the much bigger wizard, but it was something. If she had to come face to face with an undesirable guest, she didn't want to meet them wearing only her knickers.

The house was completely silent. After checking to see if he might have slipped into the shower when he woke up, Hermione exited the bedroom they'd been sharing since the first night she arrived. No sounds wafted down the corridor from the other parts of the house. If she hadn't had an instinct that she wasn't alone, she might have assumed that he had been summoned again or he was outside for a walk. Careful to not make a sound herself, she continued towards the kitchen, her heart pounding in her ears.

When she pushed the kitchen door open inch by inch expecting the worst, she rolled her eyes and groaned softly. Augustus sat at the kitchen table scribbling away on a scrap of parchment, completely and entirely unharmed. No longer caring if she made any noise, she opened the door the rest of the way and entered. The wizard looked up from his task, smiled at her in greeting, and returned to what he was doing.

"You're up awfully early."

He only nodded his head and continued to write. Whatever he was doing must have been important. Hermione so rarely saw him set his mind to anything productive for very long. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she stepped behind the man to press her chest against his back and run her hands up and down his arms. When a kiss to the spot of flesh just behind his ear didn't break his concentration, she huffed. It was a petulant gesture that only served to accentuate how much younger than him she really was, but she didn't care. She wasn't used to being ignored. At least not by him. Antonin could spend an entire day in the same room with her and not even realize she was there. She was used to being able to distract Augustus just by sitting within his eyesight.

"What are you working on?"

From the moment she entered his home, she hadn't seen him pick up a quill even once. He received owls at least once a day with supposedly important messages from France or London. Not once had she seen him respond. The reminder that he was preparing himself to return to France via an international portkey in a few days made her stomach clench. She removed her touch from the wizard to occupy her hands with preparing breakfast.

Augustus finished his letter, sealed it up, and tied it to the foot of his owl. Only when it was high in the sky on its way to its final destination did he even seem to realize she'd asked him a question. By that point, Hermione was annoyed enough that he'd completely ignored her that she was almost not even interested. _Almost_. In a poor attempt to make up for his rudeness, Augustus slipped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, but I was worried when you weren't in bed."

He squeezed her tighter against him and peppered her curls with kisses. She knew it was immature to continue to pout like a child. His behavior was too similar to how she was treated when she was living in the Resistance's village. No one told her anything. Everything was a giant secret and they didn't even try to hide the fact that they weren't sharing. Perhaps she had grown too used to being a high ranking member of the Inner Circle, privy to almost everything that went on. Her husband and a few others were ranked higher than she, but never did she feel left out. Even if he wouldn't tell her in the moment, she knew to expect the next time she was alone with her husband in the privacy of their bed, he would divulge all of the secrets he knew.

"I'm sorry, love. I had a bit of work I was supposed to do yesterday. _Something_ kept me distracted all day. Can't imagine what that was."

She hated that she felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch into a smile. The distraction he spoke of was entirely her fault. Once they crossed the line they'd been trying not to, it was difficult to stop. They had thirteen years to make up for and Augustus seemed to determined to do so all in one go.

"I knew I'd have to slip out of bed before you woke up or I'd never get it done."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Well…"

His hesitation to say anything else about his mysterious work set off more alarm bells in her already suspicious mind. What could he be hiding from her? She didn't want to hear his attempts to lie. Surely he had more respect for her than that. Moving out of his embrace, she pulled a pan down from the cupboard and slammed it down on the cooker. The sound almost drowned out his sigh of frustration. Augustus knew her well enough to know when she was upset. And, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, it wasn't as if she was doing a good job of hiding it.

"I didn't want to worry you, but Fenrir Greyback knows that you're here."

Hermione spun around to face the sheepish wizard.

"He could _smell_ you on me the other night."

"But we hadn't even…"

"I'm assuming that his sense of smell is powerful enough that he could tell we've been sharing the same bed."

He waved off the rest of the explanation with his hand. It wasn't important _how_ he knew, only that he did. Simply by looking into Augustus' countenance, she could see how worried he was about the development. His experiences with Greyback in the years before he was essentially exiled to France hadn't been terribly positive. He couldn't have known her personal relationship with the fiend. For the most part, they were fairly discreet in their affair. _Some_ knew, of course, but it wasn't widely known.

"He wrung a promise out of me for my silence. Claimed if I didn't do as he asked, he would go straight to Antonin to tell him where you could be found."

Amused, she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. She wanted to hear the whole story first. Wanted to know what devious low Fenrir stooped to in his quest to get what he desired. It might have surprised a number of people to discover that he was quite clever and very, _very_ creative.

"The Dark Lord's put more restrictions on him. Can't bite any more children without permission."

"And I'm sure he doesn't like that."

"Not one bit. Made me promise that I'd get him permission to enter France so he could steal a few from French wizarding families instead. The Dark Lord said nothing about _importing_ them. He made me swear I'd get him a portkey and the name of a contact within France who could help him _and_ look the other way."

The desire to laugh didn't diminish. Hermione could hardly keep a straight face. Leaning up to brush her lips against Augustus', she allowed a small chuckle to escape.

"Oh, darling, I'm afraid you were taken advantage of. I have Fenrir's complete loyalty. He would _never_ betray me to Antonin. He'd die first."

Augustus struggled to find the same amusement in the revelation.


	104. April 13th

April 13th

Living with Augustus was _too_ perfect. He was always attentive. There was raucous laughter and passionate moaning filling the silences. It was all too easy for Hermione to forget the outside world when she was inside his home. As the weather continued to warm and they braved the outdoors for long walks on the beach, she could almost imagine that they would be able to sustain their current lifestyle for the rest of their lives. No one would bother them. Neither of them would ever have to worry about coming face to face with their spouses again. Their children not only didn't matter, they didn't exist.

If she allowed herself to fall under his spell, she believed that it was possible to run away from their responsibilities and their commitments to start over a new life. Augustus never stopped talking about sneaking her out of the country. He'd grown weary of his existence too. There were entire continents they could explore. Even if they had to keep constantly on the move, at least they would be together. To him, the one who hadn't spent the better part of a year running for his life, it all sounded like one grand adventure. In the moment when he was animatedly describing their options, she would get excited, believe that _maybe_ it would work. When she was alone with her thoughts, the crushing grip of reality returned.

She would stare at the words on the pages of the book she was supposedly reading to dissect every word he said. With him sometimes only centimeters away, she would dwell on his fantastical ideas. Despite the twenty-seven years he lived on the planet longer than she, there were times when he was nothing but a naïve child making plans that made no sense. He had grown too accustomed to a fairly easy life to want to throw it all away. The _first_ time they had to sleep outside because there was no other shelter, he would give up. Determined to never have to feel the chill that he did when he was a prisoner in Azkaban, he kept his home hot enough that the occupants sometimes sweat because of the unbearable heat. A common desire amongst those who were imprisoned there, she'd gotten used to it living with Antonin. He was never more irritable than when he was cold.

Augustus had never gone without food for a long period of time. When his best memories and happiest feelings were being sucked away by the dementors, he had no appetite. His meager rations sufficed. Once he was away from their influence, he ate more than any two men combined. It was only the benefit of having excellent genes that kept him from blowing up to an enormous size. If he had to worry about where the next meal was coming from and when it was going to arrive, he might go mad. Much like Ron during that horrible horcrux hunt, he would struggle with hunger.

They weren't going to be able to keep living in the fantasy that all was right within their small sphere for much longer. The dream would splinter, the walls crumble. One could not exist entirely in their dreams without suffering the crushing fate of reality. As much as she was loathe to do so, Hermione knew that she needed to make a plan for her next move. Augustus would need to return to France; she would need to return to the unknown. Each second that she remained in the house of her former love, she needed to make the most of it, wrench from it whatever joy and pleasure she could. There would be no returning. The moment she walked out his front door again, she wouldn't ever be back.

Like most men she had had both the pleasure and the misfortune of knowing over the years, Augustus was oblivious to the changes in her thoughts. He wasn't even aware that she had more than just a passing concern that one day Antonin would show up on the doorstep again. No matter what she said to him, he would never be able to understand that she was running from more than just the embarrassed man she made a cuckold. Hurt feelings and petulant men were not the main issues. He didn't understand why she was so intent to run from the life that once upon a time she believed she was satisfied to keep living.

"Damn!"

Augustus' single word coupled with the hiss of pain she knew all too well explained why he threw the morning's copy of the Daily Prophet down on the living room floor. They had been experiencing such a pleasant afternoon. With nothing more than a swift kiss to her lips, he rushed out of the door in moments. His 'pop' of Apparition rang through the house.

The waiting was interminable. Without understanding why he was summoned by their master, there was no simple way to determine how long she could expect him to be gone. The shortest time she'd ever been away from home after feeling the burn of the Dark Mark on her arm was half an hour, but the longest time away from home was seventeen _weeks_. She was fortunate that Antonin wasn't summoned at the same time. Ollie was still quite small and while Mafalda was always the one to venture next door to collect him after they had to rush off to perform their duties, that was an awfully long time to impose upon their friend the care of their child.

She prepared herself for the very real possibility that Augustus was receiving orders that evening to return to France. The fact that he'd been able to stay as long as he had was impressive. Ordinarily, he was never allowed to remain longer than a week or two. She knew that Antonin was usually responsible for his short trips. A word here and there in the Dark Lord's ear often got him exactly what he desired. Lord Voldemort rewarded loyalty and few had proven themselves so thoroughly as Antonin.

If he didn't return to his house with twenty-four hours, Hermione was going to pack everything up and leave. Remaining there alone and unprotected wasn't a good idea. Not only did she have to worry about her husband, but thanks to the mistake she made stunning Aberforth Dumbledore, she had new and tenacious enemies. No doubt William Wood would place himself at the front of that mob. Too many people knew her history with Augustus. It wasn't safe to stay there on her own.

Keeping her mind occupied during the waiting was difficult. Reading was impossible. After every few sentences her eyes would dart back to the front door searching for a sign of his return. When the sun set in the sky and the house grew dark, she didn't even want to light any of the lamps. Seated at the kitchen table, she stared out the window at the ocean beyond, dreaming of what it would be like to climb in a boat and leave. Her eyes grew heavy as the night drew on. A long, hot shower and a cup of chamomile tea helped to induce a few yawns.

She continued her waiting in the bed that had become theirs. A notoriously light sleeper to begin with, Hermione would doze off for a minute or two only to jar herself awake at the slightest noise inside or outside the house. The clock on the nightstand next to the bed showed the time to be a little after eleven when the front door opened. Afraid at first to leap out of bed just in case it _wasn't_ Augustus, she didn't budge. Only when the door to the bedroom opened to admit a weary, but still whole former Unspeakable did she relax.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

He leaned down to drop a kiss to her lips. She watched him undress without speaking. It was clear just by looking at him that he was exhausted. Whatever he'd been forced to endure for the previous several hours hadn't been pleasant.

"Why were you gone so long?"

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, love. I'm home now."

Being dismissed was one of the worst feelings. Hermione hated to be left out. If there was nothing to worry about, he wouldn't have been been gone for so long and he wouldn't have felt the urge to keep quiet about his summons. Sitting up in bed, she glared at the wizard.

" _What_ happened, Augie? You were gone a long time."

"It's not important."

Each time she demanded he answer her questions, he refused. She could feel her anger rise higher and higher. Why wouldn't he tell her anything? Perhaps she had gotten used to a certain dynamic in her marriage. As far as she could tell, her husband didn't keep secrets from her. Antonin told her all of the hard, scary truths. At times she knew more than she wanted to know, but he never kept anything from her. Part of her assumed that that was how _all_ relationships were. Was Augustus unable to recognize the fact that she wasn't the young witch she used to be when they were first together? No longer was she the child locked up in the broom cupboard that he felt he had to protect from the nastiness of the post-war events in the castle. Even then she knew what was happening. He didn't have to spell it out in great detail, but she knew what the shrieks from the other women who didn't have the benefit of his protection meant.

Their voices raised to a loud level by the time she was done having the argument. If he was going to treat her like a child that couldn't be trusted with the truth, she refused to sleep alongside him in his bed. He shouted after her to stop. She ignored every plea as she stormed down the corridor to one of the empty bedrooms.


	105. April 14th

_Author's Note: Wow! So much hate for Augie last chapter. No one else ever withhold the truth from someone because they didn't want to upset them? I know I have! ;)_

* * *

April 14th

She wasn't entirely sure how she managed it, but at some point in the long night, Hermione was able to fall asleep in the unfamiliar bed. Augustus was an intelligent enough man to understand that the last thing she wanted from him that night was him to follow her and still _not_ answer her questions. He remained in his own bedroom to stew in his own frustrations. Eventually, the exhaustion from the waiting around for his return overruled her desire to stay awake and be angry.

Only the feel of Augustus' lips on her forehead tore her out of her dreams. Startled at first by his sudden appearance while she was unconscious, it only took her a few moments to see the clear remorse spread across his handsome face. Like the proverbial dog, he was coming to her with his tail between his legs. She patted the side of the bed, silently demanding that he sit.

"I owe you an apology for how I behaved last night. Spent all night tossing and turning trying to understand _why_ you got so angry."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his confession. It was just like him to be completely clueless about anyone else's feelings but his own. Some allowances for his behavior could be made because of his long stint in Azkaban with the dementors, but only to an extent. At some point he needed to become more self-aware. Considering he at least _seemed_ to be contrite, she kept her facial expression as neutral as humanly possible.

"It must be frustrating to not know what's going on outside the walls of this house. I should've been more aware of how isolated you no doubt are feeling."

She was impressed by his thoughtful insight. There were times she didn't believe him, or any other male for that matter, capable. Certainly her personal experiences always seemed to prove her beliefs.

"Thank you, Augie. Does this mean you are finally going to answer my questions?"

It would've been all too easy to accept his apology and not press him for information in the name of civility. Part of her suspicious mind wondered if that wasn't _exactly_ why he did what he did. Augustus sighed. It appeared she was more on the mark than she gave herself credit for. Understanding that he'd placed himself in a dangerous trap, he finally relented.

"No one has seen the Dark Lord for weeks."

Whatever she expected him to say, that certainly wasn't it. His statement didn't make any sense. How could their Marks burn if their master wasn't calling for an audience with his most faithful? She had always considered herself to be a logical thinker. Perhaps Augustus was mistaken?

"But your arm burned last night. Mine burned too that first summons you got after I arrived. Surely that means the Dark Lord was calling."

"That's just it. No one's gotten a proper summons in a long time. _Months_ , at least. He'd been sending out owls instead. Some of them weren't even in his own handwriting."

"No, Augie, that doesn't make any sense. We've both felt the call. Who's doing it if not the Dark Lord?"

He seemed reluctant to answer again. At first, she feared he was about to stop answering her again altogether. Just as she was preparing herself to yell at him once more, the pieces clicked into place.

"Antonin."

Augustus nodded.

"He's learned how to activate them. I tried to get Corban to explain _how_ , but all he would tell me is that the Dark Lord showed him months ago how to summon everyone in case of emergency. Even taught him how to summon specific ones."

 _The night in January when the Mark burned all night long._ At the time, she just assumed her master was toying with her, taunting her, daring her to come back. With this new revelation, she had no question in her mind that her husband was responsible. Why? Was he sitting in their home drunk on his favorite fire whiskey calling out to her? Did he imagine she would get so tortured by the pain that she'd willingly answer the summons? That she'd Apparate right into their bedroom begging him to make the pain stop? If so, Antonin was beginning to show his desperation for her return. Desperation was weakness. He'd taught her that a lifetime ago. Weaknesses could get a person killed.

"All right. Antonin can summon us now. What about the Dark Lord? What do you mean no one has seen him in weeks?"

"Exactly that, love. Only the castle's house-elves are allowed to enter his quarters. He's forbidden everyone else, including your husband."

There were likely a myriad of reasons why Lord Voldemort would shut himself up in the privacy of his own rooms in the castle, but only one stood out above all others. He was a being, certainly no longer just a human, who loathed weakness wherever he saw it. If he wasn't allowing his most faithful of followers to see him, the reasons were bad.

"He's dying, isn't he?"

Saying the words out loud was difficult. Even for Hermione and she hadn't been entrenched in the underbelly of their society for as along as Augustus had. It was a crime to speak disparagingly about their master, a death sentence to even hint at the possibility that he was mortal. Despite the difficulty, Augustus was able to nod his head in the affirmative.

"That's the assumption. You can see now why I didn't want to tell you everything?"

She could _understand_ , but not excuse. It was her world that was threatening to crumble around their ears too. Perhaps the _something_ big coming she felt in her gut wasn't a successful Revolution at all. Maybe she instinctively knew that the wizard she'd spent so many years serving was at the end of his murderous and violent existence. Most would be overjoyed at the news. All she could think of was the fact that the unknown was generally more frightening than the known.

"So these meetings that Antonin keeps calling everyone to… what are they? What happens there?"

"If it's even possible for the Dark Lord to die, there will be a power struggle when it happens. Antonin has been the logical and expected successor for the past decade, but that doesn't mean everyone is in support. You know better than I that he has a number of enemies who would rather see him dead than bow to him as the next Dark Lord."

Of course she knew his enemies. At times, she was at the very top of that long list. In yet another complication that came with marriage, she was also his fiercest ally. _Many_ had been cut down over the years by her wand simply for daring to make their displeasure for her husband known. Likewise, he'd done the same when the roles were reversed. The number he'd murdered for insulting the mother of his child had to be staggering.

"Maybe all of this concern is premature. The last time I saw the Dark Lord he was looking quite well. He seemed to be even stronger."

"And how long ago was that?"

She had to stop and think. Before she ran off, still covered in Antonin's blood, she made at least weekly trips to the castle for an audience with the Dark Lord. He appreciated reports from her department in the Ministry to come straight from her mouth, a fact that made Rabastan Lestrange quite angry. To the best of her recollection, he'd looked fine, _normal_. Or, as normal as it was possible for him to look. She dimly recalled being summoned to the castle just a few days before the yearly celebration of the end of the war.

"Not quite a year ago."

"According to Corban, he'd been using powerful glamours to disguise himself for almost three years that _he_ knew about. Could've been going on much longer."

Maintaining constant glamours was a tax on anyone's magic. Employing them for at least three years was unheard of. She wasn't sure of the toll it would take on his body, but knew it couldn't be good.

"Antonin's in trouble. If he's not able to gain the support of the majority, he will be killed and the regime will be in splinters."

Hermione didn't need him to spell it out for her. She had always known the danger of her husband ingratiating himself in the graces of their master. Setting himself apart as the heir apparent came with a price. Augustus was right. If the Dark Lord fell and there wasn't a clear leader to take over, everything would be for nothing. Antonin would be dead. Ollie would probably be dead. If she was caught, she would be dead. She could only hope that the reports of the Dark Lord weren't entirely accurate. Corban Yaxley was an intelligent, intuitive man, but he was just a man after all. Human beings were all apt to make mistakes now and again.

"I appreciate you trying to spare me news that would upset me, Augie. Don't ever do it again."

Her demand was sealed with a kiss. At least for the moment, their row was over.


	106. April 15th

April 15th

Following the tense discussion first thing in the morning, Hermione and Augustus were able to enjoy the rest of their day. Though neither of them would admit to the strangeness of their interactions and conversations, they each pretended that everything was all right. She hated the unspoken awkwardness that existed between them. Gone were the brief moments she had been able to close her eyes and pretend like they were back in the past before everything got unbelievably complicated. A restlessness filled her pores. She knew she couldn't remain much longer. As much as she despised it, her life had become a series of one temporary hiding place after another. She wouldn't be able to sustain it much longer.

Augustus announced after breakfast that he was expected at St. Mungo's for another checkup following his injuries from the explosion. It granted them a respite from each other that neither of them regretted. A few hours apart sounded heavenly to them both. No matter how much they tried not to dwell on the upsetting conversation from the day before, all either of them could think of was how much their world was in danger of changing.

She knew without even needing to ask that Augustus would flee the country at the first sign of trouble. It wasn't that he was a coward. Far from it. He just knew when it was best to be out of the reach of anyone who didn't have his best interests at heart. His family was in France. They might have abandoned him when he was first thrown into Azkaban so many years earlier, but he wasn't the kind of man to hold that against them. Whether they wanted him or not, he would be where his boys were. Two of them already had children of their own and the youngest was just about to the age when he wanted to finally settle down with a pretty French witch. If the regime started to crumble and with it the world they'd helped build, he would remove himself from the action to take care of his family.

There were mixed feelings about the whole saga for Hermione. She knew there were problems in their society that they couldn't afford to keep ignoring. Something had to change or they would all find themselves living amongst a Resistance that had grown larger than the regime they were fighting against. It was too easy to just make broad statements that there was nothing worth salvaging simply because some parts needed to be reformed. That was not only a naïve manner of thinking, it was dangerous and lazy. But, sometimes rebuilding was easier than reforming.

Thinking about her husband's part in all of it did nothing but make her stomach hurt. She didn't love Antonin. Not in the way a wife was _supposed_ to love her husband. Perhaps if there had been changes made in the past, one path taken instead of another, it might have developed organically. But it hadn't and there was no reason to lament its loss. Their marriage was strong in other ways, weak in some. Knowing that there were people that existed in the world that wanted to kill her family was upsetting. Nothing new, of course, but still bothersome. It _almost_ made her want to return to Hogsmeade to do what she could to keep her son protected.

Just after noon Augustus returned to the house in a sour mood. He slammed the front door shut with more force than he intended. His heavy footsteps could be heard through the house as he stomped into the kitchen where Hermione was trying unsuccessfully to read a book at the table. Just like a petulant child, he didn't offer up the reasons for his huffiness. Simply collapsed into the chair across from hers with another deep sigh. He could be frightfully adorable and painfully obnoxious all in the same breath.

"Is something the matter, darling? Did the appointment with your Healer not go well?"

"I've been cleared for portkey travel."

Hermione shut her book and set it down on the table. Confused by his announcement, she wasn't sure how to respond. For days all he had talked about when they were drifting off to sleep or picking at their meals was where they were going to go once he got his hands on an international portkey. In all of his exuberance, he'd seemed to have forgotten that getting a portkey and smuggling it out of the Ministry of Magic were two entirely different things.

"And you're upset about this? I would think that this would be wonderful news. It means you are almost fully healed."

"I'm expected to return to France now. There's no reason for me to stay, _officially_. I have to leave tomorrow."

He still hadn't answered her questions. How could his mood change so drastically from one day to the next? There had to be more to it than she knew.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you're upset. You've been talking of nothing else but leaving the country."

"Yes, with _you_."

Many rows in her life had been memorable with that particular wizard. For reasons they never were quite able to figure out, the great passion that they shared didn't remain only in the bedroom. They could fight like no one else she'd ever known. Not even when she and her husband got going on a tear. Just before each of them progressed, she was able to pick up on the signs that they were coming. It had been a while, but she knew that they were headed for a big one. All she could do was prepare herself for the fireworks.

"But you're not going to go with me, are you?"

She wanted their discussion to remain as calm as possible. When the yelling began and the curses started flying, they tended to miss out on the most important points the other made. Hearing the anger in his question, Hermione knew she would have to tread lightly.

"Augie, it's not that I don't want to go with you…"

"You're not denying what I said."

"It would be difficult to leave with you. My magic is tracked. To even get into the Ministry, I'd need to risk being seen. Antonin's probably already watching you as it is."

Augustus scoffed at the mention of her husband. How was it possible that in one breath they could rationally discuss the man and in the next he was as unreasonable and furious as he was the day they learned the Dark Lord would not let them marry? Would some wounds never heal and continue to crop up when it was inconvenient? Evidently, Antonin wasn't the only one who struggled with his own jealousy.

"You know, you would almost think that part of you _wants_ Antonin to find you again."

His words felt like a hex straight to the chest. How could he be so irrational? There had been plenty of opportunities to get recaptured by Antonin if she truly wanted that fate. Hell, simply casting _lumos_ and holding her wand up for a moment or two would get her husband there faster than the Knight Bus.

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Augie."

"Am I? Because I thought you were just as anxious to leave as I was. Maybe you are, but I'm just not the right wizard."

Hermione covered her face with her hands and sighed. This was not going to end well or anytime soon. She thought it might be for the best that he go ahead and return to France immediately, if for no other reason than to spare her the aggravation of a nonsensical row that was going nowhere fast.

"Maybe your husband is the one you've actually been thinking of when you've cried out my name these last few days. Are you feeling guilty about leaving him alone in a cold bed?"

"First of all, you're wrong about me wishing he'd find me and take me home. I know the way if I ever wanted to go myself. Second, _you_ were the one who was so adamant about leaving despite all of my concerns about how practical it would be."

He started to interrupt, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. She wasn't finished. Because he was so determined not to leave the subject alone, she was going to say what she wanted.

"Yes, leaving the country and starting a new life together sounds like a wonderful fantasy. A _fantasy_ , Augie. You and I both know it wouldn't work out."

"We don't know…"

"It wouldn't work. Eventually, when we realized how much danger we were in, you'd come to resent my presence. You would come to regret ever asking me to come with you."

"No, I wouldn't."

" _Yes_ , you would. I can't bear the thought that one day you'd come to hate me. I'd rather our fantasy remain a fantasy and not become a depressing reality."

Augustus rose from his seat across the table. In moments he was on his knees in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. She hoped he wasn't about to beg her to change her mind. It seemed too undignified for a proud man like him.

"I think you're wrong, Hermione, but I don't suppose I can get you to make a different decision?"

She shook her head. He sighed. Before he released her hands, he stared into her eyes one final time with pleading splashed across his features.

"And you promise that your refusal isn't because you're thinking about going back to Antonin?"

Hermione knew it took a lot of humility to ask the question that clearly had been bothering him. To admit his own petty jealousies wasn't easy.

"Of course, Augie. I'm not interested in returning to him in the slightest. Besides, it's not exactly like his bed is all that empty. I'm sure Andromeda does what she can to keep it warm."

Augustus's expression changed at her statement. A slight narrowing of the eyes, a furrowing of his brow. It was almost as if she was speaking another language. Surely he hadn't been so insulated from what happened in their world by living in France that he wasn't aware of Antonin's longterm mistress. It was hardly a secret.

"Andromeda, love?"

"Yes. She and Antonin aren't exactly discreet."

"Andromeda _Tonks_?"

She rolled her eyes. Why was he behaving so strangely? He wasn't normally so thick.

"Yes, Augie. Andromeda Tonks. No doubt she's set herself up as the lady of the house since I've been gone. Probably couldn't wait for me to disappear. Dreadful slag."

Seemingly satisfied by her answer, he stood to his full height and gave her a kiss to finally end their terrible discussion. In a further attempt to thaw the chilly relations between them, he brewed her a fresh pot of tea. As she sipped at the delicious black tea with just the faintest hints of strawberry, she felt much calmer and less worried about what the world was like outside the walls of their temporary refuge.


	107. April 16th

**_Author's Note: Friendly reminder that Andromeda being Antonin's mistress was first mentioned back in the February 23rd chapter. If you're skim-reading or skipping chapters because they're "boring" or "nonsense", I would highly recommend that you stop or find another story to read. Every chapter is full of clues about the past and about the future. Every paragraph, every chapter in this story has a very deliberate meaning - i.e. "No Filler". It could be very confusing when all of the pieces start to click together if you haven't been following along closely. ;) Also, please remember that I can't respond to guest reviews. If you have a question, sign in or send me an Ask on Tumblr._**

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April 16th

Knowing that they only had one more day together before Augustus returned to France, Hermione was determined not to waste a single moment of it engaged in further arguments about their future together. There was simply no point. Her decision had already been made. No matter how pretty he made his plans sound, she knew well enough that they would never come into fruition. In her personal opinion, it was better to spend a lifetime wondering about the "what-ifs" than it was to discover a disappointing, hard truth.

She was glad that their row in the kitchen didn't put her in a foul mood. Usually when they had a disagreement, she would stew in her anger for hours, if not days. Apparently all she needed was a kiss and a hot cup of tea to move forward. It would have been a true shame to  
spend their last few hours together in a petulant snit. Instead of dwelling on what could not be, they wrung all of the joy they could from their limited time together. Perhaps Augustus was finally understanding that this would truly be the end as well. A solemnity altered his usually carefree personality.

Hours after the sun had gone down, they both lay in their shared bed catching their breath. The time had to be getting on to two or three in the morning. Neither one of them wanted to go to sleep too early out of fear that they would waste the last bit of time they had. She wasn't sure where she was going to go next, but she knew that wherever it was, it couldn't be with him.

"I'm only going to ask one more time."

"Oh, Augie, please don't."

The wizard turned on his side to stare into her face. Only moonlight shining through the open window illuminated the room. She could just barely see the desperation in his face that she loathed. Didn't he understand that he was showing her a weakness that she could exploit? And she would if she didn't still love him so much. The world was too cruel of a place to not take every advantage when it was presented. He needed to learn to be more careful. Living in France so far away from the ugliness of their society was making him weak.

"Just one more time, love, and I promise I'll never ask you again for as long as I live."

She wanted to tell him 'no' again, but stopped herself. Augustus was a persistent man. One way or another he would be heard. Instead of encouraging him to continue, she sighed and said nothing.

"Are you absolutely certain that there is nothing I can do or say that will persuade you to come with me?"

For being such an intelligent man with a number of life experiences under his belt that few could boast of, he could be charmingly naïve and innocent. She longed for nothing more than to just kiss his expectant face and promise that whatever he desired, she would make a reality. How was it possible that he could just ignore all of the practical issues with even considering running away together? Maybe if Lord Voldemort was indeed dead they could take advantage of the chaos left behind to slip out undetected. It was true that Antonin was in danger of being assassinated almost immediately upon being named the new Dark Lord. To ensure his position, he would have to strike hard and fast at his enemies and even his potential enemies. In the midst of the bloodbath that ensued, he wouldn't have time to even _think_ about his wayward wife. If he died, no one would come look for them. But, if he lived, once everything settled down, he would resume his search with the full might of the regime at his disposal. The ends of the Earth wouldn't be safe enough to hide.

Of course, that all depended on whether or not the rumors about the Dark Lord dying were even true. Hermione wasn't convinced. She wouldn't be until she could look upon her master's face to see for herself. There had been many times in the past when he was rumored to be dead. Even forgetting the years between the night he attacked the Potters until he was able regenerate a body in the cemetery in Little Hangleton, he was known for disappearing at times for his own personal reasons. If he hadn't been seen by anyone but the house-elves, it could possibly mean that he was out of the country and didn't want anyone to know. No one knew all of his secrets.

She knew she had to break Augustus' heart for the second time. It wasn't going to be easy for either of them, but she didn't know of any other way. Pretending that a future existed between them was foolish. No scenario existed where that would end in complete happiness. She would rather hold on to the memories she cherished of him than to have them forgotten and replaced with less special ones.

Reaching across the small space between their two bodies, she placed the palm of her hand on his stubbled cheek. His eyes closed at the touch. As his shoulders sagged, Hermione knew that she didn't have to say the words. It was already done. Whatever existed between them in those too-few days in his seaside home was over. She was afraid that she had been too cruel to the man. It would've been easier for both of them if she'd never apparated to Cornwall in the first place. She would take full responsibility for the false hope she planted in his heart.

Her lips didn't utter a single word. Simply brushed against his in response to the question he uttered. At first, he remained frozen, unwilling to give in to the offered affection. Perhaps he believed that if he didn't give in, the moment wouldn't end. She couldn't be certain what it was he thought. There was a time when she desired nothing more than to learn all of the intricacies of the man's brain. Now, she thought it best for both of them that they avoid each other for as long as humanly possible. They were no good for each other. She might love him until the end of time, but that didn't mean they were ever going to make it. Relationships were much more complicated than the silly romance novels and movies would have one believe.

When she pressed her lips harder against his, insistent that he not ignore her presence, Augustus finally gave in. His mouth opened just enough to allow him to move his tongue gently over hers. Emboldened by the assurance that he didn't hate her because of her choice, Hermione lost herself in his kiss. One more time that night they gave in to their primal urges. Each sought to memorize every touch, every kiss. It would be the last. She knew that no matter what the future brought, she couldn't allow herself to hurt this man again. Augustus deserved more than her devastating presence in his life. All she brought with her was pain and destruction. Not for the first time, she wished he'd never stationed himself outside of her broom cupboard. Her existence might have been easier to bear if she had never known love.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms. Far from being a restful night, she woke up many times throughout the remaining hours of darkness to stare upon the wizard's sleeping face. She wanted more for him than she was able to offer. When the sun began to rise in the morning sky and he carefully slipped out of the sheets, she felt the urge to cry for the first time in longer than she could remember. The loss of his touch affected her more than she realized. As she lay in the empty bed listening to the sound of the water running in the shower next door, she utilized every last ounce of self-control she possessed to not run into the bathroom and beg him to take her with him.

"I'll only be gone a few days. Whatever it takes, I'll figure out a way to get back here. Will you promise me that you will stay here until I get back?"

She refused to promise him at the front door moments before he left. Only said that she would do what she could to _try_ to stay a little bit longer. Without him in the house, Hermione didn't have the heart to linger long. If she was still there when he got back, it would be all that much harder for the break that needed to happen between them to happen. She kissed him once more.

Relief tinged with sadness filled her very soul when the front door closed behind him. A part of her life that she would cherish forever was finally over. It was only a matter of time before she would have to make the same exit. She couldn't bear to stay there alone.


	108. April 17th

**_Author's Note: I was afraid there were going to be those who misunderstood the point of my AN last night. That's the problem with being unable to speak face to face with people and because there are those who exist who are always ready to get upset over the least little thing even when that was not the intention. (I've addressed that and an unhappy guest on my Tumblr.) I am taking the "Suspense" tag at the top of this screen very seriously. If you are wanting to read a story where all of the answers are revealed in a chapter or two, I would like to_ gently _encourage you to not read this story. Also, if you have any questions about whether something is "filler" or not, sign in and I'll gladly tell you what's important. Or if I'm still too scary to talk to, send me an Anonymous Ask on Tumblr. I'll be happy to point out what you should remember from a chapter. Or just don't skip chapters and you'll probably figure it out on your own._**

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April 17th

Even a single moment in Augustus' home without him there was torture for Hermione. If she'd had a solid plan of where she could go next, she would have left as soon as he did. The house that held so many happy memories for them both felt eerily like a tomb of their lost and broken promises. She packed up her beaded bag in preparation of the inevitable.

An envelope thick with Muggle money was left on the kitchen table. As much as he might have desired that she not leave, he was practical man. He knew her better than just about anyone alive. Hermione was grateful once again for the assistance. Life on the run was much easier when there was even a little bit of money to rely on. Tucking it into her bag, she helped herself to all of the remaining food in Augustus' cupboards. He wouldn't be angry when he noticed the theft. It would make him rest easier knowing that she wasn't starving.

She wasn't in a hurry to leave the house even though she knew it was dangerous to remain there alone. Perhaps she was a masochist after all. The one person alive who tortured her more than anyone else was herself. Always had been that way. Even as a child she forced herself to complete impossible tasks and punished herself when she fell short. As a student in Hogwarts, she was even worse. What other person in their right mind would think that using a time turner to take extra classes was a good idea? She had to place a lot of the blame for that decision on Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. They were the adults in that situation. Neither of them utilized their decades of life experience to help her come to the correct conclusion that there was only so much a single person could do. A lot of people in her life were too passive to correct her when she was being unreasonable.

Sitting in front of the fireplace, she considered her options. Clearly, returning to the Resistance's village was not smart. Assuming she wasn't killed immediately, very few of the residents would actually believe her when she told them that the Daily Prophet story was a lie. Getting Aberforth Dumbledore captured _was_ her fault. Accident or not, she would never find friendship with the Resistance. The closest she could hope to achieve would be if they approached her to become the spy they needed as a means to purge her soul of her misdeeds. They would never trust her. The _moment_ she gave them the information they needed, they would dispose of her without a second thought.

Leaving the country was also not an option. If she imagined that the shipping ports weren't being closely watched by both the Resistance and the Death Eaters, she would be deadly wrong. Likewise, the airports, bus stations, and train stations would be covered. Even if she could somehow get her hands on a car and tried to drive to France, she had no doubt that The Shuttle was too risky. Muggle authorities might be made aware of a stolen vehicle and a woman without proper identification. Besides, living for so long amongst the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade hadn't exactly given her the opportunity to learn how to hot wire cars. She would have to utilize magic and she would surely get caught doing so.

Finding another ally to hide her was not a prospect that she relished. Anyone she approached would be in great danger. She wasn't sure that she had enough room on her conscience for someone else's fate. Also, there were too few in number to even consider. Alecto made it clear she wasn't comfortable with her coming to her home. Augustus was gone. Theo was dead. Thorfinn had a family to think of and he wouldn't betray Antonin anyway. Viktor also had a family. Fenrir was out of the country and she didn't think it would be wise to try him again after almost being caught the last time. Rodolphus was no longer a fan of hers. Even if he didn't live right in the middle of the Resistance, he wasn't likely to want to lift a paw in her aid.

And, finally, she wasn't even sure what her relationship with Draco was. Were they friends? Or just acquaintances? Would he be on the Resistance's side? She wasn't sure what his relationship with Dumbledore was like, but she knew he was throwing in his lot with the rabble in hopes that his family's future would be brighter than it was under the Dark Lord. He was an unknown variable. Not exactly part of the Resistance, but not exactly loyal to the regime either. She would have to continue to be careful around him.

Almost as if she summoned him to her presence with just the thought of his name, the front door opened to allow the entrance of the very same wizard. She didn't even stir from the sofa. If she knew how he operated, she knew he would be alone. Too many connections were distractions and dangers in his line of work. Or, maybe it was simply how he felt personally. He wasn't exactly known for being someone with a full dance card.

"How did you find me?"

Draco snorted and sat in the chair nearest the fireplace.

"You've been in Cornwall since April 1st, but you didn't come into this house until April 3rd. Pretty clever of you to not rush straight there. Your husband would've found you. Tell me, where did you learn to climb trees?"

She found his smugness infuriating. In the moments after she ran from Antonin and the other Death Eaters he'd brought with him to capture her, she hadn't been able to think clearly. For days prior to that moment, she'd had Augustus on her mind, constantly worried about his safety. Of course it was a foolish move on her part to go straight there and it was a miracle that Antonin hadn't found her when she did. Knowing that Draco was aware of her movements after she arrived unnerved her. How much more did he know that he wasn't sharing?

"I had a normal Muggle childhood. Don't tell me that wizards don't climb trees when they're young?"

"Not if their last name is Malfoy, they don't."

"How sad. What other deficiencies in your upbringing were you forced to endure?"

"A number I'm certain you would find terribly regrettable."

It wasn't difficult to tell that he was much calmer than he was the last time they spoke. There was still a hint of anger present in his words, but nothing as severe as the night he threw the bottle of fire whiskey at the wood stove. She was glad to see that he wasn't as upset as he had been.

"I was very sorry to hear about Theo. His loss was nothing less than a tragedy."

Draco nodded his head once in response, but didn't immediately say anything in return. As much as he might have kept himself on the outskirts of the Death Eaters over the years, his childhood friendship with Theo never wavered. It was a fact that Hermione took the opportunity to tease the young Nott scion repeatedly about. She never had much use for Draco and couldn't understand how he actually sought out the wizard's company. Theo would laugh off her taunts. Nothing was ever changed in his actions. There was a very real possibility that he was limited in his ascension through the ranks because of that friendship. Anyone who willingly associated with a Malfoy was tainted.

"I'm sure Theodore Senior isn't bothered too much by the loss of his only son."

"You can't know that for certain, Draco. Nott's a difficult man, to be sure, but parents love their children."

His grey eyes flashed with a rage that she had only seen on a few occasions before. The man who smashed the bottle in her tent was once again in her presence. Hermione shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the thoughts of what the next few moments would bring. She still wasn't sure whether or not she could trust the wizard. For all she knew, the highest ranking members of the Resistance were standing outside waiting for him to drag her out so she could face her punishment. Slipping her hand slowly into her pocket, she readied herself just in case she had to use magic to fight her way out again.

"If that's true, Granger, then tell me why Nott offered up his seat next to your husband to his son? I'm sure he didn't anticipate his son taking the full brunt of the blast and protecting Antonin from injury. Must have been angry afterwards that he wasn't able to get rid of his two biggest problems with one Muggle bomb."

"Are you suggesting that Theodore Nott was the one who placed the bomb in the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Not suggesting at all. I'm stating quite clearly that the man has his son's blood on his hands."

"But, Draco, that doesn't make any sense. You and I both know that the Resistance claimed responsibility for the explosion. Nott isn't a member of the Resistance."

Some of his anger dissipated. He sighed and his shoulders sagged. No longer was he on the defensive. She felt slightly calmed, but kept her hand on her wand just to be safe.

"Of course the Resistance claimed responsibility for the bomb. It was a great victory in their eyes. They'd be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity. Since that day, their numbers have begun to grow again. More and more civilians are joining. Public relations dream for them."

"But they didn't set it?"

"None of the Resistance leaders have any idea who actually planted the bomb. Part of what I've been doing since that day is searching for the culprits. Funny thing is, every time I get close to one, I'm finding an odd connection to Nott."

She had been too long outside of the intrigue of the Inner Circle. _Why_ Theodore Nott Senior would be interested in blowing up not only high-ranking members of the Death Eaters but his only son made little sense to Hermione. Just trying to put the pieces together hurt her brain.

"Nott's been afraid for years that Theo's going to kill him. Something about a prophecy a Seer once gave him when he was young. It's why he was always so hard on him. Of course, a more intelligent man might consider the fact that abused little boys grow up to loathe and fear their fathers. He got rid of the threat while trying to get rid of the threat of your husband."

"How is Antonin a threat to him? They've always been friendly."

"Not _friendly_ , Granger. Cordial. There's a big difference. Nott wants to be the next Dark Lord. He's been trying to gather others to his side. _When_ the Dark Lord dies, and we all know that's going to happen soon, he's going to try to kill Antonin and take his place."

He rose from the chair. Only a few strides of his long legs and he stood in front of the sofa where she sat. To her surprise, he leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek.

"Be careful, Hermione. Nott is a bigger threat to you than your husband ever was."

With his warning still ringing in her ears, he walked through the front door.


	109. April 18th

April 18th

Draco's visit gave Hermione a great deal to ponder when he left. No longer anxious to leave the relative safety of Augustus' home for the unknown outside the front door, she allowed herself at least one more night. Just as she had many other times in the past while she was running, she hoped that the answer of her next move would come to her while she slept. There was a very valid reason why so many were quick to say that everything would look better in the morning. Because it was generally true.

Adding Theodore Nott to her list of enemies wasn't a big deal. She had more than enough already. Part of her fear of running into a Death Eater in her travels wasn't necessarily because she feared they would drag her back to face her husband and her master's justice. Many of them would take the opportunity to get rid of her. Far from being popular amongst the Inner Circle and the lower ranks, she had had to be on her guard even when she was living the lie that she was happily married and completely committed to her master. Some would never get past the accident of her birth. Others would use her death to strike out at Antonin. Still more would kill her just to be able to climb over her corpse and crawl closer to the top of the heap.

It bothered her more than she wanted to consider that Antonin's position was putting him in even more danger than he was ordinarily. What she felt for the man was far from conventional love. She certainly wasn't _in love_ with the wizard nor had she ever been. The respect she had for him when he was nothing more than her teacher still existed. There was a time, even when she found it amusing to torment him with her many and varied sexual partners in the room next to his, that she considered him one of her closest friends. At the very least they were allies, _partners_. He confided in her and she him. Knowing that he was likely to come up against his biggest challenge and threat yet once the Dark Lord's demise was certain, made her feel worried. Too often she considered the wizard invincible. What if this was what finally did him in?

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when she woke up in Augustus' bed alone. Her sleep had been interrupted frequently with thoughts of not just her next move but the fate of her small family. Fucked up and violent though their marriage might be, she still felt a responsibility to the two wizards she left behind. She worried about them when it would have been much easier to just forget they existed. Returning to Hogsmeade was not a possibility. Much in her life would have to go terribly wrong for her to even consider such a drastic step. No matter how many times she heard the tale that Antonin was worried about her and wanted her to come home, she couldn't trust herself to believe. Traps were easy enough to disguise if the one setting it knew the weakness of the target.

A sound outside the house put her on edge. She was familiar enough with the usual noises to know when something was out of the ordinary. In her past and in the previous weeks, she'd spent more than enough time there to know when to worry. Sitting up quickly to strain her ears for it again, she felt a sinking in her gut. Augustus wouldn't hesitate to enter his own home. Nor would Draco apparently. _Someone_ was outside who didn't belong there. And in her experience, that usually meant they were there to do her harm.

The moment she felt the unmistakeable energy of someone checking the structure for human presence, she knew she had to act quickly if she wanted to survive another day. It could be any number of enemies just waiting for her the perfect moment to blast down the front door. For all she knew, it was the entire Resistance coming to seek their revenge for Aberforth Dumbledore. Her past with Augustus wasn't exactly a secret. And after her odd visit with Draco the day before, she also couldn't dismiss the possibility that in an act of bizarre loyalty to the group, he might have told them where she could be found.

It was fortunate for her that she had already packed up her bag in anticipation of moving on. All she had to so was dress in the clothes she'd laid out in case of this very likely scenario. To her benefit, whomever was just outside the house was moving as slowly and quietly as possible. Perhaps they thought she'd grown lazy and no longer was aware of her own surroundings. She was able to take advantage of their plans to get fully dressed and ready to fight before the front door even opened.

She hated herself for lingering as long as she did. Had experience taught her nothing? One of the only reasons she was able to stay on the run for so long was because she knew it was too dangerous to stay in one place. She _had_ grown lazy in some aspects. Sleeping once more out in the elements would hopefully help her to unlearn bad habits.

Augustus' front door had a terribly loud squeak that grated on Hermione's nerves each time it opened. When she would complain about it, he would laugh and tell her that it was his way of always being alerted when the door was opened. Claimed it was a cheap security system. She would roll her eyes in response. Once the wizard set his mind to something, it didn't matter how ridiculous, he wasn't changing it.

With her ears focused on the front of the house, she could just barely make out the sound of the doorknob turning slowly. When the door was pushed open carefully and there was no hint of a squeak, she grew worried. Whoever the intruder was, it was someone who had been in the house enough times to know about Augustus' unconventional alarm. Members of the Resistance were ruled out. As much as he refused to go into specific details about his connection with the Resistance, she knew Augustus well enough to know he would never be foolish enough to entertain them in his home. Based on the footsteps she heard treading across the rug in the front room, she knew that, inside at least, she was only dealing with one intruder. One intruder who had been inside the house more than once.

"Hermione?"

She knew it was her husband even before he opened his mouth. Yet another reason why she should've never sought refuge with Augustus. Antonin might have been distracted by more pressing matters in the aftermath of the explosion and the worries about the succession if the Dark Lord were to fall, but eventually he would come back to Cornwall. His instincts were almost always spot on. It was how he managed to stay alive as long as he had in a world that was always trying to kill him.

"Hermione, I know you're in here."

There was no anger in his voice and if there was someone who knew every single one of the man's moods and tones, it was his wife. As the sound of the soft, slow footsteps crept closer to her door, Hermione felt frozen in place. How was she going to get out of this mess?

"Darling, _please_ come out."

Once their son found an injured kitten in the village. Some larger predator must've gotten the poor creature and it managed to either fight it off or escape. Covered in its own blood and with a mangled limb, the soft tenderhearted six year old her son once was, scooped it up and gently carried it home. Yelling out for his papa, he begged Antonin to save the kitten with hot tears streaming down his face. The terrifying Death Eater rushed to the aid of the kitten. Utilizing his extensive knowledge about healing spells and potions, Antonin was able to save the kitten to their son's relief. For days as it recuperated, the small creature slept in a box Ollie filled with a soft blanket. More than a few times, Hermione walked in on her formidable, violent husband speaking to the kitten in hushed, tender tones. No one would've believed her if she told them.

It was the same tone he was using in that moment to coax her out of the bedroom. Hearing it again only served to increase her terror. Was this a new tactic her husband was trying? Violence hadn't worked in the past. Knowing she needed to get out of there as soon as possible, she turned in place to Disapparate _anywhere_ else. But, nothing happened. Before he entered the house, he must have put up an anti-Disapparition ward. Perhaps that was the noise that was out of place that first got her attention. She faced the window. It was her only hope for escape. Allowing Antonin to catch her was not an option.

"Ollie misses his mum. Won't you please come out and talk to me?"

Using their son was a low move even for him. Not wasting another moment, Hermione opened the nearest window. She was halfway out of it when the bedroom door opened to admit Antonin. For a second time in recent memory, their eyes met again. She was startled to not see any of the familiar rage in his. If she didn't know him any better, she might have assumed they were filled with sadness and worry. Ridiculous notion. She really was going round the bend.

"Hermione, wait!"

He called after her to stop, but she was already out the window. It wasn't a far drop. The moment she hit the ground, she jumped back up and started running. Her husband was only a short distance behind her. As soon as she felt the tingle of the energy indicating she'd reached the edge of the anti-Disapparition ward, she escaped. His pleading voice had only been inches away. Next time, she likely wouldn't be so lucky.


	110. April 19th

April 19th

Perhaps a small part of Hermione would always seek out refuge in the Forest of Dean. She was on the edge of the forest before she even realized were she'd run to. It was instinct that brought her to the same place she and her boys used to hide a lifetime earlier during the blasted horcrux hunt. Knowing that it wasn't safe to head straight into the forest until she knew for certain she had not been followed to the area by her husband, she spent the entire day after leaving Cornwall carefully skirting the edge looking for any indication she was about to be captured again. Only when the sun went down did she enter the forest completely.

As her first full day back inside her old hiding place came to an end and her second night began, Hermione finally began to feel calm again. It had been a close call with Antonin. If she had her way, they would never get that close again. He was a representative of her past that she didn't want to remember or be a part of any longer. Trying to manipulate her with mention of their son hadn't helped. Antonin already knew her insecurities when it came to her lack of abilities as a mother.

Unable to find shelter with the Resistance again and unwilling to return to her former life, she truly was at a loss as to what she should do next. Eventually, she wouldn't be able to run anymore. She would have to give up and allow one of the groups she was running from to catch her to end it all. Or, if she was truly lucky, some Muggle vagrant might murder her before they did. It was what she deserved after all. One couldn't spend years of their life engaged in violence and not expect it to eventually spatter back on them.

There was a time when she was happy living in Hogsmeade amongst the Death Eaters and serving the Dark Lord loyally. She didn't even mind sitting at his feet like his most trained and faithful pet. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. She was given certain privileges that no other Muggle-born witch or wizard was. If she was exploiting her position for a better life than those poor souls, could anyone really blame her?

Of course, she knew members of the Resistance and those who shared similar beliefs absolutely did despise her for making a choice that, to them, seemed easier. She should've died with Harry or sacrificed herself for her naïve ideals like Neville. She didn't care for either option. Both scenario ended up with her dead. Call her selfish, but she wanted to live longer than eighteen years. If there were those who still blamed her for making the wrong choice all those years ago, that was _their_ issue, not hers. She had already made her peace with the choice she made. Strangers and old acquaintances could call her a monster or a coward or a traitor. She did not care. Her life was hers to do with as she wished. _No one_ else could make the decisions for her.

Once upon a time, Hermione cared what others thought about her. When she was a student at Hogwarts, only recently aware that such beings as witches actually existed and that she was one, she felt at an extreme disadvantage to those who had grown up always knowing what they were. To make up for her deficit and to make her feel at least somewhat more equal to those with hundreds of years of magical heritage, she worked twice as hard as everyone else to be the best. If it was possible to be learned from a book, she did and she sought out even more knowledge. Having all of the answers would prove that she was just as good as any member of any Sacred Twenty-Eight family. At the time, she didn't understand that some had more powerful innate abilities that couldn't be learned from the inside of a book. It had been incredibly frustrating to watch others in her classes perform magic easily that she had to work hard at to produce the same result. She would set impossible tasks for herself in order to improve. For _years_ , she studied and worked herself so hard it was a wonder she didn't completely burn out or tax her magic irrevocably. Her years at school were a waste, in her opinion, because she rarely took the opportunity to enjoy herself as she learned.

She was exhausted in a manner that she had never experienced when her broom cupboard was opened and she was taken to the Great Hall to face the Dark Lord. Not only physically, but in every other manner possible. To summon up enough energy to even _think_ about rebelling was too much. At that point, she had nothing left to lose except for her own sanity. So, she made the decision to not balk or fight when she was ordered to move into Antonin's home to undergo intensive training and reprogramming. Some would call her weak. She would tell them that dying was easy. _Surviving_ was much more difficult. As soon as she was capable of comprehending that simple fact, the opinions of others meant nothing to her.

The Resistance would never forgive her. Not for accidentally getting Aberforth Dumbledore captured or for being a notorious Death Eater who had killed many of their people over the years. No, the Resistance would never forgive her for being unwilling to die for a cause that was already lost. Like Ron, she would never be forgiven for not following the same fate as Harry or Neville. She was worth more as a martyr than she ever could've been as a spy. In Hermione's opinion, those who would rather she be dead than be still alive could go fuck themselves. Their thoughts of the matter of _her_ existence did not matter. Just as she had no right to tell them how to live, they had no right to tell her the same.

She was grateful for the warmer weather. Sleeping in the forest was so much easier when she didn't have to worry about freezing to death. The night air still had a bit of a chill to it, however, so once she decided what dark corner of the forest would be her home for the night, she quickly set about building a small fire. The food she had in her little beaded bag didn't need cooking or even heating, but there was something comforting about having the small fire nearby.

Despite making every possible effort to approach her campsite as carefully and quietly as he could, Hermione sensed his presence before his fair features were revealed by the light of the flames. She wasn't afraid of him. There had been many opportunities for him to hurt her over the previous few months if he had a desire. Without even looking up from her task of feeding more fuel to the fire, she invited him to join her to share what little warmth there was.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes after Draco's arrival. It rankled her nerves that he was able to find her even when she'd been so very careful. What was his secret anyway? _How_ did he manage to track her when she _knew_ she wasn't using magic?

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

HIs chuckle set her teeth on edge. There seemed very little to be amused about by her current situation. Based on the fact that she was no longer hiding in Augustus' home, it must have been obvious that there had been a problem. Was he aware that Antonin was only heartbeats away from recapturing his wife? She got the impression that there was very little Draco _didn't_ know about her. Dwelling too much on that idea upset her a great deal.

"Are we back to 'Malfoy' now? I was getting used to you calling me by my first name."

She wasn't in the mood for any sort of teasing banter. Though she much preferred this version of him to the angry, sullen one prone to throwing bottles, it made her very uncomfortable for reasons she still wasn't completely clear about. The definitive lines to their relationship were threatening to blur. Were they friends now? Or were they skirting the edge of friendship into something more, yet still undefinable? Either way, she didn't like it. He represented a complication that she did not need.

"What do you want, _Draco_?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was concerned about you?"

She scoffed, unwilling to accept his words as the truth. If there was one lesson she'd learned in all her years as a Death Eater, it was to be careful who to trust. A few times she'd been forced to learn that lesson the hard way. Hearing her scoff, Draco's grin spread wider across his mouth. He found her amusing. She still couldn't be certain that she could trust him. Augustus might have urged her to, but she wasn't in the habit of blindly following suggestions from ex-lovers.

"Were _you_ the one who told Antonin where I could be found? Is that why you claim you were concerned?"

His grin slipped. Clearly, he didn't care for the accusation she made. Hermione wasn't bothered by the change in his expression. What else was she supposed to assume? He visits one day and Antonin finds her the next. It was all very suspicious.

"I was _not_ the one who told your husband."

There was always the possibility that Antonin's untrusting nature coupled with his jealousy of Augustus was the reason why he sought her out in Cornwall. If Hermione's instincts weren't telling her that Draco was holding something back, she would've believed that theory. But, she could always tell when someone was either lying to her or not telling her everything they knew. Her skills had come in quite handy running the Ministry department she worked in with Rabastan Lestrange. Draco sighed, prepared to tell her everything.

"Greyback was the one who told your husband where you were."

She didn't understand his motivation for lying to her. There was simply no way at all that Fenrir would betray their friendship. If he was willing to do that, _why_ would he protect her the day Antonin and Rabastan came to his home? It didn't make sense. Besides, Fenrir was off in France. She knew how he operated. With the Full Moon at the end of the month, he would need a few weeks to stalk his intended prey. If Augustus was able to get him into France, he would still be there.

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense."

She wasn't ready to accuse him of lying just yet. Not until she understood his reasons for doing so in the first place.


	111. April 20th

April 20th

Draco was nowhere to be seen when Hermione opened her eyes the next morning. She was thankful that she didn't have to talk to him again so soon after their unnerving evening. There was a great deal on her mind that she wanted to sort through before she was forced to endure another conversation with the wizard again. Despite not asking her if it was all right to do so and despite having a warm, comfortable home where he could find shelter instead, he'd slept on the ground only a few feet away. His reasons were still unclear for the late night visit. Her addled mind wondered if it was his own particular way of ensuring that she remained safe in the forest by herself. The man was a mystery she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to solve.

It bothered her that he tried to lie to her about Fenrir betraying her hiding place to her husband. There seemed no reason for it. Draco was playing a game she didn't know the rules to and she was frustrated. Was he still working for the Resistance? Or was he a renegade with no set loyalty to anyone but himself? She had to understand which it was in order to know how to act around him.

Some moments it felt like she had been playing a game every second of her entire life. It was difficult to remember what life was like before she was thrown into her broom cupboard. Of course there were flashes of memories that struck her from time to time, but for the most part, the person she was hadn't been born until the door slammed shut leaving her in complete darkness. Hermione Granger the Know-It-All Gryffindor Prefect who loved one of her best friends like a brother and the other as so much more died in that small space. What was left in her place when the light was finally in her eyes once more was not the same person. In order to survive her new reality, she had to learn the intricate rules of the game. Learn them and become the best damned player that had ever lived.

She found the challenges of being a Death Eater in the permanent service of the Dark Lord to be a bit trying at times, but she reveled in the moments when she got it right. Several choices were presented to her over the years. If she had said 'no', her arm wouldn't have been branded with her master's Dark Mark. She could have continued to exist in a subservient position somewhere within the regime. Other Muggle-borns would have given _anything_ for just the option of becoming a Death Eater. But, they weren't allowed. Although Lord Voldemort might have seen the intrinsic value in all magical blood, not all of his followers felt the same. He'd exploited those with archaic Pureblood ideals and prejudices because they were the ones with the most power and influence when he was a young, aspiring Dark Lord. Once his position as ruler was absolute, he could afford to ignore some of his followers' most abhorrent demands.

Those who weren't as fortunate as she were relegated to the lowest rungs of society. They were well-fed and cared for, of course, but they would never be able to enjoy the luxuries and freedoms that she had. No matter how many of them might strive to prove their abilities and by extension their worth, _she_ was the only Muggle-born who had ever been allowed to become a true Death Eater. It had been a controversial decision. Many of the more veteran Death Eaters had not been in favor. She was seen to be too much of a potential liability. But, she didn't care what they thought. _She_ made the decision to extend her arm to her master. Antonin even tried to talk her out of it several times to no avail. By the time her training was complete, Hermione was ready to lay her life down for the Dark Lord and do his bidding.

As she cleaned up the small mess left behind by sleeping in the forest the night before, she tried to push any further thoughts of her past out of her mind. There was plenty of time to dwell on the worst of it all later. She could spend the rest of her life worrying about the choices she made when she was younger when she was somewhere safe.

Yet again in her time as a fugitive, she was at a loss as to where to go next. Most of her former safe places were no longer. With both Antonin and the Resistance actively seeking her out, she was in even more danger than she had been in previously. At least if she stayed out of the main Resistance strongholds, they'd mostly left her alone. She imagined that following the loss of one of their leaders, she would be hunted proactively from then on.

Her final decision was to simply wander through the forest for the day. It was peaceful and she felt safe there amongst the trees. There was no rush to get anywhere else. Few knew the significance of the forest. If she was lucky, she might be able to spend a few more days there without being spotted or captured. When the sun began to sink in the sky, she sought out another dark corner to set up camp for the third night in a row.

She wasn't surprised to hear the same footsteps meters away as she built her fire again. Part of her expected him to show up. He might not have given her any verbal indication that he would return, but she knew. Perhaps they were beginning to get to know each other much better than she ever anticipated. While she used the Muggle lighter she'd stolen months earlier from an unsuspecting smoker in a pub to light the fire she'd built, Draco dropped a paper sack of delicious smelling greasy takeaway next to her without saying a single word. Her stomach growled at the promise of hot food. He took his own sack to the opposite side of the campfire.

In a further repeat of the night before, neither of them were in a rush to speak. They sat on the ground eating their dinner with the sounds of the fire crackling in their ears. Only when she was finished consuming every morsel of her dinner did she choose to ask him the question that was still bothering her tremendously. Maybe if she asked it enough times, she might actually get him to answer.

"How'd you find me here, Draco? I didn't use magic."

His face lit up with an amused grin. Finishing off the mouthful of food still in his mouth, he took his time to answer, annoying her even further in the process. Losing her patience, she asked a second question before he could answer his first.

"Did you put another tracking spell on me?"

"No, Granger, I didn't. Only put one on that coat of yours because it was convenient."

"Then how do you do it? How do you keep finding me when I'm being very careful?"

She wanted to slap his smug face when he started chuckling. Why was he being so difficult? It was a simple question. He seemed like the kind of person that enjoyed bragging to anyone who would listen just how powerful and clever he was. She wanted to know his secrets. What made him such an excellent tracker?

"If I revealed my secrets, I wouldn't be necessary anymore, would I? My only value to the Dark Lord is as his best tracker. The _moment_ I'm no longer necessary, I'll be killed. Once I'm dead, there will be no more Malfoys."

He might have been smiling, but she knew he was pained by the statement he made. The reality of knowing that he was considered disposable was a sad one that she knew was likely true. There was a valid reason why they hadn't interacted much in the years since they were at Hogwarts together. His family was quite simply a disgrace and an embarrassment to the regime. If they had been wiped out, no one would have shed a single tear.

"Why have you never gotten married?"

The impertinent question came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It was an incredibly personal thing to ask, but one she was deeply curious about. Though they weren't highly respected any longer, the Malfoy family still possessed two very important qualities that many young witches would look for in a potential mate: good looks and lots and lots of money. Their vault continued to grow with Lucius' savvy business investments. Due to Narcissa rarely leaving the manor, she wasn't in the habit of spending a great deal of his money on new dress robes. No one could deny that they were still a very handsome family. Surely there was some shallow Halfblood or Muggle-born out there that wouldn't mind the stigma of their shame for a life free from worry of want.

It was apparent within moments of the words being spoken aloud that he was uncomfortable with her question. Part of her felt guilty, the rest wanted to know the truth. His reluctance to answer at first wasn't a surprise. Personal knowledge could be used against someone at any time. She didn't _plan_ on holding whatever he said against him, but without an accurate view of the future, she couldn't be sure of what she would do if required. Finally, after at least a solid minute of tense silence, he spoke.

"Only woman I ever wanted to marry was denied to me. Married off to some worthless Rosier."

He didn't offer any details. They were unnecessary. Hermione vaguely remembered there being a major scandal not too many years after the war ended with him getting involved with young Astoria Greengrass. The witch had only been out of Hogwarts for a year or two. Despite the change in his circumstances following the end of the war, the feelings she had for him from their time together in Slytherin were still very much alive. They wanted to marry, but Astoria's father wouldn't allow the match. He wanted something better for his youngest daughter than a Malfoy. When they tried to elope, they were caught and a more suitable husband was found for her instead.

No one had seen Draco publicly with any other woman since the girl was married off. If he had relationships, they were very well hidden. It was evident that he did not want to talk about the failure of his love life any longer. Hermione carefully changed the subject to something less personal.


	112. April 21st

April 21st

She didn't know where she was. Everything was strange. The darkness that surrounded her kept Hermione from getting a clear idea of what was happening. Sounds flooded her ears that made no sense at all. She was disoriented. Like she was stuck in a terrible nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. Her heart pounded in her ears mixing with the cacophony of discordant noises that she didn't understand. Whispering. Rustling in the trees. Footsteps in the grass. Heavy breathing. The deep bark of a dog in the distance. Where was she?

This had happened a few times before in her life. Each occurrence was as frightening as the time before. She wasn't sure what brought it on or why. One second she could be perfectly all right, the next second she couldn't remember how she got to where she was. If it was stress or anxiety or simply being stuck in complete darkness, she could never be certain. She thought the first time it happened was when she was in her broom cupboard, but she wasn't sure what was a memory and what was a figment of her tortured imagination. Trusting what she believed were memories hadn't always been the right course of action.

Maybe the episodes were brought on by what she saw in her dreams, the bits and pieces of images that flew at her while she slept that she could never remember when she woke. Or maybe it was because she was exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could cure. No one knew. If she was back in Hogsmeade in her own bed, she would be gently woken up by her husband and forced to swallow a damned potion she hated. It stopped the disorientation, the fear, the cold sweats, but only by making her sleep for several days straight. She _loathed_ when he made her drink it because it proved to the world that she had weaknesses. She didn't want anyone to know the truth. They could use it against her if they did.

Rabastan was always trying to figure out how he could use her periods of sick leave from the Ministry to force her out of her position. It bothered him from the first day they entered their special corner of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to start their new department. He thought that it was only fair that since he was both older than she and a follower of the Dark Lord for decades longer that he be given the authority to run the office. When Lord Voldemort made it clear to them in no uncertain terms that they would be _equal_ within the office, he'd all but thrown a temper tantrum. If he suspected for even a single moment that she was unfit for the job, the younger Lestrange would use her perceived illness against her for his own benefit. The wizard was a snake who thought only of himself. It was one of the traits that Hermione admired most about him.

Lying on the hard ground, bits and pieces began to come back to her. She could vaguely remember where she was. Slowly, it made more sense. The Forest of Dean. It was where she'd been safe before. Her boys were with her. Ron was gone, but then he came back. He always did. As much as he infuriated her over the years, he had been loyal. Flawed and imperfect, in so many ways, of course. She understood the desire to leave Harry alone to fight the fight she didn't ask to be dragged into. Knowing that any second of the day she could find herself dead for no other reason than she got in the way of a madman feeling he had to murder her best friend made her want to run too. If she had anyone left that she could run to, she might have done exactly what Ron had. They were all children! Forced to fight a war that should've never been their burden. Poor Harry. It wasn't like he asked for this life. He didn't want anyone to get hurt.

"Harry? Harry, where are you?"

She couldn't see him anywhere. They weren't inside the tent any longer. Where did it go? Had they been separated? At that time of night, they should've all been asleep. Why couldn't she hear their snores? Or even just their breathing? Had she been left alone again?

"Harry?"

A hand gently touched her shoulder. Relieved that she wasn't alone, she looked up to see a worried Draco staring back down at her. He was on his knees, hovering over her body looking as pale as she'd ever seen him. Hermione couldn't understand why he was there. When did he get there? _Why_?

"Malfoy? Why are you here?"

His brow furrowed at her question. The hand that was laid on her shoulder reached up to brush against the skin of her face. Feeling the cool palm against her cheek and then her forehead confused her further. Never in her acquaintance with the wizard had she seen him behave so kindly. At least not to her. He'd made it clear many times before that he had no use for a filthy, little Mudblood like her. His hand remained cupping her cheek as he stared into her eyes. She considered pushing it off. Only for a moment or two.

"I've been here for hours, Hermione. Remember? You were building the fire and I brought you that dreadful takeaway? If I'd known how terrible it was going to taste, I would've just picked some berries in the forest."

He was trying to make a joke. Malfoy didn't make jokes with her. In the past, there had been more than a few incidences when he'd made jokes _at_ her expense. Once he mentioned their rather dismal meal, she remembered bits and pieces of their conversation. She felt her heart rate begin to decrease. Her thoughts became less fuzzy. They'd talked about Astoria Greengrass. Or, rather he'd mentioned her and then out of politeness, she'd changed the subject. Something about how peaceful the forest was. And then he'd made a disparaging remark about the food. They both laughed when she suggested eating the paper sack that it came in would be more appetizing. In truth, however, she would've eaten just about anything and been thankful. Life as a fugitive made it so her palate wasn't quite so picky as it once was.

Carefully, she sat up. Draco leaned back on his heels. Relaxed somewhat, she could still see the look of concern splashed across his features. He was unnerved by her confusion, by her _weakness_. As the nighttime sounds of the forest began to make more sense and they no longer sounded so frightening, Hermione began to feel ashamed and embarrassed. Mostly embarrassed. She wanted him to disappear again, to Disapparate away to wherever it was he went when he wasn't around her. Dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap, she felt the burning shame creep up her neck and then onto her face. He seemed in no rush to move away. His concern was evident.

"Hermione…"

He started to say something, but stopped himself. Frustrated with the entire situation, she wanted him to leave. Perhaps if she was rude, he wouldn't linger any longer. Sleeping on the ground of the forest just meters from her when he could easily spend the night in a soft bed made little sense.

"Say what you were going to say."

He sighed.

"You called out for Harry. Potter is _dead_ , Hermione."

She didn't appreciate the words she said in the midst of her confusion being thrown back in her face. Had she not been humiliated enough by the weakening of her battered brain? Showing that side to a potential enemy could get her killed.

"Of course I know that, Malfoy!"

Despite her snapping at him, Draco wasn't upset. If anything, the concern etched across his face only deepened. She didn't have the energy to deal with him any longer. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and finger, she willed away the headache that was pounding in her brain. Without asking her any further impertinent questions, the wizard reached into the pocket of his robes to remove a small vial. Any hope that that a potion would banish the pain encouraged her to accept the offering. Hermione swallowed it in one gulp, pushing aside the fear that he would ever give her something harmful.

Within moments, her eyelids grew heavy. She laid back down, deeply asleep only moments later.


	113. April 22nd

April 22nd

There was no easy way to tell exactly how long Hermione had been asleep. Based on the stiffness in her limbs and the aching in her back, it had to have been longer than she was used to being able to remain asleep while sleeping on the ground. The sun was high in the sky, beating its warm rays down on her face. Whatever Draco had given her to take for the pain of her pounding headache must have kept her unconscious for a long time. Far from being the pleasant strawberry flavor she'd gotten used to with the potions Antonin made her take after she got confused, the bitter aftertaste still clung to her tongue hours after she swallowed it. Draco's potion also wasn't nearly as gentle. Probably some variation of dreamless sleep with an extra element to dull pain. Whatever it was, it was potent. She almost longed for another vial just for the chance to be asleep again.

It had been foolish to trust the wizard. Especially after collapsing into her most weakened state. He could have poisoned her or incapacitated her to a dangerous degree. Hermione was humiliated that anyone had to witness her when she was confused. Knowing that Draco _Malfoy_ , of all the people in the world, saw it firsthand enraged her. It was bad enough that the episodes of disorientation happened at all. She loathed when they'd occurred in the privacy of her own home with her husband the only one present. Even knowing that Antonin would be in just as much danger from outside enemies if it was discovered the extent of the damage to her mental faculties that a life filled with violence and degradation brought upon her, she didn't want him to see her at her worst. Those moments shifted the power of their relationship even further to his side than it already was.

Allowing any sort of power shift in Draco's direction was dangerous. He was playing his own game. She had yet to figure out the rules. If it would suit his purposes and assist his quest to bring respectability back to his disgraced family, she knew he wouldn't hesitate to use whatever knowledge he had against her. They might have developed an odd sort of friendship, but that would change nothing. His goal and reasons for aligning himself with the Resistance took precedence over everything else. She didn't blame him. If anything, she harbored an odd sort of respect for the man's convictions. Turning away from the Dark Lord and the life he'd known was a perilous gamble. He could end up dead just as easily. Perhaps, even more so.

Carefully, paying special attention to the aching in her heavy limbs, Hermione sat up. There was no sign of the wizard. Part of her feared that he was already figuring out just how he could use his newfound knowledge to his benefit. Maybe he was in the midst of the Resistance leaders that moment telling them everything that he saw. Somehow imagining people like Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood knowing that she'd lost a bit of what used to make her Hermione Granger bothered her tremendously. Maybe the odd Ravenclaw and her father were already printing up an article in their ridiculous publication about how the Dark Lord's favorite pet had lost her mind.

Hermione _wasn't_ crazy. She knew that just as she knew how to inhale and exhale. For the vast majority of the time, she was completely coherent and her mind worked just as it should. Yes, the periods of confusion and disorientation seemed to be getting much more frequent and perhaps even a bit worse in their intensity, but she was _not_ crazy. Thoughts about her parents and whether or not they were dead or alive came suddenly to the forefront of her mind. When she stopped to try to work out the answer to the question of her parents' fate, she struggled to separate reality from lie. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she _knew_ the truth. Why wasn't she able to remember which it was? Flashes of memories, either true or false, of spending time with her parents with her small family mixed in with memories of learning they were dead. Why was it not possible to determine which was true? The answer had to be locked away in her brain.

Unfortunately, the only person she knew who could answer that question for her definitively was her husband. Antonin would know if they were killed soon after the war ended or if they'd gone on to live a long life to die of an advanced age. _Or_ if they were still living in her childhood home enjoying visits from their only child and her family. He could help her figure out where the truth was buried inside her mind. Of course, getting close enough to him that he could actually _answer_ wasn't a possibility. She wanted to stay as far away from the man she once shared a bed with as she could.

His behavior the day he almost caught her still bothered her in the rare moments she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Cornwall. If he was so determined to drag her back to Hogsmeade, why hadn't he raised his wand to cast a spell once? From her perspective, all he'd done magically was erect the Anti-Disapparition ward. He didn't even send a stunner in her direction when she was running. It wouldn't have been difficult to hit her in the back. She hadn't even attempted to run in the same zigzag pattern she used when Corban Yaxley and the idiot guards at the Hogsmeade gates were pursuing her. Not only could he have easily stunned her, he could've done much worse to her if he'd only lifted his wand. Was this a new tactic? When had he ever _not_ resorted to violence to get his way? It was almost as if the wizard who chased after her was a complete stranger. What had happened to her husband in the time that she'd been away?

She didn't want to linger any longer in the forest. Somehow, it no longer felt like a safe refuge. Too many memories from her previous times in the location were jumbling together and making her confused. She certainly didn't need another incident like she had with Draco around to witness. Only moments after folding her blankets and pushing them back inside her beaded bag, Hermione headed straight for the edge of the forest. It would take the better part of an entire day on foot to get where she wanted to go, but at least she was moving.

It was fruitless to worry about where Draco was or what he was doing with his newfound knowledge that she wasn't as mentally stable as she should be. The moment happened. He saw it. No amount of anxiety or wishing could change it. There was no sense worrying whether or not he would turn over the information to the Resistance. If he did, it would simply be another complication that she would work through. After all, she knew how to adapt to changes as they came to her. She'd been doing it for most of her life.

Mostly, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she was embarrassed. It was one thing to be confused and frightened when she was alone like the morning she woke up in her tent in the village unsure about her parents. That was bad enough, but to have someone else witness it was much worse. When she was by herself, she could talk herself into believing that everything was fine, normal even. With a witness, denial was much more difficult.

The first time she'd ever had a similar situation around Antonin, she had been humiliated when it was over. They had not been married very long. Maybe a month or two. Alone in their home, they were both trying to sleep after an eventful night. Her husband was bound and determined that she would get pregnant immediately. Hoping naïvely that he would be less interested in a sexual relationship with her when she was with child, Hermione had gladly gone along with succumbing to his urges when they suited him. A few weeks of inconvenience and annoyance for several months of freedom from his touch sounded ideal. Of course, she learned the hard way that the man's primal instincts only seemed to increase when she was pregnant. Rolling her eyes at the memory, she thought about that horrible night.

He hadn't known what to do when she started to call out for Harry. And then for Ron. At first, he thought she had just woken up from a bad dream. Antonin smoothed her hair away from her face and gently tried to shush her with calming noises and words. It helped at first… until she saw his face in the light of the bedside lamp he switched on. Forgetting that he was her husband, all she could think was the Death Eater who cursed her in the Department of Mysteries and then dueled her again in the Muggle cafe after Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding somehow managed to make his way into her bedroom. She'd screamed and scratched at his face, drawing blood on his cheek. He tried to hold her arms down on the mattress and got a swift kick to his bollocks for the effort. To his credit, he never once got angry. Antonin had a discerning way about him that she didn't expect. He always knew when she was disoriented. Never once did he take out his frustrations on her when she was in that state.

Eventually, his physical strength was able to overpower her frame. When she grew tired of fighting, which didn't take very long, he was able to calm her down enough to understand that she wasn't in any danger with him. Bits and pieces began to come back to her until she was no longer confused. Humiliated and ashamed, she'd turned on her side to cry. Antonin begged her to let him take her to St. Mungo's, but she refused. Even with promises that he'd find a Healer that could be bribed or intimidated enough to keep their visit off of the official hospital records, she continued to say no. The thought of having a complete stranger root around in her brain looking for defects frightened her. Ignoring the possibility that there was something seriously wrong with her felt like a better option than finding out for certain she was cracked. Knowing he wasn't going to win that row, her husband disappeared the next day for several hours. When he returned, his pockets clinked with vials of various potions. He was prepared for the next time she had an _incident._

Hermione pressed on through the forest. All she needed was a warm bed and a hot shower. Maybe even a fresh meal that tasted better than cardboard. She made the decision to dip into her funds to find a hotel that could provide all three.


	114. April 23rd

April 23rd

With a stomach full of food that didn't make her want to vomit and freshly washed from the perfectly acceptable shower in her hotel room, Hermione had been able to fall into a deep healing sleep soon after checking in. She had the presence of mind to pay for a couple of days up front so there was no rush to getting up that first morning. Between the lingering effects of both her embarrassing episode of confusion, Draco's potion, and the long walk through the forest, her body needed a great deal of rest. She slept almost the entire day away. Night was just about to fall when she finally forced herself out from underneath the covers of the borrowed bed.

Her stomach growled in protest from lack of food, but her first priority was to shower again. Food was relatively easy to procure on the run. Hot showers, however, had to be taken advantage of whenever offered. She lingered a long time under the spray of the hot water. Even knowing that it was unwise to allow herself to remain in such a vulnerable place for a long period of time, she wanted the feel of the warmth on her skin. Simple pleasures in life were often thrown by the wayside when one was in fear for their very existence. Allowing herself the opportunity to enjoy the normalcy of a long, hot shower wasn't asking the Universe for too much. If she ever had the opportunity to exist again in a place where she wasn't on the run nor in fear that she would be captured at any moment by someone who meant her harm, she would never take even the simple act of bathing for granted again. Remembering the deep tub that dominated the luxurious bathroom she shared with her husband made her want to groan aloud at her past stupidity. How did she allow even a _single_ day to pass where she didn't slip into the marble tub filled with bubbles and hot water?

Hot water, even in a commercial establishment, had to run out eventually. She knew that she was pressing her luck by remaining in there any longer. Reluctantly turning the taps off, Hermione stepped out of the hotel shower. The towels offered were never enough to complete a satisfactory job, but she really had no other option. Hotels where the staff accepted cash and required no credit card for a reservation weren't exactly known for being terribly opulent. She had to make due with what was offered in exchange for Muggles who kept their mouths shut and their curiosities to themselves. When she was satisfied that at least she was no longer dripping with water, she wrapped the inadequate towel around her torso and stepped outside.

Just as he had months earlier, Draco made himself comfortable on the side of the bed she hadn't slept on. He sat with his back against the headboard flipping through the pages of the hotel's information book where the local delivery menus were kept. Glancing up only briefly when she entered the room clad only in the thin towel, a small smirk appeared on his lips. He continued to flip through the pages while Hermione rolled her eyes and searched for clean clothes to wear.

"I've always been fascinated by the Muggles' method of delivering food. It seems like such an odd service to offer."

"Not everyone grew up in a manor full of house-elves who could bring them whatever they desired with a snap of their fingers."

"What a positively barbaric existence!"

His mock surprise threatened to make the witch laugh. No matter how frustrating it was to find the wizard making himself at home in _her_ private hotel room, he had his moments when he could be somewhat amusing. She would have never fathomed that he had more than one side to him than obnoxious git before the new year began. What else was she destined to learn about the man as time wore on? With her clothes in hand, she disappeared back into the bathroom to change. As soon as she was fully dressed, she returned to confront the man for his unexpected presence yet _again_ in her life.

"Your claim that you don't have a tracking spell on me is a complete lie."

Far from being offended, Draco burst out into loud laughter. Hermione was surprised by the response. He was not a wizard who was quick to allow his emotions, even positive, seemingly innocuous ones, to overtake his countenance. At his father's knee, he learned how to control every single expression he possessed. The Malfoys were gifted in their abilities to remain perfectly neutral on the outside, leaving nothing but mystery on the inside. It was a trait that she had to work extremely hard at to convey while it seemed to come naturally to them.

"If you think that you are going to trip me up enough that I'll come right out and admit how it is that I'm tracking you, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

"So you're claiming that there is _not_ a tracking spell on me or any item within my possession?"

"Check for yourself, if you don't believe me. Surely you know the simple incantation to find them."

She rolled her eyes at his suggestion. Of course she knew how to discover a tracking charm. Antonin taught her how to tell the difference in dozens of them. The problem with checking, however, was she had to use the magic she wasn't allowed to use. One spell and her husband would be breaking down the door of her hotel room. Draco knew that. He also knew that he would be in a great deal of trouble if it was discovered that he knew where she was and hadn't offered up that information. If he thought the Malfoy family could fall no further, he would be proven absolutely wrong.

"You know I can't do that. The Trace is on me, just like everyone else. Would you like my husband to find you alone with me in a hotel room? How do you suppose he would think this looks?"

Undeterred, Draco laughed again. He tossed the hotel's book aside to give her his full attention.

"And what were you doing alone with Aberforth Dumbledore those days you two left the village? Picking wildflowers? Searching for that ridiculous creature the Lovegoods are always going on about? The Rumpled-Horned Snackcake, is it?"

He was right and how she hated it when he was. Since the day she lost her temper and managed to get Aberforth captured by the Death Eaters, she hadn't been tempted to even _try_ to use what she learned. It seemed too dangerous. Her emotions had been all over the place the day she attacked the Resistance leader to his detriment. Perhaps if she was able to remain calm enough, she would be able to apply what she learned. If she wasn't, however, it was highly likely that this time she would not be able to escape from Antonin. There had already been too many close calls. She was a fool if she thought she could continue to tempt fate.

Just to be safe, she shoved her beaded bag into her pocket after she pulled out her second wand. If she had to run, she wanted to be able to do so in a moment. With her real wand in one hand and her unregistered wand in her dominant hand, Hermione took several deep breaths. In order to cloak her magic she had to be completely calm. Maybe if she was able to practice it a bit more without fear of capture, she might get to the point where she was able to cloak it without thought. The only place she could be certain that she would be able to get enough practice would be right under her husband's nose. That was hardly the most ideal place to be. She would just have to make due with what she had.

Several minutes passed before she felt confident enough to attempt even the most basic of spells to search for a tracking charm. Relieved when she was successful, she felt her confidence grow a bit stronger. She tried a few more before she decided Draco had been telling the truth. Whatever it was that he was doing to track her down all over the country, it wasn't a tracking spell placed on her or any of her possessions. His secret was safe for a little bit longer.

"How are you able to find me if not with a tracking spell?"

"I'm still not going to tell you my secret, Hermione. No matter how nicely you ask."

His wink made her want to curse his eyes. He was annoying her. Clearly she had spent too much of her life having every question she asked answered. It had been part of her department's function after all. Having someone so blatantly disregard her demand for answers was infuriating. Draco sought to change the topic of conversation by taking a look around the room and sneering.

"Not a very nice place, is it?"

Her annoyance once increased.

"I don't have access to my vault. My options are limited."

"I have a house and _no one_ would suspect you were staying there."

Draco's unexpected offer made her forget her irritation long enough to laugh in response. The very idea of living in Malfoy Manor with Lucius and Narcissa hovering around nearby was unfathomable. Not only would she rather be just about anywhere else in the entire world than in the house where she was first tortured, she couldn't stand his parents. She would prefer Antonin to find her and drag her back to Scotland by her hair.

"I'm not talking about the Manor, if that's what you find so funny. It's another house entirely. Not even in Wiltshire. I'm rarely there, but it's private and _much_ nicer than this horrid place."

He rose from the bed. Forcing a promise out of her that she would at least consider the offer, he exited the hotel room leaving her alone once more.


	115. April 24th

April 24th

Just as she promised Draco she would, Hermione _did_ consider his offer to allow her to hide in his home. She thought about it for most of the night and part of the next morning. Then decided absolutely not. Their relationship was still undefined. She didn't know what his angle was or what he truly wanted yet. As much as he might have made it seem clear over the previous several months that he had no desire to harm her or turn her over to her husband, she still couldn't be sure that agreeing to any of his suggestions would be the right course of action. Playing right into his hands could be a very dangerous decision.

She still hadn't forgotten his claim that Fenrir Greyback was the one who told Antonin where she could be found. Why he felt the urge to lie about something like that was beyond her comprehension. Until she learned his motivations for any of the choices he made and actions he took, she couldn't trust herself around him. Perhaps he had her best interests at heart solely because he was a good person after all, despite how often the universe tried to grind him into the ground since the return of Lord Voldemort and the subsequent murder of Harry Potter. It seemed unlikely, however, but there was always the possibility that he had simply grown fond of her existence. _Highly_ unlikely, but still possible. She was leaning closer to the idea that he was using her in his quest for something. Whatever that something was was just another mystery.

If he could lie to her about Fenrir, he could be lying to her about anything. Maybe the offer of shelter in his private home was a ruse. He could have the intention of selling her to the Resistance to pay for her crimes. They would never forgive her for Aberforth Dumbledore's capture. Though he hadn't been executed yet, she knew it would only be a matter of time. Each time Draco managed to find her again in the forest or in her hotel room, he'd left copies of the Daily Prophet and any other publication he could find that he thought she would find interesting. Keeping her up to date with current affairs wasn't just a kindness on his part. She understood that he _wanted_ her to know what was happening in the wizarding world. Why? Why was it so important that she know about rebels and the Ministry? She hadn't been able to put the pieces together. Not yet.

Until she knew more about Draco's plans, especially where they concerned her personally, she knew she couldn't afford to lay around waiting in places where he already knew she was. As much as it pained her to leave the hotel a day earlier than planned, she knew it was no longer safe to linger. If he was truly as gifted at tracking as he had so far proven himself to be, her removal to another place would just be a mere inconvenience. He could find her again if so inclined.

She knew the money that Augustus gave her had to last for a while. His generosity since stumbling back into her life at the end of January had been substantial. Without him caring for her in the Leaky Cauldron, she would likely have succumbed to her illness in front of a less sympathetic person. Providing her money not just once, but twice, had also been kind. She hated to dip into it for her bus fare. When it ran out, she couldn't be sure he would be around to replenish the loss. Still, allowing herself to take Muggle transportation saved her feet from the long journey she had in mind.

Returning to London was a foolish idea. Even she was aware that it was ridiculous to go back to the city that was a favorite haunt of the very men and women she was trying to avoid. Antonin's daily tasks didn't bring him much to the city any longer. For many years after he was no longer required to personally train some of the Dark Lord's chosen few, he had his own office inside the Ministry of Magic. Almost like a regular person. His orders changed when the Dark Lord wanted him by his side more often. She had no reason to believe that her husband had any reason to be in London. As long as she stayed away from the areas of the city where she knew that wizards and witches tended to gather, she thought she would be all right.

Except there was one stop she wanted to make while she was in the city. Anyone who knew where she wanted to go would think her mad or stupid or a combination of the two. Truthfully, she knew damn well that she shouldn't even be in London, let alone so close to Diagon Alley. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn't always the most inconspicuous of people. She could change her hair or wear a hat or put on glasses that she didn't need and _still_ she would be recognized. Her reputation had been well-earned. There were those who would run in the opposite direction if they saw her coming, those who would stand their ground and possibly spit in her face, and those that naïvely had no fear of what she was capable. She preferred the first sort. At least they rarely made any trouble.

The sun had set already and the city lights illuminated the area surrounding where the Leaky Cauldron _used_ to be. Despite hearing about the explosion from multiple sources, including two that were actually there when it happened, she hadn't actually believed the truth of the devastation that the Muggle bomb created. Whether or not Theodore Nott Senior was indeed the one responsible didn't matter in that moment. She could worry about the old man later. If Draco was to be believed, she was in danger, but that wasn't exactly a new experience for her. Most of her life had been spent in some level of consistent danger. She was more sure how to react than when she _wasn't._

Nothing that either Augustus or Draco described could have prepared her for what she witnessed with her own eyes. It was a miracle that either one of them made it out alive. In fact, knowing how close Augustus was to the actual explosion, she was amazed that he hadn't been even more injured than he was. A spell had been cast over the immediate area. To the clueless Muggles that walked past the area on their way to their sad, little lives, they saw nothing but a boarded up building. Just like the memorial to Harry's parents that their ruined home became, those with magical abilities could see the true state of the building flickering back and forth between the demolished form and the lie the Muggles could see. If she had not have known that that was where the famous tavern and inn once stood, she would've never guessed what she was staring at.

It saddened her in a manner she hadn't expected. _That_ had been the first magical building she had ever walked in when she was a precocious eleven year old on her way to buy her first wand. _That_ had been the place she met Harry when he was living there before third year. A dozen other memories flashed through her mind. Without even being aware, the Leaky Cauldron had been an important part of her past. There had been Death Eater meetings there and countless drinks shared with dates. She used to bring Ollie there for a bowl of hot soup after Christmas shopping in the Alley. Antonin announced their engagement to a large gathering of their friends and comrades before ordering drinks for the whole place in an uncharacteristic display of generosity.

What was to become of the shell of the building that held so many memories? Augustus explained that the explosion was still under investigation. Until the Ministry was satisfied that they were able to uncover every last clue, no one was touching the remnants. She highly doubted that another structure would be built to replace the one that was lost. With Tom the proprietor killed, there wasn't anyone left to rebuild. Likely, it would become another monument to those lost.

She knew she had been there too long. Even simply walking past it at a brisk pace was too much time in the well-travelled area. Pushing aside the sadness that plagued her thoughts, Hermione quickly wandered away to find where a room could be had for the night in another district within the city.


	116. April 25th

April 25th

Warmer temperatures brought a great number of visitors to the city of London. All day long it seemed that the tourists hailing from all parts of the globe filled the streets. Hermione felt a little more at ease wandering the streets when there were so many others around her to blend in with. Despite the constant danger she was in every single second that she spent outside exposed to unfriendly eyes, she enjoyed having the freedom to walk through the streets in relative anonymity.

In the Muggle world, she was no one. Just as she had been long ago before she knew what she was. Other than the constant nagging fear that someone amongst the crowd would recognize her, she felt like there wasn't a single person as far as her eyes could see that gave one single damn who she was or what she had done in her past. Most hardly even gave her a second's notice. If she tried to do the same anywhere in the wizarding world, she would be noticed in a heartbeat. She never felt like she could just wander through life with no cares or concerns. _Someone_ was always watching, always judging, always waiting for her to make a mistake.

Once the checkout time for her hotel room arrived, Hermione had nothing else to do but walk. She understood the dangers. Understood and didn't care. It killed time. If she crossed the path of an enemy, she would deal with it when it happened. There was no sense in staying permanently cooped up inside a hole just counting her breaths. A person would go completely mad if they tried to sustain that sort of existence for too long. Logically, her best bet for not getting caught was to find an abandoned building or home and not leave it until absolutely necessary. During the harsh winter months, she had no issues with hiding indoors. With the milder weather, it seemed a sin to waste the opportunity to enjoy the sunshine.

Life had become even more exhausting than it already was with her self-imposed restrictions. It was truly no way to live. _Something_ would need to change soon. Wandering around with no purpose other than to not be caught was also no way to live. Hermione was used to having a cause, a reason to fight. Whether it was for the freedom of house-elves, the fight to keep her best friend alive, the need to survive and make her enemies bleed, or simply to keep alive the regime she helped build, she had a purpose. Perhaps that was the most difficult part of her current situation. With no plan for the future, there was also no hope for the future.

She hadn't allowed herself to stop and feel sorry for herself for many years. There was a time in her life when the smallest action or harsh word would send her scurrying to the closest private area she could find to cry and wallow in her perceived misery. It was embarrassing to remember how often she used to cry. Hurt feelings and mortification weren't good reasons to break down. She would always be grateful for Antonin teaching her how to control her emotions. They might not have always seen eye-to-eye, but for the most part, he usually had her best interests at heart.

Even before they were married and their lives irrevocably linked, he'd strived to mold her into the perfect model of a Death Eater. He understood better than most that the world was cruel and filled with hatred and strife. If one did not conform to the new order, they would never survive. What might seem to be a complete undoing of her character was what helped keep her alive in a world that was determined to rid itself of people just like her. _That_ was why she would never apologize to anyone who knew her in the past for the person she'd become. Everyone changed as they grew older. To not understand that very basic fact denoted a lack of experience in the ugliness of living or a lifetime spent sheltered from the harsher aspects of reality. If everyone remained exactly the same as they were while they were in school, what was the point of living? Growth and change were never-ceasing. One would continue until the very moment they died.

As night fell and London grew darker, she should have felt more ill at ease than she did in the daytime. Maybe she would have when she was younger and couldn't take care of herself. In that moment, she was grateful for the darkness. It was more exciting. Besides, her foul, pensive mood was better suited for a time that wasn't bright and cheery. The melancholy that first struck her when she was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron hadn't yet gone away. There was always a chance that it never would. A representation of her childhood and her entrance into a new world was nothing but a hole in the ground. Pretty fitting, actually.

One of the best parts of being in a large city was the fact that it seemed like they rarely ever slept. Something was always happening no matter the time. Hermione wandered through the streets watching the various kinds of people going about their lives. Even an ordinary day like Wednesday could still be filled with excitement. For lack of anything better to do, she imagined what the people she saw were like. What were their families like? What did they fill their days doing? It seemed strange that there was another world right amidst the Muggles that they weren't even aware of.

A cluster of young men, likely university students, stumbled out of a busy pub. Though it wasn't even half past ten, each one of them was well on their way to being completely pissed. Hermione found their loud speech and inappropriate comments about the man who dared to throw them out of his establishment amusing. She found herself envious of them, of their complete ignorance and seeming lack of major responsibilities. What was that like? She had never been able to be completely free and relaxed. In the three years between Augustus foolishly deciding she would be happier with a wizard closer to her own age and when he finally got his head out of his arse, she'd had plenty of opportunities to give in to her baser desires. There had been nights filled with too much alcohol, illicit potions that would've gotten her a sentence in Azkaban if she hadn't possessed a Dark Mark, and more naked debauchery than most women experienced in at least three separate lifetimes. But, there had never been complete freedom. Always in the back of her mind existed the reminder that she could never be entirely at ease. She had to continuously worry about how her actions were perceived. As one of the few female Death Eaters, she could earn a great deal of respect the more depraved, the more licentious, more cruel she was, but a _single_ shed tear or a cautious refusal could mark her as weak. She _hated_ being considered weak above all else.

Her thoughts were so deep and intense that she made the first mistake of any fugitive on the run. She stopped paying attention to every single face within her line of sight. It was a simple rule. If she could see an enemy, they could see her. Pushing aside her jealousy and remembering that she didn't have the luxury of wandering aimlessly, Hermione began scanning the crowd of people for any potential threats. Almost immediately she felt relieved. No one seemed intent on causing her any harm. She took a deep breath and continued her walk.

Wanting to get away from the group of university students that were still making her quite jealous, she turned the corner at the first opportunity she could. Three steps down a darker street proved to be the absolute wrong decision to make. Her eyes landed instantly on a figure up ahead that seemed quite familiar. Convinced at first that she was just imagining bogeymen where they didn't exist, she took a fourth step. The person in question moved in her direction. Once he stood under the light of a lamp, Hermione felt her stomach twist into knots. Of all of the people she could possibly run into in London while she was alone, she didn't expect it to be William Wood.

She longed to curse the damned smirk that appeared on his face when he realized he'd been spotted. How was he able to find her exact location in a city so large? Fears that perhaps Draco had given him lessons in whatever tracking magic he utilized to find her wherever she went raced through her head. It would make sense if Draco wasn't truly on her side. She still hadn't figured him out yet. One second he appeared to be an ally, the next she felt a lingering doubt of his true intentions. In her experience, it wouldn't be a far stretch to imagine that he was teaching the brother of her first murder victim how to track her whereabouts down.

Neither of them were foolish enough to try to use magic in such a crowded area. It would bring too much attention on them if they did. Instead, she spun around in place and began running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. He quickly followed suit. She ignored the shouts from the upset Muggles as they ran through the streets. Her side ached with pain, but she couldn't stop. The risk was too high. This wasn't going to be a trial for her, a chance to plead her case or tell the real truth about the day Aberforth was arrested. Wood had a different agenda. If he caught her, she would be dead.

Only the sudden arrival of two concerned Muggle police officers halted the chase. Evidently, a man chasing a woman through the streets wasn't acceptable even in large cities. Wood's smirk quickly morphed into a scowl when the innocent Muggles demanded to know why they were running. Hermione could tell that he was weighing his options. Using magic might get him the results he desired, but at what cost? The Ministry of Magic was powerful in London. Knowing she had to think fast, she forced her eyes to fill up with tears. Turning to the kinder-looking of the two gentleman, she babbled out a lie.

"I don't know who this man is. I was walking to the tube and he started following me. When I told him to leave me alone, he wouldn't."

A gentle pat to the arm and a couple of "there there"s from the officer later and she was temped to accept the offer of pressing charges against her pursuer. Getting the Muggles involved in their squabble would only create complications she didn't need. Instead, she accepted the offer of an escort to the nearest tube station. When she was inside and convinced that William Wood wasn't near, she made the decision to leave the city. Now that she'd been seen, he would alert the entire Resistance that she was in London. She needed to be anywhere else.


	117. April 26th

April 26th

It had been a close call with William Wood. _Too_ close. Hermione berated herself yet again for her carelessness. What would have happened if the kind Muggle police officers hadn't shown up just at the right time? She hated to think how close she was to the cretin being able to harm her. All of her troubles for almost a year would have been for nothing.

She couldn't exactly blame the wizard for his anger or his desire to see her dead. It was a common enough response for those whose loved ones she had been at least somewhat responsible for ending. She was under no delusions that there wouldn't be a long queue of people anxious to murder her given the chance with no repercussions. Fear kept most of them in line. It was a powerful tool, one she'd used many times over the course of her life. There had been a time that the mere threat of seeing her face alone in a room of the Ministry was one of the greatest terrors a citizen could have. Her reputation was well-earned.

Early on in her career as a Death Eater, it was discovered that she had a gift for getting the reluctant to speak. Antonin's training had unlocked a set of skills she hadn't even known she possessed. Used a couple of times out in the field to the delight of the Dark Lord, a position was found for her within the Inner Circle. She was, of course, resented at first, but in time, _most_ saw how valuable she could be to their regime. Eventually, she was ordered to devote her time to working with the Ministry to improve their own information gathering procedures. She was considered an expert in her field.

So, it was no wonder that she managed to procure a large number of enemies. It came with the territory. She would never apologize for her actions. They were necessary in the moment. Thanks to her hard work, she had been successful in rooting out traitors and those whose intent was to tear down what had been built. Survival wasn't always clean and simple. Sometimes, one had to get their hands dirty in pursuit of progress. A lot of people in their world didn't understand that. They operated under the painfully naïve impression that everything good simply fell into place without the need to do any hard work. She hated them.

The first chance she could after narrowly escaping Wood's clutches was to risk further exposure by buying a train ticket out of the city. Not for the first time, she was thankful that her path crossed Kingsley Shacklebolt's early on in her days as a fugitive. He was able to use his connections in the Muggle world to get her an acceptable form of identification. It wasn't just her world that had grown suspicious and dangerous. Even the Muggles had to worry about violence and those around them pretending to be someone they weren't. Her forged identification kept her from being forced to use confundus charms on the unsuspecting Muggles as she had done in the past. Perhaps one day she would be able to thank the former auror personally for keeping her out of unnecessary bother.

Her destination wasn't important. It only mattered that she get far away from the city. Almost at random, she picked a city she'd had almost no experience with. For whatever reason, in her career, she had never been forced to conduct a raid anywhere within the city of Aberdeen. Maybe that could be a considered a good sign that there weren't many witches or wizards there. Besides, she didn't _think_ anyone would expect her to return to Scotland. Not only was that where her husband and her master both resided, she'd almost been unable to make it out the last time she was there. The very reason why she _shouldn't_ go to Scotland was the very reason she did.

Never had a train ride seemed so long before. She had plenty of trips in her past. None of them felt so tedious. She wasn't sure what the difference was. Perhaps she was waiting for another crisis to pop up. What would it be like to return to a time and place where she wasn't fearful and anxious every single second of the bloody day? Staring at some of the other travelers around her filled her with a gnawing envy that would not lessen. When was the last time they had to worry about a faceless stranger in the crowd murdering them? Had they ever been forced to witness a loved one killed before their very eyes? Maybe a few had. Muggles could be just as violent in their wars with other Muggles.

She began to regret her decision to not even try to leave the country with Augustus. Saying 'no' to her former lover seemed like the sensible answer at the time. How he would even be able to accomplish such a task seemed impossible at that point. There was always a chance that he had connections and skills she didn't know anything about. After all, thirteen years was a long time apart. Likely, they weren't even the same people they were before he was ordered to track down his wife. Hermione certainly felt like the woman she used to be was a practical stranger.

Running with Augustus was never going to be a good idea, she finally managed to convince herself of again. Her reasons for refusal were valid and well thought-out. They hadn't changed since she first uttered her decision to not run. Assuming they were even able to make it out of the country with no issues, it wouldn't take long before their plans came crashing down around them. But, no matter how much she reminded herself that letting him go was necessary, she still missed him. It would've been better for both of them if she'd never gone to Cornwall. All she'd managed to do was muck everything up with her presence. Just like she always did.

Without even registering consciously what she was doing, Hermione's hand slipped into the bag she carried in her pocket. Her mind clutched at thoughts of Augustus while her hand sought out the wilted, crushed bluebell she'd been carrying around for months. One of her first cloaked spells she had been successful at casting halted its decay, but it was already far gone at that point. It served as a reminder of the past that could no longer exist.

When their relationship was new, they both enjoyed sneaking around. It never occurred to either of them at the time that everyone within the Inner Circle knew what they were up to. They imagined they were so clever that no one could figure out they were much more than just friends. Entire weekends were spent in Cornwall in and out of his bed. They enjoyed taking long walks near the water's edge and through the rest of the picturesque countryside. He asked her once a silly question, an attempt to get to know the girl she had once been.

"I imagine you were the perfect, little swot who never got into a single bit of trouble when you were at Hogwarts."

His statement had taken her so off-guard that she couldn't help but laugh. For an intelligent man who once studied the very mysteries of magic as an Unspeakable, he could not be any further from the truth. At war with being either offended by her laughter or charmed by it, Augustus didn't know how to respond. Taking pity on him, Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. Very little could not be forgiven with a kiss.

"I'm afraid you would be very wrong. I was _often_ in trouble. Or at least, in danger of it if any of the professors were aware of what I was doing."

He seemed to struggle to believe her at first. A smirk crossed his lips that she'd seen a few times before when he thought he was hearing an exaggeration.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm not sure I believe you. What could you have possibly done? Snuck out after curfew to meet a boy from another House in an empty classroom? Copied off another student's essay?"

She returned his grin with one of her won. Stumped at first with where exactly she should start to list off her crimes as a young Gryffindor, she chuckled when her eyes fell on a clump of wild bluebells growing near the path they were walking down. Stopping in her tracks, she turned to face the wizard she was already certain that she was in love with.

"When I was a first year, I set Professor Snape's robes on fire during a Quidditch match because I thought he was cursing Harry's broom."

His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline at her confession. For a few seconds he stared at her without speaking until the severity of her actions struck him. She had always loved his laughter and felt a deep pride knowing that she was the reason he was shaking and near hysterical with his own mirth.

"And what did Severus do when you set him on fire? How many years of detention did you get for that act?"

"Not a single moment's worth. He never knew it was me. Too distracted by the fire."

Augustus' laughter continued. When he was able to breathe properly again, he begged her to tell him every single detail of her naughtiness at the Quidditch pitch. She replicated the spell for him, pointing out the similarities between the flames and the flowers surrounding them. He plucked a bloom and tucked it behind her hair with promises that he would never be able to see the flower again without imagining Severus Snape on fire and his devious, little witch the cause.

Hermione had to push aside her wandering thoughts about the wizard and the flower he gave her when the train arrived in the station. Where she was headed next was anyone's guess. Though she still had quite a bit of money in her bag thanks to Augustus' generosity, she wanted to preserve as much of it was possible. There was no way to tell definitively how long she would need to make the funds last. Once off the train she made the choice to walk through the city until an idea came to her. Too much inactivity on the way there meant she needed the chance to stretch her legs and breathe.

Before she knew where she would rest her head that night, she slipped into a small pub for something to eat and a few drinks to calm her overactive mind. No one, to her relief, bothered her as she sat at the end of the bar staring only into the bottom of her glass. Everyone else had their own issues to think about it seemed. Hours passed before she hopped off the stool. Nearing midnight she needed to find a safe place to sleep. Her eyes were too heavy to keep open.

Seeing an inn up ahead the street she was walking down, she didn't see the shadowy form step out of the darkness to grab her arm. Long before she could react in her highly intoxicated state, she was being Disapparated away from the area.


	118. April 27th

_Author's Note: Seriously? You all were surprised by the cliffhanger? Have you read anything I've written before? Lol! I love cliffhangers... but it's not like you had to wait long for your answer. ;)_

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April 27th

Side-Along Apparition was an unpleasant experience when one wasn't filled with alcohol and more food than two people should eat in a meal. When it was done completely without warning, the side-effects were exponentially worse. Hermione's stomach churned and threatened to empty the entire length of the journey that felt longer than just the few seconds it truly was. Unable to get away from the person taking her away from the street in Aberdeen she'd been in just moments before, she tried to focus on keeping her supper inside her body. At least it gave her the opportunity to dwell on something other than the fact that she was well and truly fucked.

Her assumption that the Resistance didn't have a big presence in Aberdeen was likely incorrect. Or, one of her former comrades saw her sitting at the bar of the crowded pub. Possibly her arrival via the Muggle train was noticed by an interested party. Maybe it was the large amount of alcohol she consumed, but she wasn't all that concerned about her capture. Her time on the run was bound to come to an end eventually. Perhaps she could look forward to the ending of her misery in just a short time. Antonin always liked to accuse her of harboring bleak and fatalistic thoughts at every turn. He was an intelligent man for all of his brashness and fury.

When her feet landed on a hard surface again, Hermione's legs became wobbly and unable to withhold her weight. With the sound of the midnight hour chiming away on some ghastly obnoxious mantel clock, the witch fell to the ground flat on her arse. The hand belonging to the mysterious person released its grip lest they tumble to the ground as well. As she laid on the hardwood floor feeling the room around her spin, she thought that surely there was a less ignoble way to go.

"If you feel the urge to vomit, please attempt to keep it off the rug. It's priceless."

She knew the voice… _very_ well. Rolling her eyes because she should have known that he would be the one to find her, Hermione tried to sit up to stare Draco Malfoy in the face. When it became clear that she was indeed in great danger of ruining his rug with the remnants of her greasy meal, she stopped all attempts to move. Closing her eyes, she willed the room to cease its spinning. Her kidnapper didn't say another word. Only stomped away to another room to open a cupboard before stomping back.

"Drink this."

Hermione pushed away his offering. If it was what she expected it was, she didn't want it. Sober-Up potion was vile and cheated her out of the temporary bliss of lowered inhibitions and fearless thoughts. She desired the oblivion that came with too much alcohol. Perhaps if she was lucky, she might even poison herself entirely or choke on her own vomit. At least then she wouldn't have to wake up the next morning to worry about how she was going to waste the rest of her meaningless life.

Draco wasn't in the mood to argue with her. Instead of agreeing to her wishes, he knelt on the floor next to his captive, forcibly opened her mouth with one hand, and poured the potion down her throat with the other. The moment she sputtered and threatened to spit the disgusting fluid from her mouth, he was there to hold her mouth shut until she swallowed. Almost instantly the effects of the liquor dissipated. Hermione pushed the wizard's hands off of her to continue to lay on the floor, stewing in her own anger and disappointment. Why did he even care what she did or where she went? What was so important about her that he bothered at all? She couldn't understand his motivations for anything. She wished he would disappear forever and leave her alone.

"While it is clearly evident that you don't care what happens to you or anyone else for that matter, the _entire_ Resistance is out there looking for you right now, Granger. Every _single_ member is aware that you were almost caught by Will last night in London and the Resistance is much bigger than you've ever dreamed."

She didn't want to hear his lecture. Of course she knew that she was in constant danger. It had been a part of her life for more years than not. Only a short period of time while she was married to Antonin and living in Hogsmeade while her master ruled with an iron fist did she not worry about her safety for even a single moment she was awake. With the Dark Lord and her husband on her side, she never feared what might happen, who might hurt her. It seemed impossible that anyone could get to her in that situation. Once outside of the covering of their protection, however, she was back to being the same terrified Muggle-born who didn't understand the frightening world she was living in.

"It took me several hours to get that drunk. I don't appreciate you taking that away from me."

"Just be thankful that _I_ am the one that found you and not someone else from the Resistance."

With the room no longer spinning, Hermione sat up. Draco extended a hand to help her to her feet which she immediately refused. She had had quite enough assistance from him for one night. Maybe in a little while she would see the logic in his statement and appreciate him taking her away from the dangerous streets of a Muggle city, but in that moment, she was still annoyed.

She didn't recognize where they were. Certainly she'd never been there before. A well-appointed living room filled with large, comfortable-looking furniture, it was a space that just begged for inhabitants to laze around and enjoy relaxing. Everything looked very expensive, but not in the overly showy way that she remembered from her uncomfortable visits to Malfoy Manor over the years. It resembled more of a upscale loft flat than anything else. Was this the home that he'd offered to her only days earlier? If so, she might have been a little too quick to refuse.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"It's unsafe for you to be out there wandering around. The Resistance is…"

"…after me. Yeah, I know. Got a little too close to Wood last night for comfort."

"This is _not_ a joking manner, Hermione. You are going to stay here until we can come up with a plan that won't get you killed."

The vehemence with which he made his declaration surprised Hermione. She wasn't used to him showing any amount of passion about anything. Even in the most stressful of moments, he'd always been levelheaded and cool to the point of irreverence. The manner in which he used her first name was surprising as well. Their friendship had certainly developed to the point over the months that they were able to use the other's first names when they wished without it feeling too out of character. It was was easy to fall back into old habits when they were annoyed. But, this was different. For the first time in _years_ , probably since the day they were in the Room of Requirement running from Vincent Crabbe's ill-mannered Fiendfyre, she could tell he was rattled.

"Why do you care so much what happens to me, Draco?"

She didn't mean to ask the question. Truthfully, it seemed inappropriate. Everyone was entitled to their own private feelings and thoughts. As soon as the question slipped from her tongue, she wished she hadn't asked. Instead of immediately answering, the wizard ran his hands through his pale blond hair and sighed. A war was going on within himself if his countenance was anything to go by. Finally, after several awkward moments of tense silence, he spoke again.

"I _shouldn't_ care about you or what happens to you. You're nothing but trouble."

It wasn't the first time she had heard those words used to describe her. Likely, it wouldn't be the last. She knew what kind of baggage an association with her brought upon an unsuspecting connection. Instead of being offended, Hermione almost felt pity for the man. Certainly his life would've been much easier if their paths never crossed.

"When the Resistance first asked me to track you months ago, I did so with no hesitation. Wasn't even worried that it would ever become anything more than just a simple mission."

"And now?"

Hermione wasn't sure that she actually wanted to hear the answer to her question. It might be more than she could handle. Almost as if he could read her mind, Draco's reluctance to answer became even more evident. Finally, he sighed again.

"I never would've imagined that I would care. Maybe I should've just let the Resistance capture you on their own. Then my life wouldn't be so complicated now."

He didn't give her an opportunity to respond before he was storming out the front door to his opulent flat. The slamming of the door behind him rang in Hermione's ears. For several minutes she stood staring at the way out, analyzing his words and hoping that he would come back.


	119. April 28th

April 28th

If someone had told Hermione Granger Dolohov that she would've been worried about Draco _Malfoy,_ of all people, just six months earlier, she would've imagined that she wasn't the only person suffering the mental effects of a violent life. Her mind would never be what it was when she was young and still so full of idealism and hope for the future, but she thought that she would at least be able to tell when another around her might be close to losing their grip on reality. In all of the years that she had known of the wizard, she hadn't cared one way or another what happened to him. At least that's how she felt after the war ended. Before, she _might_ have been excited to hear that he'd been struck down in a duel or fallen off of his broom during a Quidditch match.

Once the war was over and he settled into his preferred place on the very edge of the Death Eaters, she didn't pay much mind to him. If they were ever in the same room together, she hardly even registered his existence. They moved in different social circles. Or, rather, _she_ moved in social circles while he had only a couple of friends who even bothered to acknowledge him in public. It was no wonder that he'd sought out the Resistance as a potential ally. The signs were all there. He was ripe for the picking. With his only true friend within the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers dead, he had very little to tie him to the organization that Hermione had devoted her life and her being to for more than half her life. Even his disgraced father wasn't enough to ensure his undying loyalty. If it wasn't already evident to those within the Inner Circle that he was a very powerful enemy to have, it would be soon.

He did not return from his rather dramatic exit the night before. She wasn't sure how late it was before she finally decided that he wouldn't be back. _Late_. It felt strange to be alone in his flat, but soon sheer exhaustion forced her to find an empty bedroom. She searched for one that didn't have any of his personal effects inside it. No matter what their bizarre friendship or acquaintance had turned into, it would've been highly inappropriate to take his bedroom. Besides, it could grow quite awkward if he returned home in the middle of the night to slide in under the covers next to her without realizing his guest was there.

When she finally climbed into the bed in the lavish spare bedroom at the end of the corridor, Hermione didn't expect to fall asleep easily. Not only was she in a strange place, but she wasn't truly certain of Draco's thoughts or plans. He might have _claimed_ that he was going to allow her to stay there until they came up with a suitable plan. She had heard enough sweet talk from wizards over the years to not immediately trust everything she heard. It had kept her safe a few times. Despite her fears that she would find no rest, the moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. One advantage she had learned getting involved with people who had vast amounts of wealth, their beds were usually unbelievable.

For a homeless fugitive who had been forced to sleep in less-than luxurious accommodations for the better part of a year, Hermione believed it to be almost a sin to not take advantage of a warm bed when it was offered. She wasn't sure what the sheets were made of, but she'd never slept under anything so soft and silky. The desire to strip completely naked and feel the unusual fabric slide over her bare skin was strong, but she controlled the urge. What if this was all some sort of trap? If Draco was out to alert the Resistance, she would _not_ face them in the nude. There were few circumstances more humiliating and demeaning. She should know. Many of her reluctant informants over the years had been brought to her special department in the Ministry of Magic without a stitch of clothing on. She would be damned if that would be her fate.

As she remained in the bed enjoying the relative peace and comfort of Draco's flat, her mind wandered to thoughts of the owner. Where was he? Where did he run off to in such a rush the night she arrived? When he didn't immediately return and then an entire day passed without him coming back through his front door, she had to face the possibility that he was indeed out there betraying her. She couldn't blame him. One had to take care of themselves in a world like theirs. Those who sacrificed their own safety to protect strangers or mere acquaintances were fools who got exactly what they deserved.

For a reason she couldn't exactly explain even to herself, Hermione didn't get the impression that Draco was going to betray her to her husband. It wasn't just that he clearly had more loyalty to the Resistance than he did to anyone else who carried their own Dark Mark on their left arm. There was more to it than that. She was under the impression that the wizard wanted her as far away from Antonin as possible. How she knew that wasn't clear. Maybe it was because of the conversations they'd had in the months since he tracked her down to the Muggles' house on New Year's. Draco didn't care much for her husband. He was far from the only person who felt that way. If he _was_ about to reveal the whereabouts of her hiding place, she knew it wasn't to the man who almost caught her in Cornwall.

When her body had had more than enough sleep and she couldn't ignore the rumbling in her stomach for a moment longer, Hermione forced herself to get out of the sanctuary of what might possibly be the most perfect bed in existence. She ignored the no doubt lavish bathroom connected to the guest room to walk back down the corridor to the large open room at the front of the flat. Part of her hoped that she had just not heard the wizard return. It was a foolish hope, of course. She had always been an exceptionally light sleeper. Even the sound of their cat with only three good legs moving around her home in the middle of the night usually woke her up from a sound slumber.

It occurred to her when she passed the front door that if Draco truly had plans to turn her over to someone else who might not have her best interests at heart, he would ensure that she couldn't actually leave his refuge. He would look terribly foolish if he announced that he had her stashed away in a safe place only to discover when he brought the interested party over to see her that she escaped. Cautiously feeling around the front door for any hints of unusual security wards, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Years as Antonin's student and then even more years as a wife provided her the opportunity to learn a great deal about wards. Her husband had been a cursebreaker for Gringotts straight after leaving Hogwarts. If the money had been better and he hadn't been forced to leave the country for long stretches of time, he might have continued in that same profession. Once he was recruited by their mutual master, he was needed in a position that allowed him to be closer to home at all times in case his particular brand of expertise was required by Lord Voldemort.

The absence of anything beyond the typical Muggle-repelling and basic security wards did not immediately put her mind at ease. There could be any number of other charms or spells used instead. She reached for the doorknob, her heart pounding in her ears. A turn and a pull didn't produce any negative effects. Outside of the front door she could see nothing but a single lift. Clearly, wherever Draco's flat was located, he was the only one on that particular floor. Just another advantage of having immense wealth. Hermione took a deep breath before placing a single step across the threshold.

She couldn't explain why exactly, but she was able to relax the moment she realized that there was nothing in place to prevent her from leaving the flat. If she didn't want to stay, Draco wasn't forcing her. It relieved her more than she could say that she wasn't his prisoner. Though a highly luxurious prison, she had no desire to be anyone's captive ever again.

Feeling a new sense of peace, Hermione returned to the interior of the flat and closed the door behind her. She felt her stomach gurgle once more in its protest from lack of food. Heading straight to the spacious kitchen, she prepared herself for finding nothing edible. A lifelong bachelor who already made it clear that he didn't spend much time at home, she couldn't imagine that Draco kept the kitchen well-stocked. When she opened the fridge, she fought the urge to gasp. Every single square centimeter was full of every kind of fresh food she could imagine. Pulling open the door to a single cupboard proved the same. Was his claim that he was never home a lie? Or had he thoughtfully stocked his kitchen in preparation for having her as his guest?

She did not understand the man.


	120. April 29th

**Author's Note: Please refer to the top of the screen where the genres selected are "Suspense" and "Drama". Nowhere have I promised this is a "Romance" because it is not... at least not in the sense that most stories are.**

 **Remember the warning I made in the first chapter about "unhealthy relationships" and "manipulative arseholes"? Still applies.**

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April 29th

By Hermione's third night in Draco's flat without him returning even once, she stopped worrying so much about him potentially betraying her to either side. Knowing that she was a proven flight risk, he wouldn't have waited so long to reveal her whereabouts to someone who wanted her blood. One thing she had always known about the wizard since their first year together as classmates in the castle was he was far from being unintelligent. In fact, there were many classes that he was a formidable opponent in the race for the top marks. He would understand just as well as she that he would have to move quickly to turn her over. With the exception of the time she spent within the Resistance's village and the days in Cornwall, she made it a point not to linger too long in a single area.

No, she wasn't worried that he was planning her demise, but a nagging thought in the back of her mind didn't allow her to rest as easy as perhaps she should have been. Where was he? Her worries transferred from his motivations for allowing her refuge in his home to why he had been gone so long. Though she wouldn't come right out and admit so, even just to herself, she was worried about the tracker. His position within the ranks of the Death Eaters came with its own set of hazards. Mixing in the fact that he was playing both sides, he was in perpetual danger.

She had a number of questions for him that she hoped he would one day answer. But, after she had the opportunity to get to know the man better than ever before in the previous months, she highly doubted he would ever come completely clean. Each hour that he was away from his flat brought numerous other questions to mind. How long had he been working with the Resistance? What was his true motivation? She was fascinated to understand his reasons for turning his back on the Dark Lord. It seemed like a poor decision and she wanted to know _why_ he would willingly surround himself with fools and idiots who didn't understand that their world was better because of the hard work of the regime. Still, as much as she was certain she would disagree with his choices and why he made them, she longed to know more. It was the perpetual curse of the curious.

Draco's flat was surprisingly more comfortable than she would've expected. While she helped herself to the food he had so graciously provided and enjoyed the books he had strewn about his home haphazardly and took advantage of his sinfully expensive linens, she could feel herself growing more comfortable with the space by the minute. She had even helped herself to the enormous marble bathtub that took up most of his bathroom. When she could no longer ignore her curiosity and gave into the decidedly rude desire to snoop around his flat in the midst of her second day alone, she hadn't been able to resist the temptation of filling the tub with the sweet smelling foams and forgetting her cares until the water turned too cold to enjoy.

The hour was growing late and the incredible guest bed was calling her out to her as she prepared herself for yet another night alone in the flat. As she moved about the large main room extinguishing the lamps she had been using, Hermione was startled by the abrupt opening of the front door. Draco entered, blessedly alone, covered in the dust of several days of living rough and an exhausted expression on his face that told his guest he had likely been awake for longer than was healthy. Without saying a single word to her or even bothering to acknowledge her presence in any way, the wizard entered his bedroom and immediately shut the door behind him. His actions had been so swift that for a moment, she wondered if she'd imagined them. Only the sounds of a drawer opening and then the running water of the shower convinced her she wasn't going completely mad.

All indications that she had been tired disappeared, she wanted to talk to him and hoped he wouldn't crawl into his own bed moments after leaving the shower. Expecting that the man was likely hungry, she pulled food she'd prepared earlier in the evening out. Carefully cloaking her rewarming spells, she trusted that the enticing aroma of dinner wafting through the flat would bring the wizard to where she was waiting at the kitchen table.

Her gamble, as it turned out, worked perfectly. Emerging from his bedroom with wet hair and dressed in pajamas, he looked more relaxed that she had ever seen him before. She assumed that it had a great deal to do with being in his own home. _Most_ people were able to completely relax in the safety of their home. Once upon a time, Hermione had been able to do the same. Now, even just the thought of returning to her house in Hogsmeade made her heart race in fear. She would find no relaxation there ever again.

Draco seemed surprised by the plate of food waiting for him in front of an empty chair at the table. He nodded his thanks silently to Hermione before taking a seat. As tempted as she was to begin immediately asking him a dozen questions about his activities over the previous few days he'd been gone, Hermione held her tongue. She didn't want to scare him off before she learned anything. A few awkward minutes of silence passed with only the sounds of the clock above the fireplace ticking and the scrape of a utensil on his plate. To Hermione's surprise, Draco was finally the one to break the silence.

"I'm surprised you're still awake."

"I was about to go to bed when you surprised me."

He didn't have anything further to say at that point. She was afraid that if she let him stay quiet for too long, he wouldn't answer her questions.

"Thank you for letting me stay in your flat. It was very generous."

At first, his only response to her statement of gratitude was to shrug his shoulders. Once he finished chewing what was in his mouth, he spoke, but didn't lift his eyes to meet hers.

"It was empty and no one will suspect you're here."

If she knew him better, she might have been able to understand what he was trying _not_ to say. For someone whose purpose used to be to interrogate any potential enemies or traitors to the regime, her concept of social cues were embarrassingly inadequate after so long away from regular human interactions. Her curiosity still not satiated, Hermione pressed on.

"Not even the Resistance? Surely they must know we are friendly?"

With an unexpected smirk on his face, Draco laid his fork down on his plate. When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, Hermione was confused. What had she said that was amusing? It bothered her immensely that she didn't understand the wizard. There was a time in her life when she had been an excellent judge of people. Had she lost her touch? Or was he simply impossible to read?

"First, of all, Hermione, none of the Resistance members have ever been inside my home."

"Not even Ginny Weasley?"

She didn't know why the question slipped out of her mouth. It was none of her business if he brought witches to his home. Absolutely none. But, from the night in the tent in the middle of the forest that she saw Ginny and Draco embrace, she'd been curious about their past. They were more than just simple allies. Hermione used to have plenty of those. Not once did she ever feel the urge to _hug_ Gregory Goyle or his father. She didn't think that she was far off-base to assume their relationship was a little bit more than he was admitting.

For yet another moment in their brief time seated at the table together, Draco was amused by something she said. His face split into a wide grin and his chuckles threatened to grow louder. Her first instinct was to run away if he was going to be ridiculous. Were they not both adults? Could he not answer a simple question?

"Would it _bother_ you if I told you that Ginny had been a guest in my home many, _many_ times?"

He was teasing her. She didn't appreciate it.

"Forget I even asked."

"No, Ginny has never been in my home. Nor have I been in _hers_ , if you're curious."

She was, but she didn't want to make it obvious. What he did in his private life was his business. Just as he had no right to know everything about hers, she could let him keep his secrets.

"I've actually spent the last month doing everything I can to convince the Resistance that you are now my enemy. Even made it seem like I've been unable to track you."

"Why?"

There were many reasons why she could imagine that he would try to distance himself from her when it came to the Resistance, but she wanted to hear his from his own mouth. She understood that it was safer for him to make her the common enemy. After all, if he truly wanted to work with the Resistance for the revolution they were all convinced was coming, being on her side would make him an enemy too.

"Aberforth Dumbledore saved my life ten years ago. He's had my loyalty ever since."

Hermione didn't know what to say in response. There was a history there that she didn't know anything about. If he was telling the truth, and for once she didn't get the impression that he was holding back the facts, it would make sense if he was persuaded to hand her over to the Resistance for punishment. Was there more to this story than she was aware? More reasons to keep her protected?

"Aberforth isn't dead yet. For whatever reason, the Dark Lord hasn't had him executed yet. There's still a chance that he could be saved."


	121. April 30th

**_Author's Note: Just a reminder that I cannot respond to Guest Reviews, so sign in if you have a legitimate concern or question. Or pop over to Tumblr and send me an Ask. That way, I could've told the Guest who misunderstood my last AN that "No Romance" doesn't equal "No Sex". Uhh... pretty sure Hermione's already had sex with three different people in this story, so clearly there will be adult activities and situations in this story. Lol!_**

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April 30th

Long after Hermione went to bed after her conversation with Draco, his statement about Aberforth not being dead yet kept her awake. There hadn't been much else spoken once he made the shocking claim that he believed there was still hope for the wizard she was responsible for having arrested. Realizing that perhaps he had said too much, Draco quickly finished the rest of his reheated meal. His guest simply sat in her chair unsure what to even say next. He cast spells to clean his empty plate and send it zooming back to its rightful place in the cupboard. With a nod of his head and a muttered 'goodnight', he disappeared into his bedroom.

She didn't expect the conversation to last much longer even if he chose to remain in the kitchen. As much as they had somehow managed to develop some kind of friendship in the months since he first tracked her down, the former classmates still struggled with being perfectly honest. Hermione knew that to reveal too much could mean her death or worse, her capture. Falling back into her husband's hands wasn't a fate she relished. In order to keep from that torture, she couldn't afford to tell Draco everything. And because she knew that she couldn't trust him implicitly, she knew that he couldn't trust her the same way either. It was a truly fucked up world they lived in.

When she allowed herself to stop and think over the choices she had _willingly_ made in the past, it was easy to hate the person she became. A great number of people that she knew from her former life might make the assumption that she was _forced_ to become a Death Eater against her will. They quite simply had no idea. No one, not even the Dark Lord's prized captives Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, was ever forced to pledge their complete and undying loyalty to their master. Left arms were not Marked if the owner wasn't one hundred percent positive that they _wanted_ the Mark. At any single moment in her past before she extended her arm for the final test of her loyalty, Hermione could've said no. She could have refused to be branded. So could Ron.

More than a few times she considered her options before she knelt in front of the Dark Lord alongside her former best friend. They were not Marked early on in their captivity. They were not given the impossible choice to become a Death Eater or die. Only the Dark Lord's most loyal and faithful followers were allowed to have the physical proof of their devotion permanently etched on their left forearms. To be gifted with the Dark Mark, they had to _earn_ it. At any point in her training, she could've refused. Antonin even tried to talk her out of it several times. He wanted her to understand the sacrifice that she was making, to know that there was no turning back.

She would have lived a restricted life within their new society if she hadn't made the choices that she did. Lord Voldemort wasn't going to allow his prized pet to run off to some quiet corner of the country where no one could see her. She was the symbol of his mercy. If he not only allowed his greatest enemy's greatest ally to live, but he gifted her every luxury and privilege, what wouldn't he do for those wayward citizens who hadn't yet given up their idea of overthrowing him? She was proof that he valued those who would cease their war against his regime. ' _Comply or die'._ But, if one complied, there was promises that their lives would be better than they ever could have imagined. If Hermione refused to throw herself into her training to become the super soldier she always desired to be, she would have still been allowed to live a pampered existence with just a _few_ more restrictions to her freedom of movement.

Becoming a Death Eater wasn't her first choice. There was still enough of the idealistic witch inside her after she was removed from her broom cupboard that she couldn't imagine that she would ever fall completely in line with the violent beings she suddenly become surrounded by. When she was first inside of Antonin's house, his training was _not_ to mold her into an effective, loyal Death Eater. That was the furthest idea from his mind and his master's mind. His orders were to break her down to be more malleable. If she remained as rigid in her ideals and convictions as she had been before Harry's defeat, she would've cracked and crumbled into a billion pieces. The new world wasn't built for someone that rigid.

Her first lesson with Antonin had been cruel. Even he would admit that he didn't have the stomach for making the terrified, starving, broken witch suffer in his kitchen for two days straight. Though there had been a few times in the course of her broom cupboard captivity that a house-elf snapped into the space to provide her with a meager meal, she was mostly forgotten. Augustus didn't dare open the door to slip food inside for fear that his offering would be considered a betrayal to his master. The fear that one of his comrades would be able to slip inside the space to assault the woman he swore to himself to protect was also not an attractive prospect. When Hermione stood in front of the table laden with delicious food and was denied, she had rarely felt so helpless. If she hadn't cried out most of her tears inside her cupboard, she might have embarrassed herself in front of her new teacher by sobbing on the floor of his kitchen.

But, even if he hated every moment of those two days _almost_ as much as his student, Antonin knew that he had to make it clear to the witch that she couldn't afford to not follow orders in her new life. One who wouldn't bow down before the Dark Lord would find themselves at the wrong end of an _Avada_. He had to be cruel to prove how serious it was that she not slip into bad habits of disobedience or insubordination. She would not get any second chances if she failed. His purpose was _not_ to turn her into a deadly Death Eater. Hermione made that decision all on her own.

She sat up in her borrowed bed in Draco's guest room to force her thoughts to change from the past. Everything had always been complicated and she wasn't sure that she had the energy or the fortitude in that moment to look back at her mistakes. Experience taught her that life was too short to focus on what had already passed. No matter how much she might have liked to, she could not go back and change anything. No time turner in creation was strong enough to wipe away the stains of her past. If she wanted to continue to survive and perhaps one day even thrive, she had to keep her eyes on the future.

Was Draco implying when he was eating that there was something that could be done to save Aberforth from his eventual fate? As such a respected and valued leader within the Resistance that had caused a number of headaches for the regime over the years, it was foolish to imagine that Dumbledore _wouldn't_ be executed. If he was still alive that meant that there was still some value to his life. Perhaps he was being held in one of the special rooms hidden deep in the bowels of the Ministry where the worst of Hermione's work was usually done. The office that she shared with Rabastan on Level Two was where they stored their active case files and held their meetings with interested members of the Ministry. Deep down in Level Eleven, a level most of society didn't even know existed within the building, was where their real work was conducted.

There was a time when she really believed in the work that she was doing. Despite the fact that very few entered her corner of Level Eleven permanently unaltered, she knew that she was necessary. The information that she had been able to uncover from those reluctant to share what they knew had been invaluable. She felt confident in the fact that she had been able to prevent most of the revolts against the regime before they were even started. Thanks to the job that she and Rabastan and their small staff completed, their world was safer. _That_ was how she was able to go home each night to her family with a clear conscience. As much of a shit mum as she was, she felt proud of the fact that when she leaned down to kiss the top of her only child's head, she knew that it was for his safety that she extracted the information in creative ways.

If Aberforth was indeed still alive, he would be held in one of two places: the deepest dungeons of the castle or in the cells that lined the darkness of Level Eleven. Rarely all full at once, they held the enemies of the Dark Lord until they were ready for their interrogations. Until every last drop of potential intelligence was wrung from his body, he would be kept alive. He was too valuable to be killed quickly. When he was broken and empty, _then_ he would be dragged in front of the the citizens of their country for his public execution. It was a formula that had been used dozens of times. She could write the book.

Perhaps that was what Draco referred to the night before. He might be under the impression that the wizard who saved his life, and hers too, for that matter, could still be saved. Few would have enough influence to get near the prisoners. Even fewer would have enough influence to aid successfully in the escape of a prisoner as high priority as Aberforth Dumbledore. If Draco's loyalty was to Aberforth, did that mean he only continued to track her and then offer his home to her as a way to get her to help?

Hermione threw the covers off the bed and set her feet on the floor. Rays of sunshine were starting to peek in through the window. Another sleepless night had come and gone. Not caring that she was still in her pajamas, she exited the bedroom. Just a couple of doors down the corridor was the room where she knew Draco slept. It was important that they stop talking to each other in riddles and get straight to the point. If he wanted her assistance in getting Aberforth out of the prison she was responsible for putting him in, he needed to come right out and admit so.

A light knock on the door proved that it wasn't shut. She pushed it open expecting to find the wizard still asleep in his bed. Instead, she found the room empty, the bed perfectly made. Further investigation of the flat proved he was long gone. She was really beginning to hate how he just ran off without telling her.


	122. May 1st

May 1st

The tantalizing smell of bacon sizzling woke Hermione up long before she was ready. With little to do in Draco's flat alone other than sleep, she had been taking advantage of the quiet and the solitude to get caught up on the sleep she'd been missing out on. It helped to pass the time and if she could slip away into her dreamworld, all the better. Finding her stomach growling at the promise of breakfast was unexpected.

She dressed quickly before stepping out into the corridor to follow the source of the delicious smells. In the several days since she was brought to his flat quite against her will, Hermione had only seen her host a few times. He was often out of the flat before she even knew he had been home. Or he just simply never returned. His earlier assertion that he was rarely home had in fact been the truth.

Draco stood at the cooker frying up bacon when she entered the kitchen. His nod in her direction was the only indication that he knew she was present. The wizard wasn't very talkative in the mornings. She'd discovered that fact early on when they were sleeping in the same tent in the forest so many weeks earlier.

Hermione didn't mind a lack of conversation over breakfast. She tended to keep odd hours. In her previous life, there was no telling when she would get home from the office. There were times that she had only enough time to shower off the dirt and grime from her late-night interrogation before her husband and son were awake for the first meal of the day. Knowing without being told from a very young age when his mother was not in the mood for mindless chatter, Oliver would sit patiently at the kitchen table without speaking until one of his parents asked him a question. If Antonin had also had a late night, which was frequently the case, the three of them would spend the entire meal silently chewing. She found comfort in the silence. Not every single moment had to be filled up with inanity. There was enough of that as it was.

In order to give herself something to occupy her mind while Draco finished up breakfast, Hermione took a seat at the table in the middle of the room. A small stack of post littered the top. Ignoring all of the personal messages, she dug around until she found the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. One benefit of living in the home of a wizard who was ostensibly a loyal member of the regime was the access to all of the day's current periodicals. She found it easiest when she was on the run to ignore the news whenever she was faced with the opportunity to learn what she was missing. That morning, however, she found her curiosity stronger than it ordinarily was.

She hadn't realized what day it was or the significance of the anniversary. Her eyes fell across the headlines on the front page advertising the elaborate plans for the celebration of the end of the war. Draco set a plate in front of her just as she began to read about how the rest of the country was planning on celebrating the day their lives had changed irrevocably so many years earlier.

When she was a loyal Death Eater, every single May 2nd she was paraded out in front of the country to show what a proper supporter of the Dark Lord she had become. Even when she longed to do nothing more than just linger in her bed for the entire day, she was forced to be out in public in the very heart of the grandest celebrations. Lord Voldemort liked her to be with him at his side or better yet, at his feet. Ron would never be far away. They were his prized pets, his proof to the society that he had well and truly won that horrific day. It had been hard to dress in her finest clothes and plaster a smile on her face. Antonin usually took pity on her by keeping her hand full with a drink every single second of the extravaganzas and taking her home the very instant the Dark Lord allowed. He'd even tried to keep her at home the year she was pregnant with their son out of fear that she would go into early labor. Unfortunately, their master refused. He wanted to whole world to see her ripe and full with the next generation of Death Eaters.

She didn't want to stop and count the number of years that had passed in such a fashion. Too many. Perhaps if all went well, this would be the last year that anyone dared to _celebrate_ the destruction of what their world used to be. She hoped that the Resistance and their allies might actually be successful in overthrowing the Dark Lord. Even if it meant that she faced the end of her life, she wanted the world to change. Maybe the Resistance would let her son live and he could grow up in a world that was better than what his parents had been able to give him.

No longer wanting to even think about the lavish celebrations that would be taking place around the country over the next few days, Hermione dropped the newspaper to pick up a fork. Draco was trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at her, but he wasn't as careful as he likely imagined he was. She hoped that he wasn't about to ask her any uncomfortable questions. Her appetite suddenly gone, she started picking at her eggs, pushing them around her plate with her fork.

Her gaze fell on a prominent scar marring her left wrist. Even though she must have seen it a dozen times a day since the day she got it, she was usually able to ignore the puckered flesh. Only about an inch long, the mark was a result of being burned in the process of retrieving Helga Hufflepuff's cup in the Lestrange vault. When all of the contents began to multiply and burn, it had been impossible to escape unscathed. Add in the fact that she and Harry and Ron escaped from the bank on the back of a blind dragon, they'd each had multiple burns before the day was done.

"Something amusing?"

She hadn't realized she was smiling until Draco spoke. That had been a grand adventure. One that they would've gladly told their children about if the following day had ended differently. Though there were rumors that still swirled around about the escape on the back of the dragon, most of the citizens of the country did not know the story. Hermione certainly would never tell Oliver even if she had another chance. He didn't need to know about her past. There was enough curiosity in the child as it was to get him into trouble. As much as he might have looked just like a younger version of his father, there were times that he would behave so much like his mother she feared for his safety. What kind of terrible adventures was he getting himself involved in at Hogwarts? Was his first year anything like hers? If she heard that he'd faced down a mountain troll in a bathroom with two other first years, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised. No, the story of the dragon would go with her to her grave. Oliver didn't need any ideas.

"I was just thinking about how I got this scar."

She held up her wrist for him to see. Though the table wasn't very large, he leaned forward from his seat to get a better look. When his hand reached for her wrist, her first instinct was to push him away. The feel of his fingertips on her bare skin forced goosebumps to the surface. She was embarrassed, desperately hoping he didn't notice the effect he seemed to have on her traitorous skin. _That_ was a complication that neither one of them needed to have. Whatever their friendship, their relationship was, it was complicated enough already. Involuntary biological responses needed to be ignored whenever possible.

"How did you get that?"

"Breaking into your aunt's vault in Gringotts. Everything was charmed to duplicate and burn if touched. I think this was from a pile of galleons falling on my wrist."

"It's a miracle you ever made it out alive. You could've fallen from the dragon at any moment."

Their daring escape had been passed on in whispers amongst the survivors of the war. She wasn't surprised to know that Draco was aware of the dragon. Though it wasn't spoken of in public, she knew that it was part of her legend. There were others who were impressed by the tale. It proved that she wasn't just some weak, terrified little Mudblood scared of her own shadow. That had helped her more times than she was certain she was aware of. Wanting to change the subject, she gestured to the discarded newspaper.

"I suppose you will be expected to be at the festivities tomorrow to _celebrate_."

Draco released his light grip on her wrist. The smirk that had been present just moments before disappeared. With a deep sigh, he rose to his feet, ignoring the half-eaten meal still present on his plate.

"Funny how we're expected to _celebrate_ the day our world turned to shit."

Just as he had every other time he left the flat, he gave no indication of where he was headed. Simply walked out the front door moments later. She was positive that she would never understand the man.


	123. May 2nd

May 2nd

When the anniversary of her best friend's murder arrived, Hermione had no reason to get out of the sinfully comfortable bed she had come to love in Draco's guest bedroom. The wizard hadn't returned to the flat since he stormed out in the middle of breakfast. She wasn't sure what his problem was. Maybe it was the same problem she always had when the echoes of the past began to creep in to her present. Sometimes it was easier to run than it was to face them head-on.

In another life, she would've felt compelled to report the man for his statement about the world turning to shit. It wasn't good for morale to have Death Eaters making claims like his where others could hear. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd reported many of her comrades for similar behavior over the years when she was still so enmeshed in the insanity of the Dark Lord's regime. Discontent could spread like wildfire if left unchecked. It was the responsibility of every member of the Dark Lord's followers to keep dissension from growing. Once she was outside of the inner workings of the regime, she could see how harmful policies like those actually were. If no one was allowed to express an opinion that didn't fall in line with the official line of the regime, how were they ever expected to see what the actual problems were? No society was perfect, no matter how hard they tried to convince the citizens theirs was. But, removed from the place of honor and responsibility she used to hold, she couldn't fault the man for stating his opinion.

She didn't know what time it was when she finally forced herself out of bed. It didn't really matter. To give herself something to do in a bid to keep her mind off of the more depressing thoughts plaguing her, Hermione took advantage of Draco's absence to use his bathtub again. She didn't believe that he would have a problem with her using it, but she still felt awkward being in there. Like she was intruding on his sacred space. But, she was no fool about to let the luxurious bathtub stay empty.

The water took a long time to cool down. She assumed it had something to do with the magic associated with the tub. Antonin had a number of enchantments on their decadent bathtub to make the act of bathing much more pleasurable. Many times while she was shivering in the cold while on the run she would think about what it felt like to slip underneath the bubbles in the great marble bath. It was always so warm. Only the very real problem of her too-energetic husband enjoying joining her in the bath kept the experience from being too perfect. She could stay in there for hours if he didn't bother her. Where the man got his energy at his age was beyond his wife's comprehension. It seemed unnatural.

Thinking about Antonin ruined any hope of further relaxation in Draco's bath. Hermione rose out of the water, wrapped herself in a fluffy bathrobe that smelled strongly of her host, and exited the room. Stealing the man's bathrobe wasn't the most appropriate of moves, but she couldn't be arsed to care once she felt how soft and warm it was. Besides, it wasn't likely that he was going to come home anytime soon to lament its loss. The anniversary celebrations were likely to continue on until morning. It would look suspicious if he wasn't there for every single moment.

She searched the cupboards in the kitchen for something to eat even though her appetite hadn't made itself a nuisance yet. It was simply something for her to do, something to pass the time. Nothing looked good. She started to close the cupboards empty-handed until her eyes landed on a full bottle of fire whiskey shoved to the back. Not surprisingly, Draco had excellent taste in liquor. Deciding that this was the kind of day in which a glass was not necessary to drink the fire whiskey, Hermione carried only the bottle to the deep, comfortable sofa in front of the enchanted fireplace.

It was nighttime. Only an hour or two away from midnight and the end of the dreaded day. She knew it wouldn't take her long to get completely pissed enough to forget why she hated that day so much. One deep swig of the liquid warmed her chest and her belly. A deep relaxation began in her limbs. Maybe if she found her way to the bottom of the bottle she would be able to forget this terrible day.

So many years had passed since she watched her best friend Harry be struck down in the middle of the Great Hall by the Dark Lord. An entire lifetime, really. She certainly had trouble remembering what life was like before she was dragged out of the room where she had had so many meals in school and thrown into the broom cupboard that would be her home for days, possibly _weeks_. She was never sure how much time actually passed. She'd existed in a constant state of shock for a long time. Even then she wasn't sure how long it was before she started feeling normal again.

The bottle was still three quarters of the way full when the front door opened. Startled by the abrupt entrance of her host dressed in his finest dress robes, Hermione almost dropped the fire whiskey she was dragging to her lips. To disappear before the fireworks were over was a grievous lack of etiquette. If he had an enemy watching him leave, he could potentially be in a great deal of trouble. Draco's tired eyes fell on his guest seated on his couch in his bathrobe drinking his whiskey. In an instant, he was smirking. Pulling his outer robes off and letting them drop in a heap on the floor, he made his way directly to where she was seated. Not needing an invitation as it was both his house and his liquor, Draco sat down next to Hermione and reached for the bottle. She gladly handed it over.

"Have a pleasant evening?"

A scoff and a deep gulp of the whiskey was his response to her ridiculous question. She knew the answer without him even saying a word. When his third swallow was making its way to his stomach, he handed the bottle back over.

"Absolutely bloody awful evening, as you can imagine. Even Weasel didn't seem his usual cheery self. Actually asked me if I knew anything about you."

Hermione was startled by his admission. Why would Ron care anything about where she was? They hadn't exactly been good friends for more than half their lives. Once they were off being trained by their respective Death Eater mentors, they never had much use for the other. Of course they would politely smile and conduct inane conversations whenever they were forced to occupy the same space, but they most certainly were _not_ friends. Knowing that he would ask Draco Malfoy about her, of all the people in the world, was suspicious.

"And why would he ask _you_ if you knew where I was? Have you been telling people that you do?"

She longed to curse the smirk off of his lips. If she trusted herself to cloak her magic properly while emotional, she might have tried. But, that was exactly how Aberforth Dumbledore got captured. For someone who spent most of her life trying to be as emotionless as possible, she still had a great deal to learn. He removed the bottle from her grip and took another deep gulp. Clearly, he hadn't been joking when he said he'd had a terrible evening.

"Of course I haven't, Hermione. Give me some credit please."

"Why would he care?"

"I'm assuming the solemnity of the anniversary was getting to him. It was his first celebration without you with him. Perhaps he misses you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ripped the bottle out of his hands. She wasn't nearly drunk enough to have a conversation about whether or not Ron actually _missed_ her. It was a preposterous notion, only said by Draco to get a rise out of her. They had nothing in common anymore, no reason to even speak. Ron had gone his way, married, and had his own family. He worked in his own department in the Ministry. Their paths only crossed when they were paraded in front of the regime by the Dark Lord. She would prefer to keep it that way.

"I can't believe it's been twenty years."

The statement tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. There was no reason to give it a voice. They both knew how long it had been since Harry was killed, how long since the Dark Lord was victorious. An entire generation had been born since that horrible day. A large portion of their population had not even been born yet when the war came to an end. At times it felt like twenty years passed in the blink of an eye, in others it felt like centuries ago.

"Neither can I."

They continued to pass the bottle back and forth between each other in silence. Unsure what to say, they said nothing. It was better that way. Less opportunity for sentimental babble that they would regret later. The fire whiskey was almost completely gone when the obnoxious mantle clock began to chime the midnight hour. Hermione wanted nothing more than to just slip under the covers of her borrowed bed and sleep. Remaining with the wizard on the sofa in front of the fireplace was too depressing. Her thoughts kept traveling to the past. She wanted to be anywhere else.

Rising to her feet wasn't as easy as she'd hoped after the large amount of the liquor she'd consumed. With the exception of the night that Draco tracked her down in Aberdeen, she hadn't been so intoxicated in a long time. She was out of practice. On her third try, she was able to stand. She turned to wish her host a good night. To her surprise, Draco reached for her hand. When he held it in his grasp, he refused to release his hold. Startled, she only tried once to remove it before realizing he wasn't just going to let her walk away so easily.

"Don't go just yet."

There was a pleading in his tone that she didn't expect. A vulnerability in it that she would've never dreamed she would hear. All it took was a gentle tug on her arm and she was seated back next to him. With the sound of the chimes still ringing through the flat, Draco covered Hermione's lips with his. She didn't push him away.


	124. May 3rd

May 3rd

Kissing Draco Malfoy was complete and utter madness. Hermione wouldn't have done it if she wasn't so drunk. Too much alcohol could make even the wisest person commit the most illogical of acts. At least that's what she continued to tell herself the longer their first kiss went on without stopping.

She had never been attracted to the man. Not even after all of the time they'd spent together since the beginning of the year. Every time she looked at him all she could see was the obnoxious eleven year old who made fun of her teeth and called her a filthy, little Mudblood at every turn. Some wounds took a long time to heal if they ever did. Years of torment at his hands wouldn't be easily forgotten.

Of course, those were her thoughts before she felt the man kiss her breath away. Even in her intoxicated state she knew that she shouldn't give in to his advances. It was wrong. They were just asking for even further complications. How could they continue to move forward with whatever their friendship had become if they muddied the waters with impropriety?

Draco's movements were confident and just a touch on the domineering side. Hermione was surprised by his actions. Somehow she'd gotten it in her head that he would be hesitant and unsure of himself. At least that was how all of her experiences with men closer to her own age tended to go. In the past, that was a major reason she tended to avoid those her own age. They all seemed intimidated by her, afraid they might break her.

Not Draco. His lips moved over hers with an assurance that he had no plans to suddenly grow frightened of his own shadow. She liked the self-confidence. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss all of the wizards her own age for so long. Of course, she tried to push down the uncomfortable reminders that neither of them were exactly children any longer. Their forties loomed ahead of them, ready to strike them both before Hermione was ready.

His hands slid into her messy curls, effectively keeping her face pinned exactly where he wanted it. Once again she had nothing to complain about. She loved the feel of a man tugging her hair in passionate moments. The pain was just enough to keep her begging for more. Unafraid to take further control of the increasingly dangerous position they found themselves in, Draco pushed the witch back until her head rested on the arm of the sofa. He broke contact with her mouth long enough to stare down at her with that blasted smirk she still hated.

"Pleasant surprise to come home to find you dressed in _my_ bathrobe."

She'd known it was inappropriate when she first pulled it on to cover her nakedness, but she didn't care. At the time, she never expected him to come home to find her in it. Watching the wizard's eyes rake over her body admiring his clothes on her, excited Hermione in a manner she never would've expected before that moment. To even imagine that there could ever come a time when she was in such an intimate position with the wizard she once hated above all others was once unfathomable. Seeing his grey eyes darken in appreciation made her hate herself for not engineering a similar moment before that night.

When his hands reached for the flimsy cloth belt holding the garment together, she flinched. Imperceptible to any but one who knew every single emotion and reaction she possessed, he didn't even notice the split-second hesitation of their escalated actions. She knew that if she allowed the barrier between them to fall and they moved the very definition of their relationship further towards something even less easily definable, there would be no turning back. She would destroy him just as she destroyed everyone and everything else she touched.

But, she decided that he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions. If he wanted to burn, who was she to deny him? All worries about the fact that they were likely about to make a very serious error in judgment were pushed to the back of her mind. Regret could come in the morning like it always did. Reaching out to grab life by the bollocks was all they could hope for in their fucked up excuse for a world. There was always the possibility that the morning would never come for them again. They would be fools to deny themselves.

While Draco worked at untying the robe covering Hermione, she busied her hands with the buttons on his shirt. The air in the flat was thick with anticipation of what would happen next. For once, she didn't want to dwell too much on the logistics or worry about the details. She longed to do nothing but _feel_ what life had to offer. Hadn't she had enough misery in life to allow for just a few moments of pleasure? Just as the Death Eaters used to reach out with both hands to grab what distractions from the pain of their existence they could in the beginning of their regime, she let all of her concerns drift away.

The cool air blowing across Hermione's bare skin sent a shiver through her entire body. Goosebumps erupted everywhere Draco's intense scrutiny followed. She was no innocent maiden unused to the pleasures of the flesh. No, she was about as far from one of those as it was possible to be. Still, despite her extensive experience with a myriad of differing wizards and even a few witches here and there, she couldn't remember the last time that she felt such excitement in witnessing a hungry gaze. He wasn't hiding how much he desired her, and somehow, the simple primal act of showing his true emotions in the heated moment affected her more than it should. It went against their training to be so expressive. One of the first lessons a good Death Eater learned was to temper and hide their emotions and their deepest desires. To push his training aside in the moment was no small act.

There was no time to further consider the magnitude of the moment before Draco's mouth began its torturous exploration of her exposed body. As she tugged at his clothes, practically ripping the buttons off in the process, she wasn't able to get very far before all coherent thought left her head. With a swirl of his practiced tongue down the soft flesh of her neck, over her sensitive collarbones, and down to her aching nipples, she was certain that she had already gone completely mad. All thoughts of stripping the wizard of his clothing slipped out of her head. She couldn't concentrate on anything but the delicious sensations he was able to pluck from her with nothing but his lips and his hands. Was this how it would always be? Or was the alcohol they shared only serving to increase the intensity?

It was all happening so fast she could hardly think straight. Nor was she entirely sure what to do with her hands. Draco confused her, made her forget all of her concerns, all of her worries. In the back of her mind, that part that was still screaming at her to put an end to what they started, she knew she was being reckless again. They couldn't come back from this moment no matter how hard they tried. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe Draco wasn't the one in danger of burning. She was.

Frustrated that she couldn't even taste the pleasures of the flesh without second-guessing herself or her partner's motive, a low growl erupted from the back of her throat. Hermione's hand clutching his collar forced his mouth back to hers. Excited by her aggressiveness, the wizard enthusiastically attacked her mouth as she renewed her intentions to remove him of his clothes. A single light brush against the rising bulge in the man's trousers brought out an animalistic guttural resonance from him that she felt all the way to her pulsing core. Unsatisfied with how long it was taking her, Draco removed his wandering hands from her body to complete the process for her. His shirt was ripped off his chest so roughly she could've sworn she heard a rip in the fabric. The speed with which he removed his heavy boots and the rest of his damned clothes was impressive. If Hermione could've thought beyond divesting herself of the open and now useless robe, she might have had the presence of mind to compliment him or tease him for his eagerness.

" _Fuck_ , Hermione."

She wasn't sure what he was referring to, the heat in the room, the fact that she was completely naked, or something else entirely. He wasn't in a rush to explain himself either. What use were words when actions could be infinitely more pleasurable? As if to prove his silent point, the wizard lined his hips up with hers. Both of them were practically panting and they hadn't even really gotten started. With a gentle squeeze to the back of each of her thighs, Hermione opened herself to him, a silent pleading in her eyes to not torture her any longer.

A single, determined snap of his hips fully sheathed his hard, aching cock within her pliable and ready body. Their eyes met as they each gasped at the change in the thickness of the air of the room. There was no turning back. Draco was the first to make a move. He pulled back, threatening to remove himself entirely before slamming back with a grunt. Emboldened by the moan escaping her lips, he repeated his actions, steadily increasing the pace until neither of them could think a coherent thought.

All concern that Hermione was making another big mistake disappeared. If they were going to burn, they would burn together.


	125. May 4th

May 4th

The passionate session on Draco's sofa in front of his fireplace was only the first round of a marathon night that didn't end until the sun was threatening to peek over the horizon and they were both completely and utterly spent. Hermione had been impressed with the wizard's stamina just as he was amazed by her insatiability. Nothing was ever enough. No matter what he did, she cried out for more. It was enough to discourage a less confident man. He found rising to the challenge to be worth the exhaustion. With his usual smirk plastered on his handsome lips, he did what was necessary to fulfill her every desire.

Neither of them stirred from his enormous, decadent bed until the next night was almost upon them. Forced to leave their temporary sanctuary to fill their empty bellies, they had almost been able to make it through the hastily prepared meal before needing to satisfy their hunger of a different sort right there on top of the kitchen table. Another night passed much like the first. Little conversation was had even as they shared the same bed and tried to catch their breath. While there was much that _could_ be said, neither of them wanted to break the tenuous spell that had fallen over the flat. To bring attention to the dangers and impracticalities was to risk ruining it altogether.

As the large bedroom began to fill with the rays of the morning sun, Hermione woke in Draco's bed for the second morning in a row. His possessiveness, even in the deepest of exhausted sleeps, insisted that his arms remain wrapped tightly around her body. Perhaps subconsciously he was afraid that she would find a reason to run off as he slept. She couldn't blame him. There were more reasons to run than there were to stay.

Giving in to their primal instincts had been enjoyable, to say the least, but she still worried in the light of day that she had only managed to make their unusual, tense situation so much worse. Sex complicated everything. Even in the strongest of relationships where nothing except for a happy, fulfilling future loomed ahead, adding in the additional element of physical pleasure presented new challenges. In their, for lack of a better term, _relationship_ she was concerned that what had already been confusing would only become more so. There wasn't love between them. She wasn't even certain that she had the capacity to love anyone ever again. Not after the end of her relationship with Augustus. Though Sarah might have insisted that there was a warped sense of love for her husband, Hermione wasn't sure that counted. Respect, admiration, and a healthy dose of fear wasn't exactly what the sappy poems were written about.

She worried that they would be unable to navigate the treacherous waters that always accompanied illicit affairs. While she'd had plenty of experience during her unhealthy, unconventional marriage, she didn't know much about Draco's past. Would he be able to let her go when she needed to run again? Fenrir had. Augustus didn't have a choice, but would Lord Voldemort's most talented tracker be able to put his feelings aside when it was necessary? And even though she was afraid to imagine the possibility, how would she feel if Draco _didn't_ care enough to pursue her when she inevitably had to run?

Frustrated with her line of thinking, she carefully rolled over on her side to stare at the empty wall. Having Draco's peaceful sleeping form in her line of sight wasn't helping. Something had changed between them. Only a fool wouldn't acknowledge that fact. But, if she was honest, she didn't understand what all was different. He wasn't the type to beg her to run off to another country to a start a new life with him. Nor was he naïve enough to believe that she could simply remain hidden in his flat indefinitely. Hiding only worked for a little while. Each moment that she remained she was putting her host in even more danger. Antonin might not have attacked the Jordan family, but that didn't mean he would be so generous in the future. Perhaps it was better for the both of them that she sneak out of his flat and never return.

Unable to remain in bed a moment longer, Hermione gently removed the heavy covers to slip out. She stared at Draco for a few moments to be certain he was still asleep. As much fun as the two of them had since the night they drank too much, she needed some time to herself to think. Draco was talented at making her forget everything unpleasant in her life. In order to make some informed decisions, she needed to stop hiding from the facts.

Once she was dressed in her discarded clothes from the night before, she was careful not to make any noise as she exited the room. A long, hot shower alone in her own bathroom helped her clear her mind. The haze clouding her judgment began to lift. She knew she had been foolish to cross over that invisible line. What was even more frustrating was how little she actually cared. Thinking only of stolen moments within the safety of his flat wasn't the answer to her problem. If anything, all she was doing was putting the wizard in danger. Everything she touched turned to shit. Why would he be any different?

"You realize my shower is better than this one, don't you?"

Draco's voice startled Hermione out of her thoughts. It was further proof that she'd grown complacent and lazy in her actions. There was a time when no one was able to sneak up behind her. She should've been able to hear him enter the room before he even spoke.

Without bothering to wait for an invitation, the overly confident wizard stepped into the shower behind Hermione. Just as it been since they first kissed, he was unable to keep his hands to himself. She groaned at the feel of his lips on her bare shoulders, his large hands skimming the flesh on her sides and down to her hips. The haze that prevented her from making good decisions returned at full force. How could one man, one _human_ man, affect her so strongly? She couldn't remember anyone else putting her under such an effective, pleasurable spell.

"I didn't want to wake you up."

It was the truth even if it wasn't the complete truth. His sinful mouth continued its assault on her shoulders and neck. The length of his body pressed up against her back, leaving no doubt what his intentions were for their shared shower. She felt that familiar swoop of anticipation in her belly that always promised more of a good thing to come. All of her earlier concerns about remaining in the flat any longer disappeared the moment his hand slipped between her thighs. He slid a single finger along her seam, dragging out a moan. How was it possible that a single touch could make her feel as if her skin was on fire? Perhaps it was simply a mark of how lonely she had been on the run. She was hungry for human companionship. That was all. She refused to consider the possibility that there might be something more sinister at work.

"If you'd let me continue to sleep, I might have missed this chance to do exactly what I want to your delicious body."

His words were practically a purr that she felt straight to her core. Coherent thoughts began to become difficult with the added pressure of his touch, the teasing of her most sensitive bundle of nerves, and the welcome intrusion of first one and then a second finger. Unlike some women would have the world believe, Hermione had always had more experiences with men who desired that she find her pleasure first before they got carried away seeking their own. Perhaps the antiquated ideals of proper women not really caring for sexual pleasure had colored the awakenings of her fellow females, but in her wide and varied experience, there had only been a couple of cretins who cared more about themselves than her body. They certainly weren't given the opportunity to redeem themselves in a second round either. Where was the sense in wasting her time when she knew others out there who knew what they were doing?

Draco deftly pulled her first thigh-trembling, world-shaking release of the morning from her compliant body. She could practically _hear_ his smirk as she held on to his arms to keep from collapsing to the slick shower floor. He was a confident man who was well aware of the fact that he knew how to make a woman pant and scream out his name. Over the course of their days hidden in his flat naked and exploring, Hermione uncovered the arrogant person he used to be before his world changed so drastically as a teenager. Perhaps he'd never really been gone, only hidden under the weight of shame and fear for so long. Being responsible for bringing that out in him was a heady realization. She found that she _liked_ seeing him as he once was again. Maybe there was still hope that she could be who she used to be too. Or at least a poor copy of the idealistic girl who died the same moment Harry did in the Great Hall.

Deciding that her depressing thoughts were in danger of ruining a perfectly good morning, Hermione chose to push them away and fully embrace the possibilities of pleasure offered. Carefully, but deliberately turning around to face the wizard, she put everything she had into kissing him a proper good morning. As their actions heated up and escalated to delightful heights, she no longer dwelled on the person she could never be again. The wizard didn't bother to waste another moment before pressing her back against the tiles, lifting her up by her slim thighs, and reminding her in both words and actions why she should _never_ slip out of his bed without waking him up first. It was a lesson she was glad to be reminded of.

They clung to each other, willing their heart rates and breathing to return to normal. For a reason she still couldn't understand, in the moments after their mutual completions when she was usually apt to want to push her partner away, she couldn't get enough of the simple touches from the wizard. What was wrong with her that she didn't want to run out of his arms after she'd selfishly gotten what she wanted? It was a question that wasn't meant to have an answer that morning.

Each of them hissed at the insistent burn of their Dark Marks. Whomever was calling, the Dark Lord or Antonin, wanted them both present. Likely, it was a general call to everyone. Certainly one Hermione was going to grit her teeth and ignore. Draco, however, didn't have the option. An awkward peck to her lips and a promise to return soon that she knew he couldn't actually keep, Draco rushed from the steam-fulled bathroom, leaving her, yet again, completely alone.


	126. May 5th

May 5th

Worrying about Draco's absence was a waste of Hermione's time. She knew that it wasn't uncommon for Death Eaters to be summoned to the side of their master and given orders that kept them away from their homes for days, even weeks at a time. It had been her life once upon a time. Hard work and long hours for many years establishing her special department in the Ministry of Magic eventually lessened the amount of time she was expected to be away from her family. Before she ran off after attacking and almost killing her husband, she and Rabastan worked practically a normal forty hour workweek. But, she could still remember what it was like to be stuck on a mission for a long period of time.

When he hadn't returned to his flat for over twenty-four hours, Hermione tried to ignore the sinking in her gut each moment she thought about Draco. This was part of his life. As a tracker, he could be gone for an even longer period of time than she was used to. If his travels took him out of the country, there was no telling when he would be expected back. With no way of knowing why they were summoned to the Dark Lord the day before, she couldn't even begin to estimate how long it would be before he crossed the threshold of his flat again.

She knew that he was a capable wizard who knew how to play the game well enough to stay alive. Being able to survive for over twenty years as one of Lord Voldemort's faithful followers wasn't an easy task. It certainly provided him with enough life experience to understand how best to navigate the treacherous waters. Still, despite knowing that this was likely just another normal day in his life, she was worried about his absence. Worried that he wouldn't return. Just as she experienced when she was staying in Augustus' home in Cornwall, she knew she wasn't meant to be one of those women who stayed home waiting for their wizards to return from danger.

Thinking about Draco in terms of being 'her wizard' wasn't a comfortable thought for the distracted witch. As much as she had enjoyed all of the physical experiences they'd had since their first drunken kiss on his sofa that led to so much more, she was still struggling to wrap her head around it all. Never would she have believed that a day would come when she would willingly and happily climb into Draco Malfoy's bed. It was inconceivable only a few short weeks earlier. When they were students together, her goal was usually to avoid him as much as possible. Hermione grew to loathe when their paths crossed. Later, when they were both adults and involved in the inner workings of their Dark Lord's rise to ultimate power, she wanted nothing to do with the man from the disgraced family. Not only had she not forgiven him for the pain he caused at Hogwarts, she didn't want to associate with someone who was only a tiny, baby step above being considered a traitor to the regime. Her position within the ranks was tenuous to begin with. Any hint that she was willing to strike up a friendship or even an association with a Malfoy was enough to put her position in jeopardy.

Assigning a label to what was happening between them was a dangerous notion. Life was too unpredictable. Nowhere she went was safe for long. Her husband had already proven he would stop at nothing to bring her back home. If she allowed herself to imagine the possibility that there wasn't an expiration date to her dalliance with Draco, she feared that her inevitable and inescapable disappointment would be too much to bear. She knew it was unwise to get attached, and yet, she felt herself doing it anyway. Perhaps it was a sign that she'd already stayed in his flat too long. Nothing good could come of her remaining much longer.

She was tired of running. Some part of her felt like she had been running from something for her entire life. Even as a child, before she knew she was a witch, she hadn't felt settled, hadn't felt like she was where she was meant to be. That feeling only increased when she was thrown into the wizarding world. After Harry was killed, she didn't want to keep running, didn't want to keep fighting. A weariness took root within her soul those dark weeks in her broom cupboard.

Those who claimed that giving herself over to the Darkness that had been inside of her from birth was somehow out of her character were fools who knew nothing. She hadn't been blameless when she was a child either. Marietta Edgecombe carried the scars of her curse until the day that she died. Dolores Umbridge would never be able to enter a forest without dissolving into panic, never be able to see a centaur without remembering the scars she carried from that day a teenage Hermione led her into the Forbidden Forest. Neither of those acts had been done without conscious thought on her part. She _knew_ what she was doing. She _knew_ trapping a woman in an unbreakable jar wasn't a so-called normal act that a rational person would commit. It was calculated and designed to make the most impact.

One of her biggest fears, the one she would never give a voice to where anyone could hear, was that her son was filled with the same black malady of the soul. Perhaps that was the biggest reason why she couldn't bear to be around him for any length of time. As terrible as it should have been to admit, she actively searched for reasons to be away from Oliver. It might have hurt her feelings, but she knew that he was better off under the influence of women like Mafalda Yaxley and Hannah Rowle. If fate had been kinder to him, he would've been born one of their children instead of cursed and doomed to slither out of her wretched womb. It was why she didn't mourn the pregnancies she lost. Not even the daughter that didn't survive her violent push down the stairs. It was easier that they didn't last. They deserved better than to have her as a mum. No child should be at risk of being filled with the same darkness. She hoped that Ollie would be different, but she didn't have much faith that he would.

Exhausted from a second restless day of waiting for Draco to return, Hermione slid under the covers in the guest room bed early in the evening. It didn't feel right to sleep in the wizard's bed without him. She tried to push away her upsetting thoughts about her son and the children she would never have to no avail. Draco was the kind of man to want a family. Even if he wouldn't come right out to admit it, she knew that if he had his way, he would've been married with a house full of little Malfoys running around. The reminder of that fact was yet one more reason why she should leave the poor man in peace. He would never find that kind of existence with her. Not only had she made certain that no hope for a baby would take root inside her body again, she knew she wasn't the kind of woman he deserved. _No one_ deserved to have her mucking up their world.

A fitful sleep claimed her eventually. Haunted by nonsensical dreams and subconscious fears about her unknowable future, she was never able to slip completely into the deep sleep her body craved. The slight dipping of the mattress behind her woke her up at half past eleven. Her eyes caught the clock sitting on the table next to the bed when they opened. Startled for half a second, she instantly relaxed when she felt Draco's arms envelop her. He sighed when he realized she was awake.

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't."

"Liar."

She could hear his familiar smirk in his response. Finding the corners of her own mouth threatening to curl up into their own smile, Hermione turned over to face the wizard. A cursory glance proved that he was exhausted, but whole. Whatever adventures he'd been on in the previous forty or so hours hadn't been easy. Her fear kept her from demanding that he tell her everything that he'd done, everything he'd witnessed. She worried that if she knew the details of his job as the Dark Lord's tracker, she might not ever let him walk away from her again.

"Why are you sleeping in here? My bed's better."

"I didn't feel right…"

Draco cut off her response with a kiss. Perhaps he understood that he was asking her a question that didn't have an easy answer. Expecting her to make herself at home with him was no small request.

"You are _always_ welcome in my bed, Hermione."

As if to prove the veracity of his words, the wizard put everything he had into a second kiss. It didn't take him any time at all to push the thoughts she'd been dwelling on in his absence to the back of her mind. In that moment, she had no desire to walk away.


	127. May 6th

**_Author's Note: Friendly reminder that there are approximately 787,000 Harry Potter stories on this website alone. I will continue with my chapter-a-day format until December 31st and if you're only reading the dialogue, there's no point to keep on reading. You won't understand the story._ _If you don't like this story or the format I'm using to write it, just move on to something else. Find one you do like. No hard feelings. _**

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May 6th

Waking up in Draco's bed was an experience that Hermione knew would take some getting used to. He'd made it perfectly clear that as long as she was staying in his flat, she was not only welcomed but _wanted_ in his bed with him. Even when he was late getting back home from a mission he was summoned to, he wanted her there. After so long on the run alone, it made her feel special to know that he desired her next to him each night or waiting for him when he was gone. She might have experienced a similar situation with Augustus during her short stay at his home in Cornwall, but somehow, it was just _different_ with Draco. She couldn't explain it.

She could only vaguely remember slipping between the decadent sheets the night before. After his summons while they were showering together, he had been frustratingly tight-lipped about what he discovered when he Apparated to Hogsmeade. But whatever had happened, he was given a task that had to be completed. Though he might have come back to sleep in his own bed for the night, he was gone again before she even woke up. Not even a note was left to give her a clue to his whereabouts. Any life spent with Draco Malfoy would be fraught with unexplained absences and late nights. Of course, even just contemplating what a life with the wizard would be like was a ridiculous waste of time.

Every moment that she remained in his flat imagining that they were just two old acquaintances who discovered they had feelings for the other was only going to make it harder to leave. She couldn't expect what was happening with them to last longer than the short time she spent hiding in his flat. There was nothing between them that had any hope for lasting longer than the moment she had to finally step out of the front door. It was foolish to ignore that fact. She wasn't doing either of them any favors by lingering longer than she should. There would be no happy ending for them, no long life together, nothing. Even if the Resistance was somehow able to complete their Revolution, they wouldn't be free to be anything more than two lonely people who spent several days in bed to try to forget how lonely they actually were.

Hermione didn't even have to turn over onto her side to know that the wizard was already gone. The clock next to the bed showed the time to just be after eight in the morning, but it was likely that he had been gone since before the sun even came up. She was curious about what he did when he was away. Just how dangerous were these missions he was sent on? Knowing that he was friendly with the Resistance helped calm a number of her fears. At least she didn't have to worry that he would get caught by them. If they were as large as he claimed they were, that was no small load off of her mind. All he need worry about were the Death Eaters and considering they mostly wanted nothing to do with the Malfoys, that was easily accomplished.

The sound of voices in the next room startled her out of her thoughts. Draco wasn't the sort of person to wander around his home talking to himself that she was aware of. He hadn't done it since she was installed as an unwitting guest anyway. There certainly wasn't a Muggle television set anywhere in the flat. Even if he wasn't completely ignorant of most Muggle devices, she didn't see him as the sort to watch much television. He liked to remain active. There were also dozens of books strewn haphazardly around the flat and they didn't belong to her. None of his neighbors in the building had dropped by in the time since she was plucked off the streets of Aberdeen. If he had Muggle-repelling charms set up around his flat, she wouldn't have been surprised.

She stayed as silent as possible to try to discern what she was hearing just meters away. It didn't take her long to feel confident that she was definitely hearing voices. For once, they weren't even inside her head. Two people were having a calm conversation. Impossible to hear what exactly was being said, she knew one of them was Draco. The measure of his voice had been ingrained inside her mind since they were eleven years old. Further interactions the past several months only made it more so. Hermione rose from the bed, careful not to make any loud sounds. If he thought that she was in any sort of danger, he would have made certain that the door to his bedroom was spelled to keep her in it and others out. As she pulled Draco's robe on, she made her way to test the door. It opened without issue.

Both of the voices ceased the moment she stepped out into the kitchen. Her host was seated at his table sipping his customary morning cup of tea with one of the last people Hermione expected to see. Part of her really shouldn't have been surprised to see Ginny Weasley again. For whatever reason, her life was intrinsically wrapped up in Draco's since they were both so involved with the Resistance. Considering the less than positive reaction she had from the wizard who hated her the last time she saw William Wood, she would have assumed that his former paramour would have much the same reaction when their paths crossed again.

Ginny took one look at her old friend and laughed into her teacup. Though she might have been witness to some bizarre behavior on the other witch's part considering their once close friendship, that wasn't the response Hermione expected. A further roll of Ginny's eyes at her appearance made the older witch think seriously about hexing her face. What was the meaning of this visit?

"Can't say I'm all that surprised to see you wandering out of Draco's bedroom dressed in his robe, Hermione." Ginny turned her attention to the wizard before asking her next impertinent question. "That been going on for months?"

The woman's demeanor was cold, even if she was still laughing. Draco was quick to assure her that their dalliance hadn't been going on for long with a simple 'no'. It bothered Hermione more than she cared to dwell on that the two of them were so familiar. Weeks earlier he'd declared that she had never been a guest in his home and there had never been anything between them beyond friendship. Had that been a lie? As skilled as she was in detecting falsehoods, no one was one hundred percent perfect all of the time. He might simply have been able to fool her. Wanting to move her thoughts beyond what his past was with Ginny, she pushed her concerns to the back of her mind to deal with later. In that moment, she wanted to know just what the hell a Resistance leader was doing in his kitchen.

"Why are you here, Ginny?"

"Can't an old friend just pop in for some tea now and again?"

She wasn't in the mood to play games. Instead, Hermione simply stared at the woman unsmiling, waiting for her to finally answer her question. It only took a few seconds before she sighed.

"Are you tired of running from the Resistance?"

"I'm tired of running full stop."

It was the truth. Whatever she had to do to be able to live her life in peace, she was willing to do it. Running away to another country had been impractical, but she still had moments of regret for not doing what she could to take Augustus up on his offer.

"Thanks to you, Aberforth is rotting away in some Ministry jail waiting for his execution."

"It was never my intention…"

"Whether you meant it or not, you _are_ responsible, Hermione. We in the Resistance haven't forgotten that. Nor will we."

There was a great deal of anger behind her statement. Not that Hermione could blame her for it. She was justified. The fact that she hadn't immediately cursed the woman responsible for his capture as soon as she saw her was a surprise. It was no secret how beloved Aberforth Dumbledore was to those in the Resistance. They all rallied around the man.

"Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you still have some influence with the people in charge. You have your own power. If you so desired, you could get Aberforth freed before he was killed for your incompetence."

"Ginny, I don't know how I would get him out. He's probably locked down in Level Eleven…"

"I don't care how you get him out, Hermione. Just do it. If Aberforth dies, you will be next. We won't forget."

Her threat still hung in the air moments after Ginny made her dramatic exit from the flat. Sitting down in her vacated seat, Hermione stared at Draco who had been completely silent with the exception of his one word answer. He seemed uncomfortable and ready to rush out too. Almost as if he read her mind, Draco rose to his feet. Pressing a quick kiss to her lips, he made his excuses to leave the flat only a few minutes after Ginny. Completely alone once more, she sat back imagining all of the possibilities.

What Ginny was asking her for was impossible. There was no way she could get the wizard free. Not unless she tucked her tail between her legs and slinked back to Hogsmeade to her husband. _That_ for damn sure wasn't about to happen any time soon.


	128. May 7th

May 7th

Remaining in a place where Ginny Weasley could easily find her was not a good idea. Draco's flat no longer felt safe. Especially not after the Resistance leader's warning the day before that she would be killed if anything happened to their comrade. To _expect_ Hermione to help Aberforth Dumbledore escape from whatever prison he was being held was complete and utter madness. Forget about being asked to be a spy. This demand was much more dangerous. Any hint of dissension or potential sabotage would result in her death. Dumbledore would still be executed. Everything would be for nothing.

Draco never returned the day before after he followed Ginny's quick exit. Whether he was caught up in his orders or he was simply looking for a reason to avoid another confrontation with his guest for a little while longer was unclear. Not that it really should've mattered, but to Hermione, it did. She lay awake in his big, empty bed alone waiting for him to return. Only sheer exhaustion allowed her to finally fall asleep some time after midnight. It felt wrong to be angry with him, like she didn't have a right to feel that way. The lines of their relationship became even muddier with their recent shift in boundaries.

She dragged herself out of bed just after noon. With nowhere to be and nothing to do, sleeping her life away was as good an option as any. As she sat at the kitchen table sipping at a cup of tea and trying to work up to eating her simple breakfast, she allowed her mind to travel to imagining absurd possibilities where she might be successful in securing Aberforth his freedom.

There was some truth to the matter that if anyone inside the regime was able to help facilitate his escape, it would be Hermione. In her former position as Co-Head of the Ministry's Intelligence Department, she had access to every single person wanted for questioning by an official working with the Ministry. Didn't matter which department brought them in, she was able to speak to them by doing nothing more than simply entering a room. Everyone knew who Hermione Dolohov was. Even if they weren't aware of who she'd been before the war ended, they knew the position of power she held. No one would keep her away when she wanted something. All it took was one word from her and their entire family could be snatched up and dragged to their own cells. It was enough of a discouragement to stay out of her way.

Only Rabastan Lestrange had as much power as she when it came to those wanted for interrogations. Their same level had always been a touchy subject for the wizard. He thought his age and his experience earned him the right to be in charge. Sometimes he could be a real bother. Stroking his ego when she wanted something quickly became tiresome. But, she was resourceful enough to uncover the key to both distracting Rabastan and getting whatever she desired.

If the rest of the Ministry knew what happened inside their shared office when the door was closed, they had the decency to keep quiet about it. Whenever Rabastan was in one of his cantankerous moods when he didn't want to cooperate, Hermione would point her wand at the door. A simple, non-verbal spell would shut it and lock it. The wizard was far from being an idiot. He had to have known how easily he was being manipulated. Likely, he knew and didn't care. The click of the lock usually stopped his ranting and raving. A sly smirk would creep up on his face as he stared at his Co-Head.

"Was there something you wished to _discuss_ in private, pet?"

"Your incessant whinging is getting on my nerves."

It was a familiar dance, one she could perform in her sleep. Each time it began in the exact same manner and ended the exact same way - with Hermione winning. She would stand to her feet, drop the outer robes that all Ministry officials wore to the floor, and slowly, but deliberately cross the room to where Rabastan was seated behind his desk. The anticipation he felt in her torturous journey across the carpet almost always had him primed and ready before she'd even touched him.

"It seems that I must give you something else to think about just to get some peace and quiet in here. I can't even concentrate on my work with you prattling on so."

By the point where she dropped to her knees in front of him, Rabastan's face would be split into a huge grin. It was a shame that a truly heinous person had to be so attractive. She always thought it unfair. Monsters should be terrifying, not so gorgeous that it was easy to forget what they actually were beneath their flawless skin. The bulge in his trousers would always be straining to be released. Not once in all of the years they'd repeated this scenario over and over again had he not been pleased with the prospect. Hermione would carefully slide his zipper down, taking her time to torture the wizard a little bit more. It wasn't as much fun for her if she didn't make him suffer.

Rabastan had been one of the first men she invited into her bed after Augustus was an idiot. He might have even been _the_ first, but she was so drunk that she couldn't remember those first few days very clearly. To outside observers it might have seemed unusual for their sexual relationship to continue long after she was married. She didn't care. Antonin had his dalliances. She had hers. Some days, she was certain that she needed this more than Rabastan.

The wizard liked to believe that he was somehow in a position of power with her on her knees between his thighs. Men could be such fools when they thought with the wrong part of their bodies. What might have seemed submissive was in fact quite the opposite. For however long it lasted, she held the capacity to hurt him in her mouth and her hands. As soon as she pulled him free of the confines of his trousers, she would run the tip of her tongue along his throbbing vein. She would always be rewarded with a deep groan of appreciation. She would follow that up with wrapping her lips only around the tip, swirling her tongue until she could hear nothing but his moans. Experience taught her just how to tease him before taking his full length inside her mouth. If he had been disrespectful like so many selfish arseholes to assault her mouth, she wouldn't have repeated the act. He was kind enough to always give her full control, to just sit back and enjoy the sensations. Usually, if he wasn't caught completely off guard and unable to last as long as he would've liked, he would reach a point where he'd pick her off the floor and throw her down on top of his desk. After pushing up the skirts she always wore to the office, he'd tug her knickers down and make her scream. Regardless of how he chose to come, by then, she could be certain to get exactly what she wanted. Any interrupted arguments would be forgotten.

Distracting Rabastan with a little office play was not going to be enough to get Aberforth released. It might be a start, a step towards the ultimate goal, but no matter how much she considered the options, she just couldn't see how she would be able to grant Ginny's demands. Running again would have to be her next move. Maybe she was capable of cloaking her magic enough that she could slip out of the country. She wasn't positive how far the Trace went exactly. If she made it to South America, she felt confident that would be far enough. Draco wouldn't like her plan.

Almost as if on cue, the wizard walked through the front door. One glance at his wrinkled, dirty clothes and the exhausted expression on his face proved that he had been on a mission. Whether or not he volunteered for the mission to be free from her for a few hours remained to be seen. Draco cautiously approached the kitchen table, unsure if she would be angry or not for his absence. Knowing that she was about to tell him something he would decidedly _not_ want to hear, she plastered her best smile on her lips and greeted him with a deep kiss. For the moment at least, it seemed that she was calm. He exhaled a sigh of relief.

She waited for him to take a long shower. Even though he extended the invitation for her to join him, she could tell he was too tired to do much of anything but lather up and rinse off. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Hermione waited patiently for him to finish. It was best that they have the difficult conversation sooner rather than later. He could sense a shift in the tension of the flat the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Everything all right?"

"It's not safe for me to stay any longer since Ginny has been here. I have to leave."

His feelings on the matter where clear when he slammed the drawer he'd been pulling clean clothes out of. Before he would turn around to look her in the face after her announcement, Draco took a deep breath.

"Are you just going to spend the rest of your life running?"

"Until I come up with a better plan."

What followed was one of the worst rows that she could remember having outside of the home she once shared with her husband. Neither of them bothered to keep their voices down. Tempers flared. The wizard was not happy at all to hear that she was going to leave just so she could wander around lost again. It was going to get her killed, he was certain.

"Starving and walking around the country waiting for someone who wants to hurt you to find you is _not_ a plan, Hermione. What is wrong with you?"

She felt defensive at the tone of voice he was using. It was one she'd heard more than a few times before from other people in her life.

"You're being unreasonable. You can't even think for yourself. You are safe here, Hermione. And you want to throw that all away because of some crazy notion that the Resistance is going to sneak in my very heavily warded flat to murder you in the middle of the night?"

"I am _not_ crazy. Don't you dare say I am."

"That's how you're acting. You can't just keep running aimlessly. It's insane."

Fearing that she would hurt him if she stayed another minute, Hermione rushed from his bedroom. She ignored his pleas for her to stop and come back. It was best that they stay apart. She slammed the door to the guest room shut. Minutes later she heard the sound of the front door slam.


	129. May 8th

May 8th

Morning brought calmer heads. Hermione tossed and turned most of the night rolling over their argument in her head. At first, when it was all still fresh in her mind, she had been so incensed that Draco would attack her sanity she could hardly think straight. It made her even angrier when her mind went fuzzy. Later, as she had time to cool off and think rationally, she understood that he wasn't calling _her_ crazy, just her decision to run off without a plan.

She hated to admit that he was at least partially right. As pleasant as her stay at Draco's flat had been, she wanted to stay. If she could somehow forget the world outside the four walls of his home, she wouldn't have even considered leaving. And if she knew that no one from the Resistance knew where to find her, she would have no reason to go. Their discussion wasn't going to be over. She was still a danger to him every single second that she remained. Still, she was calm enough to consider whatever options he might be able to suggest. Perhaps together they could come up with a suitable plan.

Knowing she couldn't hide away in Draco's guest bedroom forever, she stepped out into the corridor, prepared for Round Two if the wizard was in the fighting mood. Not really knowing him all that well meant she wasn't sure what to expect. With Augustus she knew there would always come a great deal of pouting after a row. His childish actions both infuriated her and charmed her at the same time. Antonin preferred to act as if nothing had happened. If they were both calm, he would kiss her hello and pretend their fight was just a bad dream they shared. Denial and avoidance were the cornerstone of their marriage.

Hermione wasn't sure how Malfoys dealt with losses of temper and raised voices. A big part of her hoped that after she heard the front door slam the night before that it would only be a matter of time before Draco came home cooled off. Each of them needed to go to their corners and lick their wounds. Once ruffled feathers were soothed she wanted him to come back, slip in the covers behind her, and apologize for being a complete arse. Of course, she knew he was stubborn enough to not be willing to admit that he was completely at fault. Hadn't the incident in the forest when she completely humiliated herself by getting confused and calling out to Harry proven that he couldn't just casually throw out the 'crazy' word?

Alecto once told her that her least attractive trait was her inability to concede the fact that sometimes, just maybe, she might be wrong. Oh, that had been a fun discussion! Hermione still couldn't think back on that night years later when the two shared a bottle or two of wine and complained about how frustrating their respective jobs had become. After ranting about an incident proving the incompetence of the witch Hermione hired as her assistant, Alecto gently offered the suggestion that maybe Hermione had been too hard on the poor girl, too demanding and unreasonable. Still Hermione refused to concede that she was wrong.

She hated when she came to the realization after the fact that Alecto had been at least _partially_ correct. Sometimes she did just assume that her way was best and would hear no argument claiming otherwise. Her ill-fated crusade to free the house-elves came to mind. Because _she_ believed they were all miserable and mistreated, she had to save them from their existence. No matter how many times she heard from others, including the actual house-elves themselves, that they were content and even happy, because they disagreed with her, she believed they were wrong. Opening up her closed mind to different possibilities was difficult.

Deciding that she would try to make amends even if she didn't think she was wrong, Hermione left her room to make breakfast. Experience taught her that men were easier to deal with when they'd been well-fed. The door to his bedroom was closed, a sign he'd eventually come home. She didn't have to wait long for the man to leave his room once the bacon was sizzling.

Still clearly exhausted from his excursions outside the flat the night before, Draco rubbed at his tired eyes. He stopped a few steps away from where she was cooking breakfast to gauge her mood. It was only after she granted him a small smile that he closed the distance between them to kiss her. Surprised at first by the affection, Hermione froze. She wasn't used to such an exuberant show of apology. Sure, the other men in her life would eventually come calling for a little make-up action, but they never started off with a kiss that she felt down to her toes. Perhaps, she had been arguing with wizards incorrectly her entire life. Over sooner than she was ready, when he broke the kiss to stare into her eyes, she was at a loss of what to say.

"I'm very sorry that I made it seem like I was calling you crazy last night. That was _never_ my intention."

He seemed so sincere she couldn't help but believe him. It seemed only fair that she offer her own.

"I shouldn't have overreacted like I did. I'm sorry."

The tension between them that had been present since their heated discussion the night before all but disappeared. Whatever their relationship was, it seemed that they had successfully navigated through their first domestic squabble. She finished up their meal with her mind focused on ideas for how they could truly enjoy the making up.

How he spent the hours he was away from the flat was a topic that Hermione found herself curious about, but she didn't really want to ask. She didn't want to know which Death Eaters he interacted with when he left. Knowing too much about the outside world could either terrify her to the point that she never wanted to step outside again or encourage her to return to Hogsmeade. Draco wasn't in a rush to explain his absences either. It was possible he understood what too much knowledge would do to the woman.

Conversation stalled over breakfast. Maybe they weren't as over their disagreement as she assumed. Each time one of them would start to say something, they'd stop themselves. It wasn't exactly the _most_ uncomfortable meal she'd ever been a part of, but it was high on the list. Later she would blame the awkwardness for making her blurt out the question she had been wondering for months by that point.

"When we were staying in the tent in the village, why did you get so angry that morning we were talking about Augie?"

Draco's fork crashed to his plate with a bite of eggs still on it. When he looked up to meet her eyes she saw equal parts confusion and anger present his stormy grey eyes. She wished she could go back in time a few minutes earlier to prevent the words from tumbling out. The timing was awful and completely inappropriate. If it was possible, she thought he was even a bit embarrassed. There were only a few times in the twenty-seven years that they had been aware of the other's existence that she could remember him being so out of sorts. He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else in the entire world than at his kitchen table.

"Why would you ask me that?"

"I just thought it was interesting that you were so angry. I wondered why."

It was clear that he was debating within himself whether or not he was going to answer her question. All of the tension returned to the room and it began to grow. Draco stared at her unblinking for at least a minute. Hermione shifted in her chair, uneasy with the intense scrutiny. She briefly considered trying his tactic from earlier and just kissing him until he couldn't remember what they were talking about. Before she got her chance, he spoke.

"I was jealous."

"Jealous?"

" _Obviously_."

It it was possible, he became even more embarrassed by his admission. The tiniest pinking of his cheeks was a sight she didn't expect to see. He was usually able to hide his expressions better than that.

"What the devil could you have possibly been jealous about? Until I went to Cornwall, there hadn't been anything between Augie and me for thirteen years."

"And yet, after all of that time, you were still in love with him. Claimed that you would love him until you died."

She didn't know where he was going with his words, only that she was very uncomfortable. Why did she always have to keep talking when it was best to stay silent? Usually she was better. Maybe all of the time she spent over the past year alone on the run away from human interaction changed her. Draco rose to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. She hated herself for making him feel like he couldn't relax in his own home.

"I hated you that morning. Hated you both actually."

His confession surprised her enough that she couldn't even formulate a response to ask him why. She could feel her mouth hanging open, her confusion was evident. In the end, it turned out he didn't need her to ask. He was ready to tell her everything.

"I hated that you and Rook knew what it was like to love someone so completely. Even after thirteen years apart, he was all you thought about. You couldn't wait to get back to him the first chance you could. I hated you because no one has ever loved me like that."

Flustered, she tried to find her tongue.

"Surely, Astoria…"

" _No one_."

With the pink in his cheeks fully transformed into bright red, the wizard rushed to the front door. As it slammed shut again, Hermione concluded that she wasn't the only one who had a problem with running away.


	130. May 9th

May 9th

It had never been Hermione's intention to humiliate the poor man with her questions. Sometime she was inappropriate when it came to asking questions in what should have been a polite conversation. Her husband had a signal and a code phrase he used when he felt she was traveling down an impertinent or rude path. After working for so many years as an interrogator, what was acceptable to ask an acquaintance over cocktails at a dinner party seemed to become less and less clear. She was used to no subject being off-limits, no question taboo. Antonin would always gently squeeze her elbow and ask the poor victim of his wife's exuberance just how young was too young for a little boy to get a puppy because no one in the Dolohov family could ever agree.

She could have used Antonin hours earlier over their tense breakfast. There were times he was able to simply signal to her with a lift of his eyebrows across a room that she needed to calm down and allow someone else to have a turn speaking. Years as his student and then even longer married taught them each a great deal about the other's mannerisms. He knew when she was moving into dangerous territory with her questions and she knew just by looking at his face when he had had too much to drink and was in danger of saying more than he should. For all that they didn't like about each other, they made a formidable team. Maybe if _he'd_ been the one outside her broom cupboard everything would have been different.

But, there was no sense in wishing for what could not be. Staying mired in the past robbed one of both their present and their future. Regret was an emotion she knew all too well. It was unfortunate that she upset Draco so soundly the day before. Even if she would have liked to, she couldn't go back and change what she did.

Being alone in his flat all day and evening gave Hermione a lot of time to think. Truthfully, there hadn't been much else for her to do since he "rescued" her from the streets of Aberdeen. Reading passed some of the time, but even she couldn't read every hour of the day she wasn't sleeping, eating, or taking advantage of his shower. Her mind would wander, the ink on the pages would start to lose their meaning. Existing on the run when her safety wasn't guaranteed and she had to keep finding adequate shelter kept her usually from the luxury of dwelling too much on unpleasant topics. Draco's warded flat allowed her the freedom to obsess and dwell as she liked.

Over and over the same thought kept running through her mind. It had never been her intention to embarrass the man with her question about his anger back in the Resistance's village. Part of her, the tiniest speck of a girl who once believed in romance deep, deep inside, hoped he would take that moment to admit his jealousy because _he_ had been in love with _her_ for a long time. It was a silly fantasy. For years they could hardly stand the sight of each other and then they mostly just tried to stay out of the other's way. Or, at least that's what she had done. She couldn't speak for his motivations. But, imagining a world where Draco had been holding a flame for her all of these years would have made a compelling story, if a bit unrealistic and too fantastical to believe.

She had always taken her love for Augustus for granted. The first seeds were planted outside her broom cupboard and then watered with his visits to Antonin's home early in her training. When she looked back on those first years following the end of the war, she only saw Augustus. He was the biggest part of keeping her sane during that tumultuous time. Was it any wonder she began to feel the first threats of her mind slipping after he was forced to leave? Because her love for Augustus was always a part of her, it was easy to forget that not everyone was fortunate enough to experience a great love in their life.

Her assumption that Astoria Greengrass filled that need for Draco was innocently made. How was she supposed to know what a sore subject that would turn out to be for him? It became all too clear that despite days of tumbling in and out of bed with the man, she knew very little about him. While she lived her life with Augustus and then with Antonin, he had his own life. She didn't know what he had experienced or done. Their pasts were complicated. Everything in their world was complicated. Likely they could spend the rest of their lives around each other and still know nothing about the other.

Well after midnight when she was finally able to shut her upsetting thoughts up enough to fall asleep, once again in the guest bedroom, she was startled awake by the press of a chest against her back and the feel of an arm draped over her side. She hoped that he returned to her because he was ready to move past what she'd done. It was interesting how she had basically made an entire career out of embarrassing and tormenting perceived enemies of the regime without batting an eye, but knowing she'd upset Draco so much ate at her. A lot changed about her since the night he caught her in the Muggle's house on New Year's Day. Maybe she wasn't completely without hope yet.

"I shouldn't have run out of here like I did this morning. I'm sorry."

Hermione sighed at the feel of his lips against her temple. Rolling over onto her back so she could meet his eyes, she prepared to do what she tried so very rarely to do. Admitting one's faults or conceding that perhaps they might have been wrong could easily be considered weaknesses. She certainly believed it so. But, remembering the look in his grey eyes when they were still seated at his table made her no longer care if she was perceived as weak by the wizard. He _deserved_ better than that.

"No, I'm sorry for asking impertinent questions that were none of my business."

A quiet, indelicate snort came out of the man to Hermione's surprise. She wasn't expecting that kind of reaction. Draco lowered his head to kiss her once on the lips.

"Asking questions is what you do, Hermione. You've _always_ asked too many questions."

She couldn't exactly argue with his remark even if she wanted to. It _was_ one of her more annoying traits or so she'd been told her entire life. At least he was trying to remain upbeat. She appreciated that he was making an effort to make her feel better about the awkward morning.

"I still should not have asked you what I did. It's none of my business."

He kissed her again, lingering a little longer than earlier. Just as she thought he was going to try to heat up their actions into something a little more pleasurable, he pulled back to her disappointment. It was easier when they were occupied with the base pleasures of the flesh. She didn't have to think too much about anything. She never had to worry beyond the next moment.

"I won't lie that I was angry, but mostly just embarrassed. Still can't believe that I actually _admitted_ I've never truly been in love before. Never told anyone that before. That wasn't anything I planned on telling you. Clearly, you were very good at your job."

It wasn't meant to be unkind. Hermione knew that. Many long years had come and gone since the man was last the boy who enjoyed tormenting and taunting her with his words. Even holding that knowledge, a tightness settled in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes she could look back on what she had done for so many years for the regime with pride. Mostly, she was beginning to feel the stings of regret in yet another area of her misguided life.

"Part of the reason why I wanted to run was because I was _too_ good at my job. It made me feel powerful, invincible even. I was getting to the place where I was enjoying it _too_ much."

Those words had never slipped from her mouth before. Not even when she was completely alone with no one else around. She couldn't even afford to admit them to herself, but they were true. The amount of power she held over people's lives in that position was intoxicating and exhilarating. Knowing that the same people Antonin was trying to protect from her overenthusiastic questioning at social events lived in abject fear that one day they would be dragged to her special room in the lowest level of the Ministry of Magic to be subjected to even more questioning filled her with a headiness she couldn't explain. For so much of her life she had no power at all. As nothing but a Muggle-born student with few friends to the terrified pet of the Dark Lord's, she couldn't even hope to gain any meaningful amount of power over anything, including her own life. Having a large percentage of the country's population fear her changed all of that.

"I understand. Sometimes I feel the same way. I _like_ being expected to be away from everyone. I _like_ moving around and never staying in the same place for very long."

He kissed her again to prove that he meant what he said. It made her feel slightly better knowing that someone else could somewhat understand what she felt. Getting wrapped up in what they were ordered to do for the regime was a common issue. Many other Death Eaters in similar situations completely lost who they were before. While she was far from being the person she used to be, she understood that it was best she leave while she still could.

"You've been staying home a lot lately."

"Because I have an incentive to keep returning."

Yet another kiss proved that he was determined to move past the uncomfortable situation. Though she was grateful, part of her still felt ill at ease because he had never actually _accepted_ her apology. She was afraid that he was just pretending that he was all right. Gently pushing on his chest, she broke the kiss off to look in his eyes.

"Do you forgive me, Draco?"

"There's nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong. Like I said, I was just embarrassed to admit that unlike everyone else in the world it seems, I've never known what it feels like to be in love."

He kissed her again. The last of her worries that he was just pretending to forgive her fell away. She wanted to lose herself in him again, forget the worries of the world and focus only on what was happening inside that bed. Draco removed his lips from hers to kiss a heated trail from her chin up her neck. Just outside the shell of her ear he whispered.

"I think that could all be changing."

As he renewed his attention to her neck and shoulders, a sinking took place in Hermione's gut. He deserved better than to fall in love with the likes of her. She would bring him nothing but pain and misery.


	131. May 10th

May 10th

Waking up alone in bed was quickly becoming something that Hermione was getting used to again. Draco kept such odd hours that she couldn't ever guarantee that when she turned over in the morning that he would still be lying there. Though she appreciated that he was considerate enough to stay as quiet as possible when he was summoned away, she wouldn't have minded at least having the opportunity to say goodbye before he left. She knew better than most that returning home from a summons wasn't always promised.

After forcing herself to finally extricate herself from the luxurious linens that were piled high on Draco's bed, she rubbed her sleepy eyes. Tea was the first order of the day. The complete stillness of the flat indicated right off that she shouldn't expect her host to be in the kitchen preparing a large breakfast. If she allowed herself to imagine what a future life with Draco would be like, she felt certain that the loneliness and constant worry about his safety and well-being would be miserable. It was best that she not allow her mind to travel down that disheartening path.

As she waited for the tea to finish brewing, she thought back over the confession he made when they were finished making up from their second disagreeable row in two days. Draco fancied himself falling in love with her. She couldn't lie, even to herself, that the fantasy of giving herself permission to reciprocate his feelings was intoxicating. Her feelings about the man in that moment were nothing like they'd been only months earlier. When she was alone with him, she could dream up a world where they were safe and free to be together. That future was bright.

It was also a complete lie. There was no hope that they would ever be able to exist beyond stolen moments. Even if she completely forgot her marriage to another man, their world itself was unpredictable. Assuming that the Resistance was able to bring about this Glorious Revolution they were so obsessed with, what would her place be in this new world? Considering her crimes, she couldn't imagine anyone in power would just excuse her to go live a fresh start with Draco. No, her future was bleak and rightfully so. It was what she deserved. Draco, however, didn't deserve to pay for her crimes right alongside her.

In an effort to move her thoughts from her dismal future, she picked up the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on top of the kitchen table. The first sip of her tea almost burned her lips when she got a glimpse of the date. How could she have forgotten? Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she couldn't even remember that her son's birthday was coming? The tenth of May was usually spent spoiling her son in every way possible that Antonin could think up. He always made certain that their son had a special day even when she was too busy at work to give it much of a thought. Truthfully, _Antonin_ was a better mum than she was. It was a sobering thought.

Ollie was twelve years old. She had officially been on the run for an entire year. Memories of his wretched eleventh birthday party ran through her exhausted mind. Sometimes the day felt like it just happened, other times it felt as if years had already passed. When she ran out the backdoor in her kitchen still covered in her husband's fresh blood, she never expected to make it as long as she did. She assumed that she would be swiftly captured and made to pay for the crimes against her husband. In her moment of madness, she'd almost killed the man. Just one more damnable offense in a long line of others.  
Though it might not have been the most popular of opinions and certainly not one that she could ever express in front of the other mums who believed that the sun rose from the arse of their little terrors, Hermione was glad that Oliver didn't have her in his life at the moment mucking everything up. When she considered years earlier running with him, she hadn't thought it all through. Instinct would tell a mother that they had to protect their child at all cost. For some, that would mean taking them away from a dangerous situation or person and protecting them with the very breath from their body. But what about when the dangerous person they needed to protect their child from _was_ their mother? She would bring the boy nothing but sorrow and pain. It was better that she not pollute his world with her presence. Antonin loved him more thoroughly than he loved anyone else. His temper might be easily lost with his wife, but with the exception of the time Oliver struck back at Hermione physically, he had always remained perfectly calm and even-tempered with his son. _He_ would be the one to protect his child with the last breath from his body.

There were no easy choices to make in life. That was a lesson she didn't need Antonin to teach her years earlier. She'd already learned it on her own. It was normal to second guess decisions made even if there was nothing that could be done to correct them after the fact. She would just have to learn how to be content with what she decided about her son. He wasn't abandoned completely. There were other women in his life that were better suited for the role of being his mother. Maybe her husband would eventually give up on her ever returning and find love with someone who could be a better mum for Ollie. It wasn't wrong to hope for that, was it?

She forced herself to move past her depressing thoughts. There was nothing she could do to change the past. Didn't she already know that fact all too well? Very little in the morning newspaper was worth reading. It was difficult to read the Daily Prophet at face value. Every single article included within its pages had been thoroughly vetted and approved by Albert Runcorn. He was a master at spinning a lie until it read like the gospel truth.

Way back on the sixth page a tiny blurb caught her eye. Likely overlooked by just about everyone else who picked up the morning edition, she was drawn to the words. Aberforth Dumbledore was still waiting for his trial in an 'undisclosed location'. She knew without a doubt that that meant the cells in the lowest level of the Ministry where she spent much of her career. Rabastan was more than just an effective interrogator. There was a reason why he was chosen to help her lead the department. She might have been graced with some natural abilities, but so was he. Her Co-Head also had the benefit of more experience. If Aberforth was still alive, that meant that Rabastan wasn't finished with the arduous task of forcing the man to tell him everything he knew about the Resistance. With such a powerful position within the rebel organization, that wasn't something that could be accomplished over the span of an afternoon. Well over a month had already passed since she was responsible for accidentally getting him captured. For him to still be alive proved that he was both valuable and incredibly stubborn. Much younger witches and wizards were easily broken sooner than he was. She had to give the man his due respect.

She could hear Ginny's warning echoing through her mind. The only reason why the Resistance hadn't upped their efforts to capture her was because they still needed her to get their beloved member out of his captivity. They might have claimed that Augustus was the only Death Eater in a position of authority helping them, but she knew better. To reveal all of their cards was foolish. Whoever the other Death Eater or Death _Eaters_ were assisting the Resistance, they weren't in the right place to accomplish that feat. That meant that Rabastan hadn't been turned. Not that that was a surprise, honestly. He would have to be convinced there was something in it for him to put his life at risk. No one else within Intelligence would be foolish enough to assist them either. She was quite literally their only hope to achieve their goal. She'd known Ginny long enough to understand that her threats weren't idle. If Aberforth died, they would be coming after her at full-force with no mercy.

The more she thought about the predicament she was in, the more she wanted to talk to Draco to see what his thoughts were. She was beginning to trust the man's judgement in all matters except for the heart. Anyone who would fall in love with her was dangerously naïve and reckless. Wishing there was some way that she could summon him home, Hermione waited impatiently for hours. No matter what she did to occupy her mind, she was unsuccessful. Time moved at a snail's pace and still he did not come home.

She wanted to protect him. Not just from the danger that he was in because of his association with her. While it was clear that Ginny at least was keeping his secret relationship with their most hated foe from the rest of the Resistance, Hermione knew that if he was discovered by the rest of them to be harboring her, he would be in serious trouble. From the moment of his whispered confession, she knew she couldn't stay. He deserved better than the misery she would bring him. All she was good for was ruin and destruction. Cutting off what they had before either of them could get too far down a path of no return was a kindness. She only hoped that he would see it that way.

When the midnight hour was approaching and he still hadn't come home, Hermione knew she couldn't wait any longer. He might be gone for days or even weeks. It would be easier to go without a long, emotional goodbye. She was afraid that if she allowed him, he would talk her into staying. Leaving in the middle of the night before he could return was better. Maybe he would forgive her one day. She hoped so even if it would be better if he hated her until the day he died.

She took one last look at the flat before she walked out the front door for the first and the last time. It tore at her heart to have to leave. Before she lost her nerve, she spun around on her heel and punched the button on the lift. Safely outside in the darkness of the night, she calmed herself down with deep breaths to the point she could trust herself to cloak her magic. There was only one place she could go. Spinning in place with her eyes closed, she kept her thoughts on her destination. The moment she landed, she took another deep breath and opened her eyes to see the heavy wooden door looming in front of her face. With more confidence than she really felt, she knocked.

Antonin had just woken up. Likely he'd fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again. He had a terrible habit of doing that. His dark brown eyes widened in complete surprise when he saw his wife standing only inches away. No words were spoken as he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his chest. He seemed afraid to loosen his grip lest she float away. Finally, he spoke, the slightest hitch in his voice.

"I've been so worried about you."


	132. May 11th

**_Author's Note: You all cracked me up yesterday! Thank you so much for your screaming reviews. Lol! Loved them. Don't worry. If her motivations don't seem clear yet, give it a few days. ;)_**

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May 11th

Hermione wasn't sure how long they stood over the threshold of the home they'd shared for the better part of twenty years with Antonin's arms wrapped tightly around her frame. Several minutes at least. Long enough to hear the midnight hour rung in with the obnoxious German cuckoo clock of her husband's she loathed. If anyone dared to tell her the reception she would receive from Antonin at any point in the previous year, she would've laughed and rolled her eyes at their ignorance. Her husband wanted her dead after she attacked him so viciously and humiliated him in front of so many within their elite social circle.

But, for a reason she couldn't understand if her very existence was at stake, Antonin continued to hold her, whispering nonsense words about how relieved he was to see her in a thick, emotional tone that didn't sound the least bit like the man she knew. Where was his rage? Where were the curses he liked to throw? His hands were gentle with her, nothing like they'd been before. Not once did he grip her arms painfully or crack the back of his palm against her mouth. Had so much about her husband changed in her long absence?

 _No_ , she finally decided. Antonin was playing a part, attempting to lure her in with a false sense of security. He was a master manipulator, one who knew just how to make a target think and act the way he wished. She couldn't afford to trust him even for a second. Give him an inch and he'd consume her body and soul. She would play along, pretend like she believed him, but she refused to fall back into his trap. He was a man with a long memory who liked to hold grudges. Trusting anything he said would make her a fool.

"Come inside. I'll make us some tea."

At his invitation to enter her own home, Hermione pushed past her husband to head straight for the kitchen. If he thought she was trusting enough to accept anything he gave her to eat or drink, _he_ was the fool. It would be just like him to try to slip one of those horrible potions in her tea when she wasn't looking. She had to be on her guard and clear-headed.

" _I_ will make it."

Antonin knew enough not to argue once she set her mind to something. He took a seat at their kitchen table to watch every move she made, disbelief that she was there still plastered on his face. Hermione picked up the kettle to fill it with water from the tap. She was halfway through the entire brewing process before she remembered she didn't have to hide her magic any longer. Not even a cloaked spell was necessary. Removing her old wand from her pocket, she pointed it at the kettle to speed up the heating of the water.

A loud 'pop' only steps away startled both occupants of the room. Still dressed in the clothes he no doubt wore to bed, a frazzled and frantic Corban Yaxley sought out Antonin. Ordinarily a calm and collected wizard, Hermione hardly recognized her next door neighbor.

"She's using magic again. You should still be able to track her location."

Antonin calmly nodded his head and gestured in Hermione's direction. Their late-night guest seemed on the verge of demanding why his old friend wasn't rushing off into the night to search for his missing wife. Confused by Antonin's reaction, Corban turned his gaze toward Hermione. His bright blue eyes widened when he saw her standing near the cooker.

They hadn't seen each other since he chased her through the village gates following her attack on her husband. Over the years, Hermione developed a comforting, albeit odd, friendship with the older wizard. Part of her worried what his next actions would be now that he knew she was back. Would he yell at her and berate her for all of the misery and stress she caused over the past twelve months? Would he deliver an impassioned lecture about how she ruined the lives of everyone damned to associate with a monster like her? Maybe he would stun her and drag her off to face the Dark Lord and answer for her crimes.

Crossing the length of the kitchen in a few strides of his legs and throwing his arms around her wasn't at all what she expected. Corban had never been a terribly demonstrative man. She knew that he cared about her, but never once would she have dreamed he would be so evidently relieved to see her home again.

"I'm so glad to have you back home where you belong." Corban lowered his voice to a whisper that only she could hear. "Antonin had a tough time of it without you here. Please don't run off again. I've been worried about him."

Corban had never been one to lie to Hermione. It had been one of his traits she liked best. In the past, especially when she was still heavily in her training and considered untrustworthy by the other Death Eaters, he never bothered to keep the truth from her. Not even when it was ugly or he wanted her to know that he didn't have much use for Harry Potter's best friend. She always appreciated candor. As their lives became more intertwined and they were able to form a tentative friendship that eventually became much warmer, he continued to tell her the truth when it was hard to hear. Even knowing those facts couldn't bring Hermione to actually _believe_ what he was saying about her abandoned husband.

"I will just leave you to it then."

Their neighbor made a hasty exit with a promise that all monitoring of her magic would be stopped. The implication that it could be resumed at any time hung in the air. There was no need. At least for the immediate future, she wasn't planning on going anywhere. She had a mission, one she had to confirm was impossible before she was willing to give up.

Being free to use the magic that came so naturally again threatened to intoxicate Hermione with its power. She was almost giddy feeling it rush through her body and out her wand. As she levitated the two cups full of steaming tea to the table where her husband waited, she understood for the first time how much she missed using magic, how much of a part of her it was.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Hermione sipped at the chamomile to give her an excuse to stay silent. When she imagined how her reunion with her husband would go, it was nothing like the reality. Antonin hadn't reached for his wand once and he hadn't threatened her with violence either. How could she almost kill him and he continue to act so calmly? His eyes never left her for even a moment, almost as if he was scared to look away and find her missing again. Hermione found his behavior to be odd, unsettling even. Had so much time apart changed him or was he simply continuing to play the part of the worried husband? She never could tell with him.

"I'm glad to have you home too."

Antonin's statement caught Hermione completely off-guard. There was something strange about how he said it, something that made her believe he wasn't serious. He wasn't the kind of man to be so open, so vulnerable. Thirteen years of marriage had given her a good idea about his character. She didn't recognize _this_ man.

"Are you really?"

Even she could hear the nasty bark to her words. It hadn't been intentional, but nothing about that night made a bit of sense. Antonin grimaced, almost as if she'd struck him. It was yet another show of vulnerability, of _weakness_ that she didn't understand. She didn't know this man. Antonin removed the hurt expression from his face and cleared his throat.

"I made sure to send Ollie a nice gift for his birthday. He's busy with lessons right now, but I wanted him to have something nice. It's his first birthday away from family."

Neither of them wanted to bring up the events of their son's last birthday. At some point they were going to have to have an uncomfortable conversation. Hermione hoped that she could delay that moment for as long as possible. It upset her to know that she'd ruined his eleventh birthday. Few birthdays were as exciting and important to a wizard, and she'd almost killed his father on his. Thanks to their dysfunction, it wasn't as if he had much in the way of family. If Hermione had succeeded in her hasty plan, she wasn't sure what would've happened to Oliver.

She was reminded of the night she had terrible dreams in her tent back in the village in Devon. Everything she _thought_ she remembered about her Muggle parents muddled together with visions that she couldn't tell were actual memories or not. There seemed to be no sense in her mind what was real and what wasn't when it came to the fates of her parents. Weeks earlier she knew that the only person who could answer her question for her was the man seated across the table.

"Are my parents alive? Or did they die in Australia during the war?"

The moment the words tumbled out of her mouth, she wished she could pull them back in. She felt foolish that she couldn't remember something so important. Antonin seemed shocked by the question if his furrowed brow and rapidly blinking eyes were an indication. It was a familiar expression that she couldn't bear to see again. How he was always able to make her feel completely insane with just a look was beyond her comprehension. Rising to her feet, she didn't give him a chance to answer.

"Forget it. I'm going to take a bath."

If her suddenly overly attentive husband followed her into their large bathroom, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised. He didn't seem as if he wanted to risk her leaving his line of sight for even a moment. Perhaps he imagined that she would sneak out the back door and run off into the night. Though she was tempted, she was determined that she would stay. She didn't have anywhere else to go. Not until she could finish her mission.

To her relief, Antonin gave her privacy. Maybe he was standing inside their bedroom listening at the door. It didn't matter. She needed a few minutes to herself and she'd been dreaming about her bathtub for the better part of a year. Draco's might have been luxurious and wonderful, but it wasn't _hers_. That made all of the difference.

It felt as if time slipped away when she was laying in the familiar bathtub with the foamy water up to her chin. She reminded herself to keep taking deep breaths. While she wasn't sure what her next move would be, she had to believe and trust that it would come to her. Getting complacent and lazy now that she was home and it was clear that Antonin wasn't going to immediately kill her was something she had to be careful about. She had to keep her focus on her plan, whatever the fuck that was going to be.

Long after the water grew cold, Hermione forced herself to get out of the tub. She wasn't ready for what was waiting for her outside the bathroom door. Maybe she never would be. Once she was dry and dressed in an old familiar nightgown, she opened a drawer next to the sink. Bottles of various sizes and shapes clinked in a loud racket. Picking one up that Antonin always made her take when she was very confused, she drank it down in one swallow. It would make her sleep for a long time, long enough for her mind to clear. When she woke up, she hoped she would be ready to keep going.


	133. May 12th

May 12th

The sun shining directly in Hermione's eyes was what finally woke her up from her deep, potion-induced sleep. Whatever ingredients were used in the tonic to clear her mind and help her rest were highly potent. Based on how stiff her limbs felt, she was sure she'd picked up one of the potions only rarely used for high intensity situations. Like the time she thought she was back in the cafe on Tottenham Court Road and Antonin and Thorfinn were there to kill or capture her again. She'd almost destroyed their kitchen and ruined a perfectly lovely dinner party.

A quiet shuffling coming from near the window caught Hermione's attention, steering her thoughts away from embarrassing nights that were better left unremembered. Someone was with her in the room. Assuming it was simply an overly attentive Antonin, she was startled to see the figure seated in his father's favorite reading chair. A smile slowly crept on Hermione's face. She might have been a terrible mother, but she _did_ love her son in her own way. Her maternal instincts were just dormant or recessive or simply non-existent.

Oliver had grown since she'd last seen him. Even since the brief glimpse she got of him back in February before Draco dragged her away from Hogsmeade. Though he was still seated she could tell that he would one day be easily as tall as his father. His hair was getting long, threatening to cover up the eyes he got from his mother. Part of her was sad to see he was becoming more and more handsome. Soon, if he wasn't already, he would break many hearts in Hogwarts Castle and probably have his own crushed as well. When he saw her eyes opened and watching him, Oliver smiled, his dimples a perfect copy of Antonin's.

"Papa told me I couldn't wake you up, but I could come in here if I was very quiet."

Hermione struggled to sit up after remaining in one position for so long. If her son was allowed to come down to the village to visit, it must be a Saturday, which meant she'd been dead to the world for over a day. She shouldn't have been surprised to sleep so long. Between the potion, the release of the tension she'd held in her out of fear of what Antonin would do to her, and the simple joy of finally sleeping again in her own bed, she might have been able to keep sleeping. As soon as she started moving, her son was off the chair to help. He threw his arms around her the moment she was sitting up.

Motherhood never brought Hermione the joy she was assured by so many that it would. The guilt she felt at not wanting to be a mother only increased when she was around her only child. She _did_ love him, but always felt he would've been better off with someone else as his mother. Maybe recognizing that fact was proof that she did care about the boy. He deserved more than he was given.

Oliver was reluctant to release his hold. Just like his father in another way it seemed. She was surprised to discover that she didn't mind. A big part of her had been afraid that he wouldn't forgive her for ruining his birthday by almost murdering his father in the middle of his party. Of course, she had to remember that it wasn't as if Oliver had much of an understanding what was normal for most families and what wasn't. The fact that he didn't recoil from her in terror was proof that her son loved his mother.

When they finally broke the embrace, Hermione patted the top of the mattress to encourage him to sit on the edge of the bed. The shift in his position gave her the chance to get a better look at the young man he was growing into. He would need new robes before the next school year. Already they were too short and a little too tight in the shoulders. She'd heard the slight deepening to his voice had already begun. If she blinked too hard, she'd open her eyes to see him transformed into a man. An entire year away was a long time in a child's life.

Her eyes fell on the scarlet and gold tie at his throat. She couldn't suppress a small chuckle as she reached up to touch the part of his uniform she was very familiar with. He might _look_ just like Antonin, but he was every bit her son as well. She knew her husband would've preferred he be in Ravenclaw where the students were typically more studious and less likely to get into trouble. His mother, however, was glad to see her House colors on her son.

"How do you like being in Gryffindor?"

Oliver's face lit up at the question. So much about the boy had always been overly serious and solemn. To see him excited made him look the age he actually was. Perhaps her running away and abandoning him hadn't been as traumatic with him tucked away in the castle. He deserved to have a carefree childhood learning his lessons and making friends. Part of her hoped he was getting into just a _little_ bit of trouble. She didn't know what to do with a perfectly well-behaved child.

"I love it. Professor McGonagall says that she's going to have to retire soon because we're all exhausting."

Hermione smiled. It was an old statement that her Head of House had been making to generations of her Gryffindors. While many of the professors teaching in the castle at the end of the war chose to leave for other opportunities or to simply get away from the regime, Minerva McGonagall felt a duty to continue protecting her students. She still had an enormous amount of respect and admiration for the Transfiguration professor even if the elderly witch no longer had much use for her former student. She would refrain from being openly hostile in Hermione's presence, but she was never warm. That part of Hermione's life was over.

Oliver was a wealth of information about the castle and its inhabitants. Without much prompting from his mother, he gave her all of the highlights of his first year - making friends with the other boys in his dormitory, his visits to Hagrid's hut for inedible snacks, and a dozen more perfectly normal activities she was glad to hear he was involved in. Though not terribly far from home, being at school was opening up an exciting new world for him.

"Hugo Weasley is probably my best friend."

Hermione's stomach clenched at Oliver's innocent admission. It was so reminiscent of her years at Hogwarts. Of course, she knew that Ron and his wife Romilda had a son his age. The Weasleys were determined to carry on the family tradition of having enough children to fill a Quidditch team. Remembering how innocent and naïve she and Ron once were filled her with a sadness that was hard to shake.

"One of the Gryffindor ghosts told me he knew you when you were in school, Mum."

"Yes, I even went to Sir Nicholas' five hundredth Death Day party."

"No, not Nearly Headless Nick. The other one. The one that likes to play pranks on Professor McGonagall."

She'd heard a rumor that there were ghosts in Hogwarts left over from the final battle. If they were true, she hadn't seen any familiar faces floating in the air when she made her frequent visits to the castle. Maybe they were hiding from her or maybe she didn't allow herself to actually _see_ them. When she was locked in her broom cupboard, terrified and all alone in the dark, a few times she felt the already chilly temperature go down. Afraid of what she might see if she opened her eyes, she kept them tightly closed until the space heated up again. Whomever, or whatever, it was, never spoke. She didn't want to see one of the most vivacious people she'd ever known cold in death. It was too hard.

"He teamed up with Peeves one day during…"

Whatever story her son was about to tell was interrupted by the door opening. Antonin lingered in the doorway for a moment before joining them. In times past he wouldn't have hesitated to join them both on the bed. Everything was different, however, since she ran away. The married couple was still unsure how to act around each other. Antonin cleared his throat and addressed their son.

"You should head back to the castle, Ollie. Headmaster Mulciber only gave you permission to be gone for two hours."

The young wizard's face fell at his reminder. Hermione bit back a smile. As quickly as he was growing, it was evident that he was still a child. Before he got up from the bed, Oliver threw his arms around Hermione again. He squeezed her tightly.

"I've missed you, Mummy. Please promise me you won't go away again for so long."

She was overcome with his plea. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she didn't know what to say. How could she make a promise to him that she wasn't sure she could honor? He deserved more than to have his mother lie to him. Instead, she only hugged him tighter, kissed his forehead, and made him promise her that he wouldn't cause Professor McGonagall too much grief.

The moment the two wizards exited the bedroom together, Hermione laid her head back down on her pillow. His visit was exhausting: physically, emotionally, and mentally. When she closed her eyes, she felt her eyelashes dampen with her tears. Why was life so damned difficult? How was she expected to keep going when all she wanted to do was lay down and die?

A gentle hand pushing her hair away from her face startled her eyes open. Her husband stood over her, concern etched across his face. She hadn't even heard him reenter the room she was so wrapped up in herself.

"We've _both_ missed you."

Hermione closed her eyes again, worried that she was going to begin sobbing in front of the man who always told her showing emotion was weakness. When he pushed a glass vial in her hand, she was grateful. Antonin dropped a kiss to the top of her head and left her alone again.


	134. May 13th

May 13th

What ever the potion was that Antonin offered Hermione after their son left to return to Hogwarts wasn't nearly as potent as the one she took the first night she was back home in Hogsmeade. It calmed her down immediately after imbibing and though she felt her eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, she only slept for several hours instead of more than a day. She knew she was being contradictory about her feelings when it came to her husband giving her potions. Not trusting him to make her tea when she first arrived out of fear that he would potion her was a valid concern. She didn't want to be fuzzy-headed for their first meeting, especially if he suddenly flipped the concerned husband routine to attack her in anger.

From the first day he came home from wherever it was he found them, Hermione had a love-hate relationship with the tonics and drugs he gently insisted she take when she got confused. Paranoia convinced her in the beginning that he was simply trying to find another way in which to control her. There was a constant power struggle in their marriage. She wasn't content to just be one of those women who looked to her husband to make the decisions for her. That wasn't how her Muggle mother operated and she would be damned if she would just let Antonin keep her from being her own person. Even when she heard a small voice in the back of her mind trying to convince her that he was only trying to help her because he loved her, she was afraid to take what was offered. And then, after a while, there were times when she _craved_ the potions. Like a Muggle addict desperate for another hit of their vile drugs to keep existing in a fucked up, painful world, she sought out and begged for the sweet release they gave her.

She wasn't sure when the confusion really began, when her mind really started to feel the strain of a difficult life. Some would argue that her issues started when she was locked for so long in that broom cupboard. While Hermione would be the first to admit that she struggled in her confining prison with fear and desperation, she never felt _confused_. Each moment that passed she knew exactly where she was and why she was there. When she was taken out of the cupboard and presented to the Dark Lord, she wasn't confused. Terrified beyond all belief, naturally, but not confused. Even when she stayed in the same spot in Antonin's kitchen for forty-eight hours, she wasn't confused.

Antonin's task was to reprogram her to become more favorable to the regime, loyal to Lord Voldemort. It had been an arduous process and one that Hermione was aware of every second he was engaged in completing his orders. When it was all over, when she was sympathetic to the plight of those around her who were just simply trying to create a better world for witches and wizards to live and be prosperous, she wasn't confused. She certainly never woke up in the middle of the night thinking she was back in the Forest of Dean with Harry and Ron.

Her life hadn't been easy on her mental health. Hannah Rowle was convinced that after Oliver was born her friend was suffering from what the Muggles termed 'post-partum depression'. Hermione had to roll her eyes every time the concerned witch's amateur diagnosis for her lack of joy about motherhood came back around to Muggle psychology. Just because Hannah experienced a difficult time after their third daughter was born didn't mean that _every_ woman felt the same way. Besides, Hermione was a special case. She wasn't _depressed_ she was forced to breed for the regime when she had no desire to be a mother. She was fucking _angry_. Of course, she wasn't suicidal enough to actually admit so out loud to anyone else. That would be tantamount to saying that the Dark Lord's orders were wrong and he was a fool. She was smarter than that.

During her time on the run, she managed to stumble upon an article in a Muggle magazine about the dangers of concussions on a person's mental capabilities. Professional athletes were often at risk of long-term damage when they were in the boxing ring or playing on the American football field. It had been fascinating and upsetting all at the same time. Hermione tried to remember all of the times she'd experienced some damage to her head over the course of her life. There were too many to identify. Certainly being petrified by a basilisk and the better part of a year of constant time traveling couldn't have helped. The tumble down the stairs most definitely resulted in a hurt head. Years of raids and physical violence made pinning down every incident where long-lasting damage could have been done to her head impossible.

As she slowly became more aware of her surroundings after waking in the middle of the night, Hermione could feel eyes on her again. Turning her eyes over to the other side of the bed, she wasn't surprised to discover her husband was awake and staring. Since she returned to their home she'd been avoiding the man with sleep. She knew she couldn't keep that up for much longer. They needed to talk, to get everything out in the open.

Hermione rolled over onto her side so they were facing each other. There was a calm to Antonin's features that relaxed her almost immediately. She knew him well enough to know when he was in danger of exploding. He wasn't anywhere near that point. Of course, she was his wife and as she'd learned over the years, spouses are quite adept at angering their significant other with just a single push of a familiar button. She resolved to remain as calm as he was.

The light from one of the lampposts on the street outside washed over them both. She found herself staring in Antonin's eyes truly for the first time since she arrived. There had been fear before. She didn't want to see what she'd done when she ran. His right eye was perfect. No hint that he'd once had a fork shoved in it courtesy of his mad wife. A desire to reach out and touch his face was quickly squashed. He might get the wrong impression if she tried.

"Your eye… it doesn't look like I ruined it."

She wasn't used to speaking in such an apologetic tone. Whether she would ever be able to form the words to beg forgiveness for her crime against him was uncertain. Where could she even begin? A smile crossed her husband's face that took her aback. Had he gotten to the point where he could treat what happened so casually? She doubted she ever would.

"The Healers weren't able to save my eye, I'm afraid. This is a replacement, an _enhanced_ one even."

In her mind, she assumed that fake eyes would either look glassy and dead like the ones that some Muggles possessed or awkward and disturbing like Alastor Moody's. She would have never even suspected that his right eye wasn't real if he hadn't admitted it was. Her amazement must have showed all over her features. Antonin chuckled softly.

"They've been able to make a lot of improvements over the years to magical eyes. I'm glad too. Wouldn't want to be called Mad-Eye Dolohov or something equally foolish."

She realized he was trying to lighten the intensity of the mood by making a joke. When he smiled at her, she couldn't help but return it. One thing they had rarely lacked in their bed over the previous thirteen years was laughter. No one outside of their home would ever be able to guess how much either. Both of them were experts at giving off false façades.

The slightest shift of Antonin's body moved the sheet that was covering his bare chest. Even though the light from the lamppost was poor in the room, his scars were clear. A long, thin one crossed the length of his chest. On his side another thicker one stood out on his skin. Hermione didn't think twice about reaching across the space between them to run her fingertips lightly over the longer of the two scars. Every place she touched on his torso instantly broke out into a rash of goosebumps. The stillness of his chest proved that her husband was holding his breath. Hermione started to pull her hand away, but it was easily grabbed by Antonin. He refused to relinquish his hold.

Though she arrived at her home days earlier with only the barest of plans of what to do next, she knew that she wanted to avoid having the discussion about her attacking him for as long as possible. It was going to be uncomfortable. Running from it, however, was no longer an option. Perhaps it was best to just get it over with.

"I know that I can never hope that you'll accept my apology for what I did to you, but…"

Antonin pulled her hand up to his lips to kiss. It was such a gentle, affectionate gesture that Hermione wasn't able to finish her statement. Their eyes locked. She wanted to look away, but she forced herself to stop running… at least for a short time.

" _I_ am the one who should apologize for that day. I'm very sorry for grabbing your arm so hard. It was never my intention to hurt you or lose my temper. I know I startled you and I'm sorry."

She felt her jaw drop with his apology. In a thousand lifetimes she would've never believed that _he_ would be the one begging forgiveness for the day _she_ stabbed him. Every word he said sounded genuine. Either he was completely serious or a much better actor than she knew. It was all so very confusing. What exactly happened when she ran away? She needed to know it all.

"What happened after I left?"

His sigh indicated that he wasn't excited about telling her what she missed. Knowing the tenacity of his wife, Antonin gave a summary of the days following the _incident_. He admitted that most of it was a complete blur to him due to being in and out of consciousness at St. Mungo's. Though he didn't come right out and say it, she knew that he was in serious condition.

"I expect that I'll have to be punished for my actions."

Without releasing the hand he was still holding, Antonin gently ran the fingers of his free hand through her curls.

" _No one_ is angry with you, my darling. You won't be punished."

Yet another of his statements was hard for her to believe. How could he truly expect her to believe that she wouldn't have to answer for what she did? It was insane.

"A lot has changed since you've been gone. It's hard to explain, but _soon_ you'll understand."

Their conversation ended there, each of them falling asleep only minutes later.


	135. May 14th

May 14th

Early Monday morning Hermione couldn't stand to be in her bed for another moment. Since her return, she'd only left it a few times to bathe or join Antonin downstairs for quiet, awkward meals. For someone who had grown used to being on the move during her year as a fugitive, she knew she wouldn't be able to spend any more time hiding in her bedroom. There was a reason she came back to Hogsmeade and it wasn't to remain under her covers dead to the world intoxicated with potions.

It felt strange to go through the motions of her regular morning routine. Thanks to the fact that he had always been an early riser, Antonin wasn't in the room to encourage her to stay in bed. The odd nurturing side of him always came out when she or Oliver was ill. He liked to hover, to feel needed. And, if she was honest, he likely felt more comfortable with her asleep in a bed knowing she wasn't likely to be running off into the big, wide world again. She was a flight risk.

Pushing aside her fears that she was making a giant mistake, Hermione washed quickly in the shower. Her hair was dried and pulled up in the severe style she started wearing it in years earlier when she was always in danger of a _client_ of hers grabbing it and ripping it out. None of her clothes were removed from the closet she shared with Antonin. In fact, _nothing_ about the house had been changed at all in her absence. It felt eerily like she'd never left. Dressing in the robes that all Ministry officials wore, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom to view the result.

There had always been an expectation that she would end up working for the Ministry of Magic. When she was younger and full of the innocent idealism of one who didn't actually understand how the world worked, she imagined that when she left Hogwarts she would be able to do some actual good in the Ministry. She had plans for improving the rights of werewolves and freeing the house-elves from their enslavement. There were laws that existed on the books that weren't fair at all. She was going to fight with every ounce of spirit she had to make a world where everyone, regardless of their blood status, was equal.

The reality of working at the Ministry was much different than the fantastical, naïve dreams of her youth. Actually making any significant change was virtually impossible unless one was willing to slog through the muck and mire of a political bureaucracy. It wasn't a glamorous life by any stretch of the imagination. She was forced to make deals and alliances with people she wouldn't spit on if they were on fire. All done, of course, with a bright smile. If she'd known what the Ministry was _actually_ like, she would've done something more worthwhile. Like study dragons in Romania like Charlie Weasley. At least with those creatures one knew to expect fire and danger. Her Ministry coworkers were just as deadly, but a great deal sneakier.

Antonin stood in the kitchen preparing his favorite simple breakfast of oatmeal. When she entered the room dressed for the day, his eyes widened and he appeared on the verge of demanding that she stay home. There was a definite war within himself whether or not he should _allow_ his wife to leave the safety of their home. Hermione knew his expressions by heart. She gave him an awkward kiss to the cheek and promised him she would be home in time for dinner. If she didn't see for herself what sort of mess Rabastan left her department in, she would drive herself insane with worry. Her pinch of floo powder was in the flames and she was calling out her final destination before he was able to articulate a single word.

It was bizarre how easily she was able to slip back into the routine that she'd had for years and years. Once she emerged from one of the dozen or so Ministry fireplaces in the Atrium, she felt almost as if she had never gone on the run at all. Ollie's birthday party had gone off without a hitch the day before and she was coming back from her personal day off to continue what she hadn't yet finished. Only the shocked faces of the witches and wizards crossing her path destroyed that fantasy. None of them tried to make it seem as if they were overtly staring, but she knew they were. Whispers began all around her that she refused to pay attention to. She had a mission that would take her a while to complete. This was only the first day.

A few of the braver souls she encountered in her journey to the Ministry's Intelligence Division offered her a nod and a warm greeting. Hermione was polite with her nods of acknowledgment, but didn't allow anyone to engage her in a conversation. She was already feeling out of sorts as it was. Slipping into the role that she'd played for so many years as the formidable and terrible Madam Dolohov was a bit beyond her capabilities in the moment. She was out of practice. Besides, it was difficult to portray someone who had no fear when she was certain that everyone within a one kilometer radius could hear her heart frantically beating against her chest.

Just like her home, nothing about her office had been changed in her absence. She wasn't sure what she was expecting honestly. It felt strange to return to familiar, unchanged environs when she was far from being the person she used to be. A year on the run changed her. If that wasn't evident by the fact that she was seriously contemplating assisting a high-level prisoner escape from her division, she wasn't sure what else would.

Years earlier, Alecto convinced Hermione not to fire the twit that she hired as her assistant in an uncharacteristic fit of sympathy. She still couldn't remember why she took her friend's advice. Rachel _Something-or-Other_ was a complete idiot who shouldn't have been allowed to serve tea in the canteen. Hermione didn't even bother learning her last name she was so insignificant. But, she chose to give her another chance. And then another chance. And then another chance. Staring at the wide eyes and red cheeks of her astonished assistant, she felt the urge to curse her first and fire her second. The blushing was new. Hermione hadn't seen that before. An obnoxious thought struck her. She found it almost impossible not to roll her eyes. Without bothering to address the witch, the Co-Head of the department brushed past her desk to enter the lavish office she shared.

Rabastan never expected his former coworker to enter the room so suddenly. A buttered muffin was halfway to his mouth when he caught a glimpse of her, almost dropping his breakfast in the process. Remembering himself, he removed all hints that he was less than pleased to see her and smiled.

"How long have you and Rachel been fucking at the office?"

She hated that her words were tinged with a suspicion of jealousy. It wasn't as if Hermione felt any claim at all to the younger Lestrange brother. On the contrary, she would've gladly seen the back of him for the last time without shedding a single tear. Maybe it was the hatred she felt for the idiot assistant. Hermione didn't like thinking about how easily she was replaced. She knew that given the chance, Rabastan wouldn't mind throwing her out of _his_ department completely. He never had forgiven her for being appointed Co-Head. But, the man knew how to play the game. At her question, he set his muffin down on the top of his desk and roared with amused laughter.

"That began a few months after you so cruelly abandoned me without a word."

Hermione didn't bother hiding the rolling of her eyes in front of her peer as she had with her subordinate. They each knew the other was completely full of shite. That was half the fun of playing the game together. She took a seat behind her usual desk in an effort to make everything seem as normal as possible. Getting too eager would only result in failure. Immediately asking about Aberforth Dumbledore and his case would only invite suspicion. Rabastan was a very astute man. He had to be in their line of work. She knew him well enough to trust him only as far as she could physically throw him without magic. Remaining patient and careful was the only way she was going to be successful in helping the wizard escape. Assuming, of course, that it was even possible to escape.

All of the files of their current cases were located on Rabastan's desk. Hermione took a deep breath and crossed the room to where he was seated. They hadn't been in the same room since the incident at Fenrir's house. She tried to push away the thoughts of how helpless and terrified she was with the wizard only moments away from assaulting her, but it was difficult. Getting closer to the man wasn't a prospect she much relished. But, it was necessary. She had to keep playing her part if she wanted to succeed.

"Show me what you've been working on. I want to make sure you haven't completely ruined _my_ department in my absence."

The moment she was standing next to him at his desk peering down at the stacks of parchment, she felt a familiar hand slide across her arse. There was a time that she suffered the indignities of his touch, even _enjoyed_ them. She was determined not to open that door up again. When she slapped away his hand, Rabastan only laughed.

"You can get _that_ from our idiot assistant outside."


	136. May 15th

May 15th

Two full days at the Ministry where, oddly, no one seemed to be outwardly bothered by her long absence, put a strain on Hermione that she hadn't been expecting when she took a floo trip back to her home in Hogsmeade. Perhaps they were all too afraid to ask her too many questions. She was woefully out of practice for the life that she used to have before she ran off as a fugitive. The sheer exhaustion of simply spending most of the day in the same room with Rabastan Lestrange was difficult enough, but sitting still long enough to pore over the numerous files that had accumulated in their division in the year that she was gone threatened to damage her brain permanently. How was it possible that she used to not only endure, but _enjoy_ sixty, seventy hour work-weeks in her former life?

Thanks to the mysterious explosion that leveled the Leaky Cauldron and killed five Death Eaters present at a meeting that no one was supposed to _officially_ know about, there had been more work for their small department to complete than they knew what to do with. Because there was such a rush to figure out who the culprits were behind the devastating event that killed so many of their own and injured even more, the focus on their current investigations was, surprisingly, _not_ Aberforth Dumbledore. At least a dozen poor souls were trapped down in their cells waiting for their interrogations. Some of them had already endured multiple sessions at the hands of her highly competent Co-Head.

Her name and countenance might have struck terror into the heart of those who dared fight or even speak out against the regime, but at least she didn't complete her tasks with a devastatingly handsome smile plastered on her face like Rabastan. It had been no surprise at all to learn that he was the main perpetrator behind the crimes against Frank and Alice Longbottom. Bellatrix Lestrange came up with the idea to attack the young aurors. Her husband Rodolphus and worthless Barty Crouch, Jr. assisted in uncovering their whereabouts. But, the real terror of that night was the man who sat only a few meters away from her each day at his own desk. Thankfully, he'd gotten much better with his interrogation methods than that horrific night so many years ago. Fewer of his subjects were broken quite so thoroughly. Hermione was grateful for his improvements. Filling out incident reports was quite tiresome and tedious.

She was anxious to see the man she was responsible, albeit accidentally, for getting locked up in the bowels of the Ministry. In the blessed few moments that she'd been conscious since she made the decision to leave Draco's flat and return to her former life to do what she could to save the wizard, she thought of little else. To her recollection, there hadn't been a successful escape in the entire time that she was Marked. Maybe in the beginning before she was in charge. Those were chaotic years after all. Since she and her Co-Head were able to streamline their department, there were few opportunities for errors. She would have to get creative to be able to do what the Resistance was demanding of her in exchange for her life.

Maybe Rabastan was aware there was something special about the wizard she helped capture. He never came right out and said it, but she just had a nagging feeling that he was _waiting_ for her to bring him up. So, she remained silent. She began the arduous task of looking over every single case she missed in her absence. More than a few times throughout those first two days, she felt the wizard's eyes watching her, as if he was calculating what her true purpose was. It was unnerving, further proof that she had to be exceptionally careful.

Antonin hadn't even been home when she returned from the Ministry the first night. Whatever kept him away had to have been important. She knew there were rumors that he was the only one who was able to actually enter the Dark Lord's quarters in Hogwarts for private audiences. Of course, rumors were difficult to confirm. For all she knew, he was out drumming up support for his eventual takeover. She had a number of questions that she wanted to ask her husband about his activities, but she was certain she didn't really want to know the answers. He was a dangerous man involved in even more dangerous plots and schemes. If she satisfied her curiosity, she would probably come to regret it.

Somehow she knew that she wouldn't get lucky two nights in a row to go home and find the place empty. Her husband might have been better at hiding his prodigious curiosity than his wife, but she knew that he longed to know everything too. A time would come when they would have to lay all of their cards out on the table. The beginning of their conversation was begun in bed when she touched his scars. Only a fool would think there wasn't more to come.

The moment she exited the fireplace in the kitchen with a sooty _whoosh_ , Hermione knew that her time avoiding her husband was up. Seated at the familiar table they'd shared countless meals at, Antonin was waiting. Continuing to avoid him was impossible. With a sigh, she took a seat across from him without saying a word. Perhaps it was better that they just get it all out in the open and over with. What was the worst that could happen? She'd been expecting him to murder her since the moment she crossed over the threshold on Oliver's birthday.

"Would you like some tea?"

She was still getting used to the man who was overly worried about her well-being and comfort. In the past, he'd only shown her such care and concern when she was very ill or when he was feeling guilty for something wretched he'd done. Having him wish to cater to her needs automatically put Hermione on edge. It was difficult to trust him.

"No, thank you. I assume that whatever it is we have to discuss will be better suited with something just a bit stronger."

Responding only with a single nod of his head, Antonin rose from the table to retrieve a bottle of his favorite fire whiskey from the cupboard. Neither of them said a word as he poured two liberal glasses. Only when they each were able to feel the first sips of the caustic liquid warming up their belly did he finally clear his throat to speak.

"Where did you go after you ran away from Hogsmeade?"

Even if she lived a hundred lifetimes, Hermione was sure she would never understand the man she married. There was a time when she thought she knew everything about him, all of his mannerisms, his moods, his thoughts, his fears, his dreams, _everything_. To discover that the man she shared a child with was a complete stranger after thirteen years of marriage was disconcerting to say the least. Not once in the entire time that she'd been back in their home had he raised his voice. Not _once_. This was a man who shouted and roared at every tiny, little thing. Even when she was apologizing for the pain she caused him, the pain that almost _killed_ him, he'd simply kissed her hand and assured her with a soft tone that no one was angry with her for what she'd done. _Who_ was this man?

"I went lots of different places. Tried not to stay too long in the same place."

For several minutes she gave him a brief history of her adventures over the past year. Naturally, she left out any mention of the Resistance or Draco Malfoy. She also didn't tell him about the Death Eaters she ran into along the way out of fear that they would be punished for failing to tell him about her whereabouts. They didn't deserve to be harmed simply because they were kind. There was also no hint that she'd ever been to Fenrir Greyback's home. _That_ was an argument that they didn't need to have. It was bad enough that neither of them had exactly been discreet about their infidelities over the years. She didn't want to imagine how uncomfortable the discussion would be about the horrible day that he and Rabastan almost captured her.

"Why did you stay away for so long? Especially after you knew I was looking for you? You should have come home a long time ago."

Hermione scoffed at his question. Far from being an unintelligent man, her husband was one of the smartest men she'd ever known. Surely he couldn't be so dense as to not understand why she didn't come rushing back after she almost killed him. Especially not after considering their rather tumultuous history together. Realizing that he was indeed waiting for an answer, she rolled her eyes and gave him one.

"Because you wanted to kill me!"

"Why would you think that?"

His voice kept the same even tone he'd been using from the first moment that she came home. The fact that he was able to remain in this character he'd created for so long without faltering was more than a little impressive. She wondered what else about him changed since she was gone. What other surprises would she find the longer she remained?

" _Why_ would I think that you wanted to kill me? Maybe because I almost killed you and you aren't exactly known for being a very forgiving man, are you, Antonin?"

He sighed.

"Have I really been such a terrible husband to you?"

There was no anger in his words. Only a tremendous amount of sadness that she didn't expect. How was he remaining so calm when she was fit to burst? Mustering up the most sarcastic tone she could manage, Hermione replied to his question with all of the anger she'd allowed to build up in her over the years.

"Oh, yeah, you've been wonderful all of the times you've cursed me and hit me."

Undeniable shame colored his features. Unable to look her in the eyes due to the guilt that he knew she was telling the truth, Antonin focused his gaze on the empty glass in his hands.

"You were a _wonderful_ husband the night you pushed me down the stairs and I lost our daughter."

Antonin's eyes snapped up to meet hers. There was a mixture of complete horror and anger within their depths. She hadn't meant to say something so terribly shocking, but there was no taking it back. Maybe he needed to hear what she thought. More than once he tried to formulate a response and failed. Hermione was done talking. She'd had enough for the time being.

As she stormed out of the kitchen to head for the stairs, she didn't hear the man she married try to stop her once. Unused to his complete lack of reaction, the furious witch turned to take one last glance at him over her shoulder. He wasn't watching her leave. His empty glass refilled, Antonin continued to sit in silence staring at the flames in the fireplace. What he was thinking was a complete mystery to his wife.


	137. May 16th

May 16th

Hermione's third day back at the Ministry following her long absence was just as quiet as the previous two days. While she wasn't entirely sure what she expected when she just dropped in Monday morning on her former colleagues with no warning, it was almost eerie how seemingly normal it all was. Once she made it clear to Rabastan that she wasn't interested in resuming their unconventional partnership, he'd basically left her alone to discover what all had been done since she left. Mountains of rolled parchments and case files littered the top of her desk. Thanks to the Leaky Cauldron explosion, their department had been very busy.

She still hadn't seen a glimpse of Aberforth Dumbledore by her third day. Nor heard his name mentioned. Even though he was a high-level capture, he was not a priority. The only reason she knew he was still alive and awaiting his eventual execution was because his personal file hadn't yet been filed away downstairs. He was still an active case, if not a particularly important one.

Exhausted again due to being unused to certain aspects of her former life, Hermione left the Ministry of Magic for home before anyone else in her department. Rabastan gave her an odd look, but he didn't stop her from leaving. She knew he would allow her to do anything that made her look weak. Even with their history, he wanted her out of his department. Or, at least in a position beneath his. He'd always admired the good work she did. Ambition infected most of the ranks of the Death Eaters. No one was safe when another had their eye on something they desired. It was a game she used to enjoy playing. Now, she lacked the energy and the stomach for it.

No one was home to greet her when she stepped out of the fireplace in the kitchen. She didn't really expect anyone. Antonin was nowhere to be found that morning when she left for work. He never came to bed after their argument the night before. Very few times in their marriage, regardless of how ugly and violent their rows got, did her husband refuse to sleep in the same room she was in. A folded up blanket on the living room couch answered her question as to where he spent the night.

She didn't mind that the man didn't feel welcome to sleep in his own bed. His absence made the entire situation much less complicated. Eventually he was going to want to touch her again, and she was far from ready for that. Perhaps if she continued to pick fights with Antonin, he'd leave her alone completely. Once her task was completed and either Aberforth was released or she was captured, their lack of marital relations wouldn't matter anyway. She had no plans to stay in Hogsmeade any longer than absolutely necessary.

The bottle of fire whiskey they opened the night before still sat in the middle of the table. Based on the level of the amber liquid, her husband enjoyed more than just one additional drink after she went upstairs to bed. All the more reason why she was glad he stayed downstairs. A drunk Dolohov was an irritable Dolohov, and she was woefully out of practice with dealing with one. Simply for something to do with her hands, Hermione picked up the dirty glasses and carried them to the sink.

Her time staying in the Jordan family's home in the middle of the Resistance village allowed her the opportunity to finally understand what her husband found soothing about hand-washing dishes. She turned the taps on to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. Maybe taking a few minutes to breathe and complete a mindless task would help her to sort out her thoughts. The combination of remembering her short time in the Resistance village and the disturbing reminder that if she stayed too long in her house her husband was likely to want to seduce her again filled her mind with thoughts of Draco.

She knew running out of his flat without leaving a word had been unkind. Because of his ability to track not only her but countless fugitives throughout the country, she knew it wouldn't take him long to figure out where she'd gone. Likely he'd known for days. She wouldn't put it past him to go out searching the moment he realized she was gone.

Almost as if her very thoughts summoned the wizard, Hermione saw a flash of movement in her back garden through the kitchen window. How he managed to _know_ when to seek her out was baffling. Just like when she was living in the village and always seconds away from crossing the wards to leave, he was there waiting to encourage her to stay. The timing was always suspicious, like he was always just there lingering in the wings to swoop down to come to her rescue and convince her to stay just a little bit longer. She still wasn't quite sure how she allowed him to manipulate her so.

She peered out the window again to make sure her eyes weren't failing her. If Draco really was in Hogsmeade standing in her back garden, he was being foolish. Antonin could be home any moment. How would he explain his presence if caught? It wasn't as if there was a history of the tracker just randomly dropping by after all. A confrontation between her husband and her latest lover could very likely get ugly. Turning off the taps, Hermione dried her hands on a towel and headed out the back door. She needed to put her curiosity to rest and get the man as far away from her home as possible.

"What are you doing here, Draco?"

"What are _you_ doing here, Hermione?"

She could tell just by his tone that this was going to be an awkward, upsetting conversation. Nervous energy radiated off of the man. Had he been angry the entire time she was gone? Or, perhaps more unbelievably, was he frightened that something bad happened to her? Time away from him helped her think a little clearer. Or maybe it was because of the potions. As much as she hated to admit so, it was easier to think. Her mind was more lucid under their influence.

"I _live_ here. For almost twenty years now actually."

Draco rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. She wasn't used to seeing him nervous. What changed in the almost week since she'd been gone? It usually took a lot to get him the least bit ruffled. Was there more to his visit than she knew?

"Tell me why you're here, Draco. How'd you know where to find me?"  
"It wasn't difficult. Rabastan's been complaining to anyone that will listen about you being back in the Ministry. He hoped you'd never come back."

Hermione sighed. It was no surprise to hear that her Co-Head was upset about her return. Despite his age, Rabastan could behave like the most petulant child at times. She assumed that his years in Azkaban stunted his emotional growth. No doubt he was already planning his next moves to push her out again. Maybe next time he'd use deadly force. She didn't really care. It wasn't as if her life was worth that much. All of her problems would end if she was dead. Some days that was an attractive prospect.

"Yes, well, I didn't want to come back either, but I didn't have a choice."

"Of course you did. You shouldn't have left my flat."

The wizard closed the space between them. He gripped her shoulders painfully to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. Taken completely aback, she stood there frozen, unsure what to do next. Any movement at all would simply encourage the wizard. She was regretting their time together in his flat. What if what he whispered in her ear the night before she left was actually true? No one deserved the misery of falling in love with her. Hadn't she already ruined both Augustus' and Antonin's lives just by her mere presence? If Draco truly cared for her, it was best that she cut it off as quickly as possible. Though it took a couple of sharp shoves, she was able to move his body away from hers.

"If Antonin comes home and finds you, he'll kill you."

Draco was undeterred by her threats. He moved again to recapture her mouth, but she was ready for him. Taking a step to the side, he just missed. Hermione didn't like the aggression he was displaying. This man was confusing her. Had he always been like this and she just simply didn't notice? She shook her head. It was the exhaustion of the last few days messing with her head.

"I'm not worried about your husband. Besides, I know for a fact he's in London right now."

She started to ask him what he knew, but stopped before the words formed fully. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she knew _exactly_ why he was in London. There was a dingy old flat just above the secondhand shop in Diagon Alley that he liked to visit when they were at odds… which in the past was quite often.

"Ahh, I see. So my husband is off _visiting_ your aunt again."

His light grey eyes narrowed at her remark. The skin of his forehead wrinkled in confusion. She fought another frustrated eye roll. Surely he wasn't that thick.

"Your aunt…" He tilted his head as if he couldn't even understand English. What was his problem? "… _Andromeda_. It's not exactly as if he's been able to keep that a secret. The whole bloody country probably knows whose bed my husband is warming when he's not in mine."

His lack of response failed to put her at ease. Had she said something completely unintelligible? Draco wasn't the only one who made a similar face when she mentioned her husband's long-term mistress. She thought back to the day in Augustus' kitchen when he looked at her in almost the identical manner. Was there something she didn't know? The wizard shook his head once and met her eyes.

"No, he's meeting with several high-ranking Death Eaters at the White Wyvern. No idea why. My informant said they'd ordered dinner, so it's likely they'll be there for a while."

"Good for them."

She didn't want to continue their conversation. Being around Draco made her uncomfortable. Maybe she was feeling guilty about walking out on him. Or she was worried that she was leading him on. The sex had been amazing, but she wasn't anywhere as invested in it as he was if he was claiming he might be falling in love with her. She wanted to go back inside her home and try to forget this conversation ever happened. If she got distracted, she might not be able to complete her mission. Failure was not an option.

"You should leave, Draco."

Ignoring the hurt expression that crossed his features, Hermione turned on her heel to return to her kitchen. Part of her was surprised that he didn't insist on following her inside, but mostly, she was glad to look out her window and see him gone. She didn't understand him at all. Perhaps she was doomed to always be surrounded by frustrating men who confused her to no end.


	138. May 17th

May 17th

There was no way for Hermione to tell what time her husband finally dragged himself into their home. All she knew was that it was very late. She'd been up well after midnight unable to shut her mind off long enough to sleep. Not once did she hear a single noise proving that Antonin was back from his mysterious meeting in Knockturn Alley. She lay in her bed alone analyzing every single word that Draco Malfoy spoke to her in their bizarre meeting in the garden.

He was presenting a complication that she didn't need. If she was too focused on thinking about the strange man and his unpredictable behaviors, how could she hope to pull off the impossible task of helping a doomed man escape from the prison cells she helped build? There were so many variables, so many chances for it all to go wrong. Draco arriving at the wrong time to muck up her already fragile thoughts had the potential for disaster. Though he never shared the details of the time that Aberforth Dumbledore saved his life ten years earlier, she knew enough to know that the tracker respected the Resistance leader deeply. It bothered him to know that he was captured and close to execution. Why would he be so vehement about the fact that she wasn't needed to secure his release? He wanted her locked up in his flat, not at the Ministry.

By the time she was able to fall asleep, it was late. When she woke up at the sound of her blasted alarm informing her that it was time to start another day, she rolled over to find the space next to her empty. Only the absence of Antonin's pillow proved he'd been anywhere near their marital bed. Expecting to find him waiting for her on the sofa in the lounge, she sighed when she found the same blanket neatly folded underneath his pillow. Silence proved that he might have come home after his meeting, but he was up before the sun to run away again.

Hermione found her desire to talk to her husband strange and unnerving. As much as she was convinced her mission would be easier if he pretended like she wasn't there, she found herself actually _missing_ their conversations. An entire year on the run and she didn't want to have a single conversation with him. A week back in their house and she couldn't bear the continued silent treatment. She wanted to know what was wrong with the man she married, why he was avoiding her, what he meant in their conversation that started the whole rocky patch, and she had about a dozen other questions to ask.

There was a time when they made a good team. They were the first ones to get on the other's nerves and more than a few times the desire to want to kill their spouse was present, but no one could deny that their partnership worked. From the moment they made their vows to be married until death parted them, they were able to push aside their differences and keep up a united front. Until their son's eleventh birthday party, of course, but those were extenuating circumstances.

She didn't understand why he was acting so strangely by avoiding all contact with her. It wasn't as if what she said was false in any way. She spoke nothing but the truth. The incident with the stairs was ten years ago. Yes, it was awful, but bringing it up again shouldn't have caused him so much grief. They lived in a world filled with hard truths. Why was Antonin behaving like a petulant child who was scolded for something he knew he did wrong?

Deciding that she wasn't going to allow her husband's bizarre moods to ruin her day, Hermione stepped into the fireplace to return for another day at the Ministry. She had a valuable mission to complete. Allowing him to derail her efforts wasn't an option she was willing to consider. Besides, the sooner she was able to secure Aberforth's release, the sooner she could move on again. Maybe next time she ran she'd keep going until she was far from the influence of her country's laws. She could run to Australia to find out for herself what happened to her parents.

The small corner of Level Two where they kept their offices was empty. Neither Rabastan nor her tarty assistant were anywhere to be found. Hermione suspected that wherever they were, they were together. It was no matter. Their absence would just make her next step that much easier to complete. Besides, it wasn't as if she had any plans to let the cretin touch her again. Not after the incident in Fenrir's bedroom.

She wanted to confirm with her own eyes that Aberforth was still in good health. It wouldn't do her much good to discover that the elderly wizard was half-dead. Not only would it make escape that much more difficult with an invalid, but she got the impression that if the man died soon after escaping the Ministry, she would still be the target of the Resistance's ire. No, he would have to be whole and healthy for her mission to be successful.

The cells that housed those poor souls in preparation for their eventual interrogation and usually, their execution were on the lowest level of the Ministry. Few were even aware there was a Level Eleven. Usually by the time they learned of its existence, it was already too late to escape their fate. When one wished to access the lowest level, they were required to step into a completely empty lift, press a hidden panel with the tip of their wand, and insert their wand for inspection. Only those with the proper clearance were even given leave to go down there. Because it was such a secure area, an official record was kept every time a person took the lift to Level Eleven.

Rabastan, no doubt, would be the sort to scour the records every single day to make certain his colleague wasn't going down there on her own without reason. It was imperative that Hermione not throw up any red flags or she would be in just as much danger as Aberforth. _More_ potentially. He was just looking to lose his own life. She had a son to consider. Even a husband. Antonin wouldn't be the first high-level Death Eater to be taken down by his spouse's actions. Few in their set ever discussed the ill-fated Averys for a very valid reason. Because she didn't want to end up in her own cell down in the bowels of Ministry, Hermione knew she had to be extremely careful.

It was fortunate that years earlier she accidentally stumbled upon a secret route to the Level that _wasn't_ monitored. Wizards prided themselves on being smarter and more advanced than Muggles, but that wasn't exactly the truth. Perhaps that was why so many looked down on Muggle-borns. More than a few times in her younger years, Hermione would offer up long explanations to anyone within shouting range as to why Muggles were more advanced in many ways. It didn't exactly endear her to those who staunchly believed that those with magic were inherently superior in every way to those without. The invention of the lift was a point of contention. It was a Muggle who invented it, not a wizard. For centuries, witches and wizards employed by the Ministry of Magic walked up and down multiple flights of stairs to get to their respective departments. None of them even considered what a benefit a lift could be. Some embraced the invention, others shunned it. There was a fascinating account in Hogwarts, A History about the school governors descending into a Muggle-style street brawl over whether or not one would be assembled within the castle. The traditionalists won out in the end.

If one took the Ministry lift to Level Nine, descended the stairs to Level Ten where the courtrooms were housed, and slipped into an old, empty broom cupboard, a hidden staircase could be uncovered that would take them down to Level Eleven completely off the official records. Hermione assumed that it was how the criminals in the past were brought up to the courtrooms for their trials. How it was lost to time was a complete mystery. She didn't mind much. In years of using it for her own purposes, she'd not once been caught.

When the doors of the lift going down opened on Level Two, the current occupants saw Hermione waiting to enter. Very few officials liked being in such a confined space with someone with her reputation. Knowing that she could very well be headed down to the Level none of them wanted to think about, it was common practice that the lift would empty, regardless of their final destination. She bit back a smirk when the three nervous witches and an irritated wizard stepped out to allow her entrance. They would all stand and wait for the next lift. She appreciated the fear in their eyes. It was going to be that much easier to sneak down to the cells without an audience.

When the doors opened on Level Nine, she stepped out. Over two decades passed since the battle over the Prophecy, but she still felt ill at ease in the long, dark corridor. An offer was extended to allow her to become an Unspeakable years earlier that she declined. Her husband would've been pleased to have her safely in the Department of Mysteries. She couldn't bear the thought of returning to that place day after day.

No one else met her in the corridor. Most of the Unspeakables kept the oddest hours. She never knew when she would run the risk of meeting one and was grateful to find her pathway to the staircase leading down to Level Ten and the courtrooms unimpeded and unwitnessed. Trials in the old courtrooms were rare. In the early days of the regime, there was always excitement. Relaxing in the fact that she was almost there without anyone knowing what she was up to, Hermione reached for the doorknob of the empty cupboard.

" _Hem hem_."

She fought back a groan. Why didn't she consider the fact that the Ministry's file rooms were on the same level? Turning on her heel with an authoritative expression on her face, Hermione stared down the horrid Umbridge woman. Over the years, the disgraced file clerk learned a healthy amount of fear for her former student. In the past, she would scurry out of her way like a mouse. Had her long absence emboldened the woman?

"I'm pleased to see the rumors about you being back are true, Madam Dolohov."

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. What game was the wretched witch playing at?

"If you're headed downstairs, wouldn't the lift be more convenient?"

It was evident that the woman knew Hermione was sneaking around. She couldn't go down there now. After claiming she took a wrong turn, she barked out an order that Umbridge bring her every file she had on a case she worked on three years earlier. With the unnecessary paperwork in her hands, she stormed up the stairs back to Level Nine. Furious that her plans had been thwarted, she wondered if there was a way she could ruin Dolores Umbridge's life in her quest to get Aberforth released. Surely there was a way.


	139. May 18th

May 18th

After a year's absence, the first full week of Hermione being back at the Ministry of Magic was threatening to do her completely in. By the time she exited the fireplace in her kitchen at the end of the day on Friday, she was exhausted. More than just physically, she was exhausted in every other way it was possible to be exhausted. Not only had she forgotten how tiresome playing the political game could be, but she found herself wondering how it was possible that she even enjoyed it to begin with. Nothing could be said or done within those walls without another analyzing it to the minutest detail for some sort of hint or clue of deception or deviousness.

She loathed Rabastan. A part of her, even when he was tumbling in and out of her bed, always hated the man. There was something unnerving about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Like a snake in the grass, it felt like he was always watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He was a complication that she knew to expect, but one that she wasn't completely sure how to outmaneuver. And her insipid assistant was right there hanging on every single word he spoke as if it was pure gold. Hermione knew the man well enough to know that it wouldn't take long before he grew tired of the witch. There was a reason why women never stayed very long in his life. Once he confided in her when he was very drunk that the great love of his life died when they were very young. No one would ever take her place.

Sure, he was married and even had three or four children of his own being brought up in the perfect image of a Dark Lord loving family. His wife was one of those long-suffering creatures resigned to the fact that her life would never be exciting or fulfilling. At grand parties whenever Rabastan was required to make it seem like he was a devoted family man for the esteem of the regime, Hermione avoided the boring Mrs. Lestrange. Just because she pitied the woman her lot in life didn't mean that she was interested in being her friend. Especially not since it was an open secret that the two Co-Heads of the Intelligence Division had been having a sexual affair for years. _That_ made for awkward conversations over champagne and canapés.

All week long he might not have come right out and demanded to know why she was back, but Hermione knew he was always just moments away from blurting out his questions. He was a patient man, likely the only good trait that came out of his years suffering in Azkaban under the influence of the dementors. When the moment was right, he'd have his answers. She had to be careful. There was a valid reason why he was so good at his job.

Because she knew that she was under constant observation, she didn't try to sneak down into Level Eleven again. Dolores Umbridge was a sneaky element that she should've expected. Their mutual disdain and hatred never wavered over the years. The file clerk wasn't likely to forget her attack by the centaurs in Hermione's fifth year and the role the younger witch played in it. Hermione would never forget all of the disgusting, devious antics of the disgraced official over the years that the war was still in full effect. She knew that if given half a chance, Umbridge would bring her down. For all she was aware, she might even have an alliance with Rabastan. The wizard hadn't been silent about his desire for Hermione to disappear again. Even if he hadn't said it to her face, she had other avenues to discover what he'd been saying behind her back.

She looked forward to two solid days where she could relax in the comfort of her own home without being stared at and judged by the idiots who worked in the Ministry. Few visible changes existed since her time away, but it was evident that there were many who shared the same sentiments as Rabastan. No one, it seemed, missed her presence one bit.

Her failure to get to Aberforth that week ate away at her gut. She would have to be more creative, more deliberate in her actions. Time was swiftly running out. The cells weren't exactly hospitable to even those in their prime. A man well past the age of one hundred wouldn't last. Besides, she had selfish motivations. She was feeling anxious to leave again. Home was unbearable.

Antonin would not speak to her. For days, he either avoided her entirely or pretended she wasn't even in the same room when their paths crossed. Once upon a time she might have dreamed of such a marriage with the irascible wizard. The reality was much different than the fantasy. She still wasn't sure what to make of it all.

Their home was empty again. Part of her was relieved. After the stressful week at the Ministry, she wasn't sure she had the energy to deal with her husband. Or, _not_ deal with her husband as the case was likely to be. His absence was welcome. At least if she wasn't forced to see him, she could push aside the upsetting concerns that something more sinister was happening than she was aware.

She assumed that he was simply off warming another witch's bed. Maybe most would look at the blasé manner in which she considered her husband's infidelity to be frightfully disturbing, but it wasn't as if she was blameless. Their marriage was far from being conventional in any way. Other women wouldn't accept their husband's straying. Neither would other men, for that matter. In the Dolohov marriage, it worked.

The first time Hermione ever confronted Antonin about his affair with Andromeda Tonks had not gone well. Allowing the cheating to happen was one thing. _Talking_ about it was something completely different. They had been married for five years, but his wife had known there was something going on for a lot longer than that. How she knew was unclear. Maybe it was one of those secrets that everyone knows about and no one can remember where they first heard it. Again, it wasn't as if she could exactly judge his actions. She was guilty of plenty of unfaithfulness herself. It wasn't as if they _wanted_ to get married in the first place. At least she didn't. Antonin's motivations were always suspect in her mind.

When she told him that she knew he was spending his nights in Andromeda Tonks' flat above the shop she owned in Diagon Alley, he had enough respect for his wife to not deny the truth. With a resigned sigh, he told her the truth, the _entire_ truth about his extramarital relationship. Much more than Hermione wanted to know.

Before she fell completely in love with the Muggle-born wizard Ted Tonks and was cast out of the Black family, Andromeda believed she would likely end up marrying the eldest of the four Dolohov boys. At the very least, her father Cygnus strongly encouraged the match. She was entirely too headstrong, in his opinion, and wouldn't likely be accepted as a suitable wife by many other families. The Dolohovs were respectable, in their own manner. She'd known Antonin since they were small children. When they were fifth years, he asked her to join him on a Hogsmeade Saturday. Up until the very end of their seventh year when she realized she loved Ted, they were a couple. Even each other's very first awkward lover. Antonin's sensitive eighteen year old feelings were hurt by the breakup, but he busied himself with serving a powerful wizard that everyone believed would one day become the Minister for Magic.

After the war ended, Andromeda was alone. Only her infant grandson remained of the happy family she once possessed. Because her daughter and her son-in-law were such visible members of the losing side, she feared that their actions would damn their son. The thought of losing little Teddy after she'd lost everything and everyone else was unbearable. Days after the murder of Harry Potter, she sought Antonin out. She knew that she needed to have a powerful ally within the new regime if she expected her grandson to survive. Her life was meaningless, part of her wished she could follow her husband in death, but she would be damned if her innocent grandson would be punished for his parents' failings.

Their friendship was innocent… until it wasn't. Three years after she lost her husband, Andromeda invited another man back into her bed. Antonin used his influence to ensure that she and her grandson were left alone. The renewal of their sexual relationship was simply an added perk. He admitted that he would've done anything she asked regardless. When he suggested that they get married to make certain that she always remained safe, Andromeda laughed in his face.

"You are amazingly generous and kind, Tony, but no. No, that would be a terrible idea! Can you even imagine? We wouldn't last. Not when we're both clearly in love with other people. I fear we'd grow to resent each other."

He never proposed again, but their relationship continued. She represented a safe haven for him when the world around him grew frightening and frustrating. It angered Hermione that he was able to find peace so easily in the other woman's tiny flat. His wife resented the woman, resented how much he cared for his mistress. Hermione always felt like Andromeda was looking down her nose at her. Like she was less than the scum in the gutter. Because she was once married to a Muggle-born, she knew that it wasn't the purity of her blood that offended her. She could only imagine what vile words her husband whispered into her ears when they were alone. Or what he told the wretched woman about his wife and the private details of their marriage.

If Antonin was content to wallow in disgrace with the woman she loathed, Hermione chose not to let it bother her any longer. She wouldn't be in Hogsmeade long enough to care. Let him have his woman. She would figure out a way to get Aberforth out of the Ministry and move on with her life without him.


	140. May 19th

May 19th

After the frustrating week she had at the Ministry, Hermione allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in when Saturday morning rolled around. She was grateful for the weekend and the opportunity to relax. The rapid changes in her existence were all too much, too quickly. She was afraid that she was setting herself up to fail in her mission. Maybe what the Resistance was demanding of her was too much.

Rolling over onto her side, she stared at the empty half of the bed where her husband should have been sleeping. Other wives might have been worried, but she was unique. Antonin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. She chose to just enjoy the respite in the stress of their relationship. At least when he wasn't talking to her and he was sleeping in another woman's flat, she didn't have to worry about him bothering her. She had enough on her plate to have to worry about fending off her husband's sexual advances. If he reminded her how well their bodies always fit together and how easily they were able to feed off of the other for their own pleasure, she might have been tempted to stay. She wouldn't admit that Sarah Jordan was right about a kind of love developing in her heart for her husband over the years. No, that was just nonsense.

When she dressed and decided to head downstairs for either a late breakfast or an early lunch, Hermione stopped at the top of the stairs when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. She was surprised to discover that she wasn't alone. Thinking at first that it might be her son in the village for another Hogsmeade Saturday, she quickly dismissed that notion. It was rare that two Saturdays in a row were spent in the village. The students were likely enjoying the last few matches before the fate of that year's Quidditch Cup was determined. Knowing her son, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to watch a match just to visit his mother again.

She slowed and quieted her steps so no one would know that she was coming down the stairs. Though they were talking softly, one voice was unmistakably her husband's. For nineteen years before she ran away she lived with the man. She could pick out his familiar cadence in a large crowd. Carefully descending the stairs, she had to step over the board that creaked. In the back of her mind she thought it interesting how time away and her ever-more frequent periods of confusion didn't seem to affect how well she knew her own home.

Antonin hadn't yet folded the blanket on the couch. Evidently, he did _not_ spend the night with his mistress. Or any other cheap slag, for that matter. It must have been another late night or she was so sound asleep that she didn't even hear the front door open. She wondered how long he was going to keep up the avoidance act. Would he continue to sleep on the sofa until she begged and pleaded with him to forgive her for her many transgressions? Because that wasn't going to happen. She felt zero guilt over what she said to him.

The voices continued speaking in their low conversation. When Hermione stepped to the outside of the door leading into the kitchen, she could easily tell that the other voice belonged to their next door neighbor Corban Yaxley. The wizard was several years older than her husband and because of that fact, she knew that Antonin often sought him out for advice. Once their acquaintance developed into an actual friendship, even she had been known to have serious discussions with the man.

Her stomach twisted into tight knots the first time she heard her name uttered by one of the men. It shouldn't have been a surprise that they were discussing her, but it was. Why couldn't they have their conversation somewhere other than her home where she could easily walk up and hear? She only had to listen for less than a minute to understand her husband was worried about her. It might have been endearing if it wasn't also frustrating and confusing. What sort of game was the man playing? She was encouraged to discover that Corban seemed to be on her side. At the very least, he wasn't insulting her name or assuring Antonin that he never did anything wrong.

"I don't know. I've seen her around the Ministry a couple of times this week and she seemed like herself."

"You know she's good at putting on a show when she's motivated. The night she arrived she asked me if her parents were still alive or if they died in the war."

A low whistle came out of Corban's mouth. Hermione wished she could see his expression, but didn't dare approach the tiny crack of the open door for fear that she would be spotted. If either of them knew she was just outside of the kitchen, they would stop talking or change the subject to something innocuous and boring. She was extremely curious to know what they couldn't bear to talk about to her face.

"What did you tell her?"

"She got up and left the room before I could answer. Said she didn't want to know."

It was only half-true that she didn't want to know about her parents' fate. Truthfully, when she allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of the Muggles who raised her, it mattered a great deal. Maybe it was her pride keeping her from asking the question again. She hated when Antonin looked at her with any sort of pity in his eyes. But, she knew that eventually she would have to swallow her pride and ask again.

"Is that all she's confused about?"

Antonin's sigh and initial refusal to answer the question proved that he was holding back. Even before she was an official interrogator for the regime, Hermione had already figured out his tells. Not that he was a terribly expressive man. No, she just knew how to read him. Once she discovered there was more behind the man than just the terrifying fury she'd seen in battle for her life, it was easy to tell when he was reluctant to speak.

"She accused me of pushing her down the stairs again."

Hermione jumped at the sound of Corban's fist slamming down on the top of the table. When the wizard grew angry, he was quite expressive. Many times she'd witnessed firsthand how he could break a glass in his grip when something set him off. His temper forced his voice to a higher decibel than the almost whisper they'd been using.

"Not that shite again! Did you correct her?"

"How can I? It wasn't as if I was completely innocent."

Corban's loud, exaggerated sigh proved the intensity of his frustration. Though she hated to recognize the fact, Hermione knew she wasn't understanding what they were talking about at all. What was there to correct? _She_ had been there, not Corban. Why was he angry that she confronted her husband with the truth?

"Antonin, mate, you have _got_ to forgive yourself for that day. You weren't at fault. _No one_ was at fault. It was a horrible accident. _Stop_ cursing yourself for it."

Her confusion grew even stronger. Nowhere in her recollection of that events of the day she took a tumble down the stairs could she recall anything being a 'horrible accident'. She could specifically remember feeling Antonin's hands on her back as she fell. What sort of lie would the wizard tell to explain that away? It was almost worth the aggravation to throw open the door and demand he tell her. Something, however, stopped her. She wasn't done listening to what the men were talking about.

"If she's confused, she really shouldn't be working, especially not in her job. Rabastan's likely to take advantage."

"I'd like to see you try to tell my wife to stop working."

Corban chuckled. The entire atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. No longer angry, the elder Death Eater grew very serious.

"You both have to be careful. This isn't a good time to be seen as a liability."

"Believe me, Corban, I understand what's at risk."

Hermione didn't have the first clue what they were talking about. Was it about the coup that everyone seemed so certain was going to happen? Or maybe something else entirely? There was so much intrigue in their world, it was impossible to keep it all straight. When they dropped their voices even lower where she couldn't make out what they were saying, she stepped closer to the door. Her hip bumped into a small side table pushed up against the wall. A framed copy of the last family picture the Dolohovs ever took together fell to the hardwood floor with a loud crash. Both men immediately stopped talking.

There was no way either of them would just go back to having their private conversation now that it was clear someone else was in the next room. Hermione bent over to pick up the fallen picture frame and stepped through the kitchen door like nothing was strange or out of the ordinary with her behavior. Each of them looked up to meet her eyes, but her husband quickly dropped them back to the top of the table.

"Good morning, Corban. I didn't know you were here."

"Just dropped in for a minute, lass. Best I go home now."

He dropped a hasty kiss on her cheek before exiting through the backdoor. Their families were casual enough that no one ever used the more formal front door on either of their houses. When she was alone with her husband again, she wondered if he would finally speak to her. She had even more questions that she wanted answers to after listening outside the door.

But, he wasn't ready to bring down whatever wall it was that still existed between them. Without saying a single word, Antonin followed their neighbor's retreat. She stood at the sink for several minutes watching him putter around in his garden, wondering how much longer this mood of his was going to last.


	141. May 20th

May 20th

Hermione's relaxing weekend turned out to be a great disappointment. Once she was no longer able to eavesdrop on the conversation her husband was having with Corban Yaxley, the rest of the day passed in a stressful analysis of what she'd overheard. Antonin remained outside in his garden for hours before coming in only to shower and leave again. Where he ran off to was anybody's guess. She assumed it was another visit to Andromeda. Any time he was frustrated with his wife, he would seek his mistress out for the calming effect she apparently had on him. But, Hermione wasn't going to seek him out to ask what he did when he was away from home. She felt certain that she didn't want to know.

Her initial plan was the spend the weekend turning over ideas for her plan to assist Aberforth in his escape. This was an operation that required finesse and the utmost diligence. Smashing into Level Eleven with nothing but reckless bravery would get her killed. Truthfully, those same actions _should've_ gotten all six teenagers killed in the Department of Mysteries debacle. Over two decades passed since that horrible event, but still the upsetting reminders that her life could've been over so easily that day continued to plague and haunt her as an adult. No, there were too many moving parts to just improvise. She would have to give it a great deal of thought and consideration.

But, thanks to her husband, she was unable to focus on anything but what she heard him talking to Corban about. First, the fact that she still couldn't separate the fake fate of her parents with the real one was upsetting. She knew that if she just asked him again, he would tell her the truth. Antonin had a lot of faults. Lying to her was never one of them. Her, pride, however, kept her from making the necessary step to actually speak to the man and ask him.

Mostly what bothered her was Corban's reaction to hearing what she said about the tragic incident with the stairs. The wizard was furious that she would suggest Antonin was somehow responsible for her fall. Why? It couldn't have been a secret to their closest neighbors that their home was often filled with violence. Between the shouting they must have been able to hear and the fact that Hermione knew for a fact that Ollie snuck out a few times in the midst of their biggest rows to seek refuge with Mafalda, there was simply no way that the Yaxleys didn't know what was happening next door. Why would Corban act as if she was delusional and making it all up in her head? She wasn't _that_ confused.

After a long, dismal day of doing nothing productive, Hermione went to bed early. It was strange how her new existence back in her old home felt just as lonely as some of the days she was out on her own on the run. Before she ran, she never felt alone. That was half the problem. Antonin hovered and consumed her every waking moment most days. He was an intense, complicated man. Being back home but feeling detached from it was bizarre. It seemed an even more compelling reason to complete her mission sooner rather than later. She was suffocating in her own home.

Sleep was practically impossible to find. After tossing and turning and fitfully dozing for a few hours, she was frustrated. Granny Granger always asked if she had a guilty conscience keeping her up at night when she couldn't sleep. It became something of a joke in her childhood home. Her parents would tease each other with mock outrage and demands that they unburden their blackened souls each time the other would complain about not sleeping well the night before. Oddly enough, years later when Hermione was in the midst of committing the darkest deeds of her life, she slept soundly with no interruptions.

Her focus would not drop the conversation she overheard. She wanted to know everything, and yet, she was afraid to know the truth. What if she was somehow blocking details about that day that she didn't want to remember? There were Muggle psychiatrists and psychologists who were of the belief that traumatic events were often repressed by their patients when they were unable to deal with the facts. Was that what happened to her? Or, was there something more sinister at work here?

The first time she was confused and struggled to remember a memory about her past, she worried that Antonin was somehow messing with her memories. Maybe he was cursing her when she was asleep or drugging her food. How else could she explain the periods of time that passed when she could hardly remember her own name? Part of his orders when she was first sent to his house was to reprogram her into a dutiful, little puppet for the Dark Lord. Most of that involved a great deal of propaganda and debates that he inevitably won. No curses were needed. No spells were even used. He simply had very convincing points to make. It wasn't necessary for him to access her thoughts and memories at all.

If he altered her memories or rooted around in her brain at all during his training, the effects would've been felt much sooner than they were. She _wished_ she could blame her husband for the moments in time that the world swirled around her and she felt like she was doomed to spin for all eternity. Or when she forgot Harry was dead. Her greatest fear had always been that something would happen to her mind. Years into her service to the Dark Lord, her nightmares began to come into fruition. No, her confusion was never Antonin's fault. She only resented him because he was there when they happened more often than not. He wanted to seek out help to discover the underlying cause and how they could be prevented or eliminated entirely. Her paranoia that he was searching out a weakness to bring her down kept her from trusting that the potions he fed her were actually just there to help. In his warped way, her husband cared very much for her.

Deciding that she needed to drink something warm to help her fall asleep, Hermione threw the covers off and climbed out of the empty bed. A very small part of her really wanted to drink one of the potions that she knew were just steps away in the bathroom, but she was afraid that she would still be fuzzy-headed and groggy for Monday morning. She had to be sharp at all times when she was at the Ministry. Especially now that Rabastan was so determined to find fault in her performance.

She was halfway down the stairs before she realized that Antonin was asleep on the sofa. Yet another night she hadn't heard him come inside from wherever he spent his time. Tempted at first to quietly tiptoe the rest of the way to the kitchen, she put that thought out of her head. If she couldn't sleep, he shouldn't be able to either. Maybe it was petty. She didn't care. Taking care to stomp on the creaky step, her husband was awake before she made it to the bottom of the staircase.

His eyes opened wide when he realized she was standing there in the middle of the night. He seemed ruffled and confused. When she noticed him examine the clothes she was wearing and then relax, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. Trust wasn't going to be easily rebuilt in their marriage, it seemed. Not that she really cared.

"Don't worry. I'm not running away again. I just can't sleep."

Not waiting to see if he would finally speak to her again, she directed her steps to the kitchen. A cup of chamomile tea usually did the trick to calm her down. The kettle was full and halfway to boiling when she heard the soft footsteps. Turning to glance over her shoulder, she sighed when she saw her husband watching her from the doorway. She turned back to the task of brewing the tea, suddenly exhausted straight to her very bones.

He didn't say a single word to her as he stalked across the floor to where she stood. His left arm slid gently across her chest, his right across her stomach. The feel of his familiar body against her back brought a sense of relief and comfort she wasn't expecting. Sighing once more, she rested against him as his arms tightened their grip around her body. He pressed his lips against the top of her head.

"When I woke up in St. Mungo's and no one could tell me where you were, I went a bit mad. Thorfinn said they had to sedate me because I kept trying to get out of bed to go look for you. The Healers were concerned I'd injure myself further."

She was surprised by his confession. Why would he be so worried about her when she was the one who put him there in the first place? Shouldn't he have been furious and hungry for vengeance? In the past when someone wronged him, or even simply _appeared_ to have wronged him, he wouldn't stop until his full punishment was exacted. His gentle tone was confusing. Who was this man? Was he playing a part in some larger scheme she didn't understand? Or, had he always been this man and she didn't realize it? How much was real and how much was manipulation? Would she ever be able to figure it out?

"I know I haven't been a very good husband to you, my darling." He brushed his lips against her temple. "But, if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

Hermione had to make a difficult decision in that moment. If he was being sincere or simply stringing her along in some sort of nefarious plot, she wasn't sure. Possibly, she'd never learn the full truth of his motivations. She had a thousand questions, each one more puzzling than the last. For the hope of answers, she would have to play along at least for a little while. Pulling away from him only enough to allow her to rotate her body until they were face to face, she leaned up on her tiptoes to cover his lips with hers. Over as soon as it began, she dropped back to her feet.

"Come to bed. I know that sofa hurts your back."

He didn't argue. Taking the kettle off of the heat, she found she didn't need the tea anymore. Her eyes were heavy and she felt certain that once she rested her head on her pillow, she would be asleep. Only minutes later with her husband's arms wrapped around her from behind once more, she put that theory to the test. Two deep breaths was all she needed to find her escape.


	142. May 21st

May 21st

Returning to the Ministry after a surprisingly relaxing Sunday put Hermione in a much better mood than she had been at the end of the previous week. When she stepped into the fireplace on Friday to return home, she felt the heaviness on her shoulders of a person who wasn't sure they were ever going to accomplish what they set out to do. So many opportunities for failure stood between her and the goal of getting Aberforth Dumbledore released from the prison she was responsible for him wasting away inside. If she was unsuccessful, she might very well find herself inside a nearby cell or worse, executed in front of a public audience. She had to be very careful.

As she walked the familiar path to her office, she thought over the events of the previous twenty-four hours. _Something_ shifted in her relationship with her husband after their moment in the kitchen. She wasn't sure the extent to how that would change her life, but she knew that it would, at least for the short-term. They weren't able to sit down and really have a long talk like they probably should. Antonin was very mysterious about why he needed to leave the house soon after waking. He didn't return until long after Hermione was in bed. Though she heard him tiptoe in, she pretended to still be asleep. They could have their big discussion later. If she was lucky, she could get Aberforth released from his cell, out in the free world, and she could run again before they had to have an uncomfortable chat.

No one greeted her when she entered her Division. It wasn't unusual for Hermione to be the first one in the department each morning. Many times in the past she was the first one there and the last one to leave. How she was able to maintain a schedule with so many punishing hours was something she didn't always like to consider. There was still a charmed drawer in the bottom of her desk filled with the sort of illegal potions one could find in the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. Whenever she needed an extra boost to make it through another sleepless night, she would toss back a vial. The nasty, little wizard who sold them to her always warned her that she had to be careful with the number that she consumed. They would become less effective over time and require more to get the same effect. When she was in the midst of her most demanding work schedule, she didn't care. It was only as she began the arduous task of trying to _stop_ drinking them that she discovered how dangerous her old habits really were.

Pushing thoughts of past events out of her mind that she couldn't change, Hermione sat down at her desk. Still piled high with files from cases she didn't care about, she was determined to make the impression that she was actually there to continue her job. Rabastan was far from being an idiot, but she hoped that she could lure him into a false sense of security long enough to get her mission completed. Spending hours poring over the files of the other case helped with the subterfuge. Even though her Co-Head was usually late coming into the office on Monday mornings following usually quite eventful weekends, she forced herself to continue her reading if no one was there to witness.

Most of the files of the recent cases had to do with the Leaky Cauldron explosion. There was a large number of suspected perpetrators that they were trying to weed through. Even being out of the game for as long as she had been, Hermione could tell just by reading their files that at least ninety percent of them were innocent. Likely only brought to the Ministry because they were suspected of holding less than glowing opinions about the regime. It was how these things worked.

In the past when a great crime had been committed against the Dark Lord and the society he built, his faithful followers would use the opportunity to arrest as many suspected enemies of the regime as possible. Didn't matter if they weren't anywhere near the source of the crime. There weren't a great deal of civil rights within their country. Very little, in fact. What was the need for personal autonomy when the government was there to make certain you had all of your needs? Keeping the populace dependent on them for their survival was how the regime was able to pass through laws that stripped them from any remaining freedoms that still lingered. It was the Dark Lord's plan to one day smash out opposition and have an entire nation of witches and wizards who did exactly as he bid.

She was able to easily discern just by looking over the files that no one was close to figuring out who was actually responsible. Naturally the Resistance was denigrated in the media. If one couldn't tell the truth, it was permissible to spin a believable lie. At least that was the standards that the so-called respectable journalists of the day adhered to. Every publication allowed to be published was approved by the regime's propaganda department. Their standards were far from lofty. As long as the regime was portrayed in a positive light and the enemies of the state weren't, they were generally able to spin whatever lie they chose. It was only the very foolish amongst them that actually believed anything that was written about in the newspapers or spoken about on the approved Wizarding Wireless stations.

From her experience with the Resistance, she knew that they were vehemently denying any responsibility for the explosion amongst themselves. No matter how many different people claimed they weren't the perpetrators, Hermione had difficulty believing them. They had the most to gain, after all. The explosion put the entire regime into a state of chaos. If the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters wasn't safe from harm, who was?

A light tap on the open doorframe pulled her out of her thoughts. Expecting to see her worthless assistant announcing that she'd _finally_ made the effort to come into the office, Hermione was more than a little surprised to see Theodore Nott Senior standing only steps away. Rising to her feet, she gestured to the wizard to enter. Moments later he stood in front of her desk, his face wide with a discomforting grin.

She didn't like the man. Never had. Something about him always set her on edge. From her first days as a terrified but determined recruit, she was under the impression that Theodore was not a man to trifle with. Being in his presence made her ill at ease. His eyes lingered too long on parts of her body they shouldn't and his reputation was concerning. Though he'd never personally laid a hand on her, Hermione always had the feeling that he was just seconds away from misery. She couldn't imagine why he was stopping by her office. He'd never made the effort in the past.

"This is unexpected, Theodore."

"I was in the Ministry today."

He offered no additional explanation. This was not a wizard who freely gave information. Reminders of the night that Draco warned Hermione that her biggest threat in their world was likely to come from his best mate's father rushed to the very forefront of her mind. It was Draco's belief that Theodore was somehow responsible for the Leaky Cauldron explosion. Though he didn't offer her up much proof, she could understand why he felt so. Everything about the man was menacing even as he smiled and winked his way through life.

"I was very sorry to hear about your son's passing. Theo was a…"

She wasn't even able to offer the full extent of her condolences before the man was waving them off. It was no secret that the relationship between father and son in the Nott family was somewhat tense. Many families were difficult. Theo might not have been a _close_ friend of hers, but she always had a great deal of respect for him. Much more so than she had for his father.

"Heirs are easily replaceable. I've already entered into negotiations for a new bride."

Hermione was made even more uncomfortable by his announcement. Theo was the kind of man who was overjoyed to have a home full of little girls. He was a proud papa, always sharing photos of his three daughters to anyone who stood still long enough in his presence. Fiercely in love with his wife Millicent, there had never been any reason to _force_ him into marriage when the Dark Lord ordered his followers to do so. They did so happily. Granddaughters, however, were _not_ desired by their terrifying grandfather. No doubt they would all be disinherited once their grandfather was able to procure another heir off a poor soul.

Likely the future Mrs. Nott was some innocent witch recently out of Hogwarts forced to marry a man old enough to be her great-grandfather. Theodore was not the sort of man to appreciate an intelligent, worldly woman. He would want one that he could rule over, intimidate and control. She did not envy the poor witch in the slightest. Just the fact that she was aware there were still pathetic families out there clamoring to align themselves with a Sacred Twenty-Eight family through the selling of their young daughters made her sick to her stomach. Would some traditions simply never die?

She wanted Theodore out of her office. The reason for his visit was still unclear. Never in the past did he just randomly drop by without having a solid reason to do so. She didn't want to believe Draco's warnings that the wizard meant her harm, but her instincts were about to convince her otherwise.

"Are you here to see Rabastan? Because I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea when he will be gracing us with his presence."

Theodore's grin grew even more feral. She could see the hatred in his eyes, the desire to reach across her desk and wrap his hands around her throat. Determined to not be intimidated by the horrible man, Hermione stood to her full height, pushing her chest out and squaring her shoulders. She kept a firm grip on the end of her wand.

"No, I'm not here to see him. I only wished to see for myself that the stories of you finally returning to us were true. I'm sure Antonin is overjoyed."

He left moments later, but the reminder of his visit remained much longer in the tension that continued to hang in the air.


	143. May 22nd

May 22nd

Maybe it was unwise to do so, but Hermione chose not to tell anyone about her uncomfortable visit with Theodore Nott. When Rabastan finally entered the office an hour later, she remained silent. She didn't want the wizard to know that she had been so unnerved by the other. It was power that he could potentially hold over her head.

Neither did she tell Antonin. Though they were both trying to make their shared life in their home more comfortable and less tense, she wasn't ready to confide in him. Much like she viewed Rabastan, her husband was another wizard she didn't want to have any amount of power over. The fact that he already _did_ possess power made her even more determined to keep her own counsel for the time being.

All day Monday and for much of Tuesday, she analyzed the short visit. What Nott was on about was still a complete mystery. He was at least honest in his statement that he was there to see for himself that she was actually back. Far from being the only person who used any excuse they could to pass by her Ministry office or walk past her home, she knew there were a number of people very interested in her return. With her defection kept almost completely under wraps from the rest of the society at large, it was no wonder that her presence was surprising. Perhaps many assumed that she was murdered by her husband in a fit of rage and Antonin was desperate to keep his dirty deeds a secret. Simple minds enjoyed spinning the most elaborate and ridiculous stories in their heads.

Part of her knew that it would make her feel better to confess the odd encounter to Antonin. There was a time in their life when they had no secrets, even when it might have been less hurtful if they did. He would be able to give her greater insight into the motivation of the old man to drop by her office when she was alone. But, a concern in the back of her mind that she didn't understand everything that happened in her absence kept her silent for the moment. She really just wanted to help Aberforth escape and move on with her life. Every day she continued to practice cloaking her magic until it became like second-nature to her. Never again did she want to left completely helpless and without magic. Once she completed her mission, she could run away without fear. If she knew too much about what was happening, she might be encouraged to stay home and protect her son. She knew willful ignorance was the coward's way of coping and she didn't care.

When it was clear that she arrived in an empty home again, Hermione decided to stretch her legs. An entire day stuck behind the desk in her office made for stiff joints and pudgy stomachs. Even when they weren't actually speaking, Antonin made certain that he prepared a large meal for her every night since she'd returned. He didn't like to see how skinny she'd become. It was a frequent complaint of his when she worked too much in the past and forgot to eat. She used to accuse him, primarily in jest, of wanting her to balloon up to at least thirty-five stone just so he could always be positive that she wasn't warming some other wizard's bed.

Very little about Hogsmeade changed in her absence. She always got the impression that very little changed about Hogsmeade for the past several hundred years. It was like an old friend, ready and waiting for you when you had the chance to visit. She was surprised to discover how much she missed the place in her absence. For almost twenty years it had been her home. Not always a home that she _chose_ , but one that she grew to love nonetheless. It was familiar, _safe_. How often had she longed to feel both of those while she was on the run?

Most of the villagers were polite when their paths crossed hers. She was once a familiar sight. Those that were less thrilled to see her didn't bother her much. Part of her past involved being one of the most hated people in the country. It was part and parcel of her job. Thanks to her close proximity to power within the regime, there would always be those that resented her and those that wanted to rise in the ranks on her coattails.

She reached the edge of the village, but wasn't satisfied with her walk. It had been too long since she'd really gotten her heart rate up with exercise. Perhaps since she was back in Hogsmeade for the time being, she could start jogging again in the morning. It used to bring her such a peace when the rest of the world around her was so violent and unpredictable. For at least half an hour every morning she could be assured that she would be left completely alone. Finding that kind of serenity was rarely easy.

Only a few meters into the thick forest that surrounded the village, Hermione got the sudden impression that she wasn't alone. Years of honing her instincts meant that it was difficult for anyone to sneak up on her unaware. Of course, she was a bit out of practice. Some skills became rusty if not used often. Not feeling as if she was in any immediate danger, she kept walking. Maybe it was a curious deer or another creature that made the woods their home. It was highly possible that _she_ was the one trespassing.

The arms that wrapped around her waist from behind startled her to the point that she was ready to fight. She had her hand in her pocket to grab her wand when the lips first brushed against the skin at the base of her neck. A low moan from the back of the throat of her attacker proved she wasn't in immediate danger. Turning around quickly, she swatted Draco lightly in the chest. _That_ was no way to get a woman's attention! If he wasn't careful, he would get a hex straight to his bollocks if he ever tried to do that again.

Draco wasn't deterred by the admonishing slap. He simply used the fact that they were now face to face to his advantage by ravaging her mouth with his. It hadn't been _that_ long since the last time they were alone in the bed in his flat, but it was beginning to feel like an eternity. Even though she was having second thoughts about the man's motivations for everything he did, she wasn't in the mood to pass up a good time when it was offered. After all, it _had_ been a rather stressful couple of weeks.

Only a little encouragement was needed to get him to the point that he was ready to push her up against a tree. Draco had a passionate streak in him that Hermione hadn't expected. Maybe it was all of the time that he spent alone. It was bound to build up over time if not released at regular intervals. His hands never stopped moving over her body, almost as if he was trying to touch every single part of her that existed. She wasn't exactly in a position to mind.

It was reckless to behave so freely in an area where they could be easily spotted. So much could go wrong if they were caught. Somehow that knowledge made the whole encounter all the more exciting. She gave herself over to the thrill of the moment. If they were discovered, that was a problem they could worry about later.

"You should've never left my flat."

He practically growled the reprimand into the skin of her neck. Pressing her body up against the thick trunk of a tree, he didn't waste another moment slipping his hands up her skirt to tug down her now sodden knickers. Hermione hindered the process of getting his trousers open more than she helped. When he was finally free, he grasped the back of her thighs to lift her slim body off of the ground. More than ready for what was about to happen, she wrapped her legs around his back and prepared for the blissful moment of intrusion.

Nothing about the act was gentle. Either because there was very little time or because he wanted to punish her for running away. Whatever the reason was inconsequential. All that mattered was the feel of him inside her body plucking the most delicious notes of pleasure from within. She longed to scream and cry out like she had when they were tucked away in the privacy of his flat, but knew that would just add an extra level of carelessness to their already reckless behavior. Biting her bottom lip, she stifled the moans.

"We should be doing this every night before we go to sleep. We should be waking up in each other's arms every morning to do this again."

He punctuated his statement with a fierce nip to her shoulder. Not hard enough to draw any blood, it was just enough to push her over the edge she was already dangling over. As her body convulsed around him, squeezing out every ounce of his pleasure in the process, she considered his words. It was a lovely fantasy, one that would never happen. Not for long, anyway. Their world was too uncertain. When they were able to catch their breath and she set her feet back down on the ground, the atmosphere seemed to shift.

" _What_ was that about, Draco?"

An elegant shrug of his shoulders was his initial response. He took a moment to consider his words carefully. Finally, he just blurted them out.

"I missed you."

Hermione hoped that he was telling the truth. Something about knowing that the wizard thought about her when they weren't together and actually _missed_ her made her feel warm and valued. It had been a long time since she felt that way. But, she was always careful not to get too wrapped up in her own emotions. As time went on and she was away from his influence longer, she found it more difficult to trust his motivations. What did he have to gain?

"How is everything going at the Ministry?"

Half a dozen more questions about the status of her plan to free Aberforth came tumbling out of his mouth in short order. He was very curious about her progress. Hermione wondered if that was what this all was. Maybe he was just using her to get answers, using her to get the wizard he respected out of prison. It would make sense if he was just using her to get information for the Resistance. She didn't appreciate being made to feel like that was all she was worth.

"I'm still working on it."

No details were forthcoming no matter how many more questions he asked. Frustrated, she adjusted her clothing and headed back into the village. He wasn't foolish enough to follow.


	144. May 23rd

_**Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of you lovely reviewers out there! Especially those beautiful souls who review every day. You have no idea how much your encouragement and your theories brighten my day. This is an insane challenge (that I ask myself every single day WHY I decided to try) and your encouragement is invaluable to help keep me going when it would be so easy to quit. I appreciate every single one of them. Thank you again!** _

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May 23rd

Hermione found herself having difficulty focusing the day after her unexpected _meeting_ with Draco in the woods outside of Hogsmeade. No matter what she tried to focus on, her mind kept returning to the encounter. When she returned to her home, she waved off all concerned inquiries from her husband. Antonin was trying to slowly reopen the door of communication. He could tell she was agitated and tried to engage her in conversation. Instead, she headed for their bathroom where she tried to put her mind to ease with a long, hot bubble bath. In the past, that always worked.

But, Wednesday morning of her second full week at the Ministry, she was having difficulty thinking about anything other than his bizarre behavior. What changed since she left his flat? In one moment, she would say that everything was as it had always been. In the next moment, however, she would find details of their interaction to feel unnatural and upsetting. Something felt _off_. She wasn't sure how to explain it even to herself. Just that the change between them bothered her immensely.

Whatever was going on with Draco managed to at least encourage her with the reminder that she had to get serious about her plan to free Aberforth. Waiting around much longer could easily turn into a disaster. Between her husband trying to rekindle whatever it was that once existed between them and the unusual and unsettling behavior of Draco, she wanted to get the mission over and done with one way or the other. Once Aberforth was no longer locked away in Level Eleven, maybe it was possible that she could see Draco's true motives. If he wanted nothing but her to rescue the wizard, once she was successful, he would leave her alone. If there was more to him than she knew, he would make it known. Though she was still confused as to what _her_ feelings for the tracker were, she knew she wanted to get this last mission out of the way.

Getting serious about the next steps meant that she had to take a visit to Level Eleven, an _official_ visit. It had been too long since she took the lift to the lowest level to inspect the area that was still under the control of her division. Staying away from it for too long could be just as suspicious as wanting to go there immediately after arriving. Besides, she could only sit behind her desk reading case files for so long before the last remaining bit of sanity she was desperately clinging to snapped.

As was to be expected, the moment the doors opened on Level Two and the occupants of the lift saw who was waiting, the Ministry officials exited quickly. Hermione bit back a smirk at how they scurried like cockroaches under the light. Even a year away from the Ministry hadn't taken away all of her power to terrify those who came into contact with her. She liked when they were afraid. It brought her joy and made her feel powerful. After so many years of feeling like she had no power at all, it was a heady feeling.

When the lift doors closed, Hermione pressed the tip of her wand to the hidden panel. Having the old, familiar wand back in her hand also brought her an immense level of joy. It felt right. The hidden panel slid open to reveal the hole where she was to insert the end of her wand for identification. She'd done this a thousand times with no issues, but for whatever reason, the thousandth and first time produced no results. Nothing happened. She tried again and again to no avail. The lift wasn't recognizing her authority to travel down to Level Eleven.

Furious and frustrated, she forced the lift doors to open on Level Two. Ignoring the confused expressions from the workers who'd only just exited the same lift moments earlier, she set her sights on her office door and stormed to her department. The anger she felt at being denied entrance didn't even have to be manufactured. She could feel her blood pressure rise with each second that she considered the disrespect.

" _Why_ am I not able to go to Level Eleven?"

She didn't even bother to lower her voice to a more acceptable level when demanding answers from Rabastan. The wizard found her passion amusing. A smirk crossed his lips that wouldn't leave. She fantasized about what it would feel like to scrape the expression off his face with her fingernails.

"Oh dear, that must have been terribly frustrating for you, but I'm afraid as a security precaution, when you were gone for so long with no word of your whereabouts, we had to do _something_."

He was enjoying making her mad. It was a game he liked to play. Time away from him clearly hadn't changed that aspect of their working relationship. She knew she was dancing on the edge of a knife. If she was _too_ eager to get down to the lowest level, he would be suspicious. If she suddenly acted like it was no big deal, he would be suspicious too. Playing the game of politics was exhausting. She didn't understand how she had been able to do it successfully for so long.

"How am I supposed to do my job if can't get down there?"

"I was under the impression you were _easing_ back into work. What need do you have to be down there?"

She forced herself to take a deep breath before she answered the question. If she wasn't careful in her response, she would do more harm than good to the entire situation. His smirk was infuriating, but she couldn't allow him to get to her. Rabastan craved power and would seek it out wherever he could get it.

"It's important that I make sure everything in _my_ department is in working order. I must see what is happening."

Rabastan's response was to rise to his feet and head for the door. As they made their way to the lifts together, he offered to accompany her down to Level Eleven. For the time being, he wasn't going to reinstate her access. She fought the urge to resort to Muggle street brawling in the lift. There would hopefully come a day that she could make him pay for all of the indignities he'd heaped on her head over the years. Some of them might have been fun, but others were just humiliating.

Everything in Level Eleven was exactly the same. It was as if time stopped since the last time she was free to enter the space on her own. Each of the dozen cells were occupied. Some even with faces she recognized. Every last one of them glared in her direction. It didn't bother her. She was used to the hatred that poured out of the cells.

She could tell that Rabastan was analyzing every movement she made. Keeping her countenance as impassive as possible was imperative. He was just looking for weaknesses to exploit. Even though she desired to leave the hateful place almost as soon as she arrived, she wouldn't give her Co-Head the satisfaction. She utilized every last ounce of strength she possessed to remain calm.

Aberforth's cell was at the very end of the line. Tucked far back in the corner, she was still able to see the old wizard leaning against the bars staring at the woman responsible for his capture. From the distance, it seemed that he was whole. He hadn't been terribly mistreated in his confinement _yet_. Once she confirmed his presence with her own eyes, she wanted to leave. As she started to turn, Rabastan caught her arm. Though not as rough a grab as her husband employed or even as rough as what forced the uncloaked stunner out of the end of her wand into Aberforth's gut, it was firm enough to allow him to steer her over towards Aberforth's cell.

"Your latest capture. Tell me, Hermione dear, _how_ did you manage that? So many of us failed so many times trying to bring him in."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders in a terrible impression of the elegant motion of Draco's shoulders when he did the same.

"Lucky, I guess."

There was no other details she could provide him that wouldn't put her in a great deal of danger. If he suspected even for a moment what her true purpose was, he would strike. The _last_ place she ever wanted to be was stuck inside one of the locked side rooms alone with Rabastan. He was a master at his craft and she knew she wouldn't be able to survive the strain of the torture without going completely insane.

Satisfied that Aberforth was whole and unable to bear standing close enough where she could see the hateful glare he was shooting her, Hermione began to walk away from the cell. She was only a couple of steps away before Rabastan caught her arm again. He lowered his mouth to the outside of her ear to whisper.

"He's the one you wanted to come see, isn't he?"

She felt her stomach clench. Should she deny it? Would he believe her if she tried? He stood back to his full height and didn't worry about lowering his voice any longer. Hermione was glad. She was certain that everyone in the room could hear the thump of her heart against her chest.

"I don't want you to be concerned. We've only just begun our plans for him. What fortunate timing you have. It'll be just like old times again."

His wink didn't help calm her nerves in the slightest. Knowing that he actually expected her to assist him in the interrogation of Dumbledore made her heart beat even faster. She wasn't sure that she had the stomach to do what she used to ever again. Torturing Aberforth wasn't even an option she wanted to contemplate. It was that much more important that she get him out of there before she damned both of them.

She longed to apologize to the man for getting him locked up. It had never been her intention and she hoped that he understood that. Even mouthing her apology wasn't an option. Rabastan had spies everywhere. She didn't dare give him any indication that she felt the least bit of remorse for the part she played in his capture.

Rabastan gave her a thorough tour of the familiar space. She was never more thankful to leave when he made the suggestion they return to their office.


	145. May 24th

May 24th

Rabastan knew something was up. Hermione didn't even need confirmation to know that her partner of many years was aware that she wasn't telling the complete truth about her return to their society. He was an observant man who hadn't gotten to where he was without being perceptive and aware of what others weren't. She might have possessed a natural inclination in their line of work, but he'd had decades to hone it to a fine art.

If she wasn't careful, she would become one of his victims. Even the benefit of their fucked up friendship and years-long sexual relationship wouldn't save her from the locked room in Level Eleven if he suspected she was up to something to sabotage the regime. In order to be successful, to have Aberforth Dumbledore walk out of the bowels of the Ministry and for her to _not_ take his place in his empty cell, she could not make it obvious what she was doing.

This was going to take much longer than she initially thought. Maybe if Rabastan hadn't made such a big deal about dragging her over to Aberforth's cell during their visit the day before, she might not need to be so cautious. But, he was warning her in a way that left no doubt that he was aware that _something_ was happening. Until all of the pieces fell into place, she would have to be perfect. This was beyond life or death. If she failed, she might also be responsible for causing the torture and death of her own son right before her eyes. Maybe even Antonin's death. With the Dark Lord still alive, there was always the possibility that one of his Death Eaters could become just another victim to the society he built. Some rules were not meant to be broken. The consequences of doing so were too dire.

Creativity wasn't always one of her strongest talents. In the past, when it was absolutely necessary, she'd been able to come up with inventive ways to get a problem solved. The success rate of those endeavors was somewhat mixed. She still couldn't think about the humiliating moment in her second year when she turned herself into a cat without a bit of shame. Perhaps Polyjuice Potion hadn't been the best idea. It provided _some_ answers, but it also provided her with a lifetime of embarrassment. Especially after she once made the mistake of telling Antonin in confidence what she'd done. He'd tried to remain perfectly placid and unmoved. He was only successful for about half a second before he burst into loud laughter and _begged_ her to let him see her memory of the horrible event in the pensieve she kept in the basement. She did so only to shut his obnoxious laughter up. At least ten years had gone by since that night and she still regretted every moment.

Around midday, she made the decision to go to the Ministry canteen for lunch. Being without food on a regular basis for long really helped to encourage her to remain on a normal eating schedule. Even when she wasn't hungry, which was rare, she would force herself to eat when she had the opportunity. One never knew how long their fortune would hold out. For all she knew, she would have to make a run for it that afternoon and that might be the last meal she had the chance to eat for days. As a show of good faith, she left her beaded bag at home where Antonin could inspect it at his leisure to ensure it was empty. Though she felt practically naked without it, she knew that was a small price to pay to ensure her husband didn't find out what she was up to. If she had to run, she would make do with what she had.

No one in the Ministry canteen wanted to share a table with the infamous Madam Dolohov. It was a common occurrence before she left on the run and honestly, didn't really bother Hermione much. She'd worked damn hard for the persona she created. Most people either hated her or feared her. Very little opportunity remained between those two emotions to create lasting friendships.

Once she picked the meal she wished to consume, Hermione set about the task of finding an empty table. Just as she was about to set her tray down on a small table near an enchanted window, she caught sight of Angelina Johnson sitting by herself at another table. There was a time before Hermione ran that the two women had been somewhat friendly. Or as friendly as most of her old school chums were apt to be with her anyway. The former professional Quidditch player mostly just tried not to make waves. Offered a job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports once she retired, her fellow Gryffindor kept a fairly low profile.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

If Angelina wanted to say no to the younger witch, she didn't allow the desire to show on her face. With a bright smile that seemed to knock off several years from her still quite beautiful face, she gestured to the empty chair. Hermione was grateful that she wasn't denied. It would've been quite awkward and based on how she used to stomp around the Ministry, she wasn't sure if she would be expected to make Angelina's life a living hell or not. What she used to do in the past was exhausting.

"Are you settling back in all right?"

She'd always liked Angelina. Even back in their days at Hogwarts when they had absolutely nothing in common, the older witch had always been kind. It was common knowledge that once George Weasley was executed, she lost a lot of the spirit she once possessed. Unmarried and unconcerned with changing that fact, she'd played Quidditch until her knees could no longer take the strain and she had to set her feet back down on the ground. Though it would've been so easy, and understandable, for Angelina to not wish to speak to one of the most infamous Death Eaters out of pure spite for the losses she'd endured in her own life, she never seemed to forget the days when they were both children playing at a war they were doomed to lose.

"Yes, thank you. I am."

Awkward small talk was almost entirely the extent of their relationship post-Hogwarts. Neither woman wished to delve too deeply in any topic. They stuck to what was safe and uncontroversial.

"Your son is old enough to be at Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione nodded, a small smile creeping up on her lips. At times it bothered her when other women would go straight to talking about children, but she was grateful that that was at least a topic that she could freely converse on without a lot of worry of it getting too serious.

"How is he enjoying it?"

"It's his first year. He's a Gryffindor. Sounds to me like he's been causing a great deal of stress for poor Professor McGonagall."

Both women chuckled at the thought. Each of them had been responsible in their own way of causing the same stress for their former Head of House. Angelina might have been able to stay out of blatant and obvious trouble more often than not, but her friendship with the Weasley twins was enough to put at least a few more grey hairs on the Transfiguration professor's head.

"We had a lot of fun in school, didn't we?"

All Hermione could do was nod at the question dripping with nostalgia. If they could go back, she had no doubt that each of them would. Even if Hermione knew that she wouldn't be able to change a single moment, she would've given a great deal to be able to return to the days when she thought failing an exam was a life or death situation. Though they seemed enormous at the time, she didn't understand how simple and juvenile her problems actually were. Part of her hoped that Ollie would be able to go through his school years with few worries beyond keeping his marks up and making it on the Quidditch team.

Most of Gryffindor House assumed that Angelina was in love with Fred Weasley. It made sense because they were each other's dates for the Yule Ball, but Hermione always thought she would make a better match with George. Unless one really knew the Weasley twins, it was easy to assume that they were just alike. That assumption couldn't be further from the truth. The subtle differences in the two men made a big difference. Hermione had a much easier relationship with George and frequently butt heads with Fred. She couldn't recall the days in their final year when they were hiring innocent, naïve first years to try their products without a smile.

War was such a waste. Both of those men should've been alive. Still in their ridiculous Diagon Alley shop selling their remarkable products that were actually quite brilliant. There should have been generations of Hogwarts students paying to have their Patented Daydream Charms for boring lessons or to have terrible love potions smuggled in under the guise of innocuous chocolates. The future would have been limitless for those two if only fate had been kinder.

An idea struck Hermione as she recalled simpler days. Maybe it was complete rubbish and would only serve to get both her and Aberforth killed, but for the first time since she returned to the Ministry, she felt a lessening of the tight knot in her stomach. A million different pieces would have to be put into play and they could all bring the plan tumbling down around her ears. She wondered what it said about her that she was actually _excited_ about the prospect? She might finally have an idea that could work.

The two women finished their lunch only a few minutes later. Filled with energy and excitement, Hermione's step felt lighter as she made her way back to her office. She had a first step. That was a start. All she needed was a chance.


	146. May 25th

May 25th

The end of her second full week back at the Ministry was a pleasant relief to Hermione. Though she was slowly beginning to feel more confident back in the familiar arena of her old life, she had forgotten so much about how to play the game. What had once been second nature to her was lost in the time she was away. Imagining going back to the place where she could survive without even second-guessing her decisions sounded like a terrible existence. Her time away gave her a fresh perspective she hadn't realized that she needed.

It was difficult to remember what it was that made her find joy in her previous life. She could very specifically remember a time when she was _happy_ practically living in Level Eleven of the Ministry of Magic conducting terrifying interrogations of suspected enemies of the regime. Her work gave her a purpose, a reason to keep going. What did it say about her as a person that she could find such fulfillment in such degradation?

There was a great deal about her that was different than even just a year earlier. Something within her simply _snapped_ right before she went on the run. It was more than just Antonin grabbing her arm in their kitchen. Though that might have been the immediate catalyst that put everything else in motion, there had been something else bubbling under the surface. For how long, she had no idea. Months? _Years_? She had become nothing less than a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

At least she only attempted to murder her husband when the moment finally came. What if she'd hurt her son or another innocent? She had years of experience pushing aside the worst thoughts into tiny little, hidden boxes in the back of her brain. For whatever reason, she was unable to push aside the very real fear that she was an unstable accident waiting to happen. Oliver was just in the next room when she exploded. Would she have tried to kill her son if he'd been the unlucky soul present for her breakdown?

In her past existence, she thrived on violence. It was truly not a shock to anyone that it spilled over into her home. She was conditioned to spread misery and pain to those around her. How else was she supposed to be successful in extracting information from unwilling informants? She knew exactly where to press someone until they were on the verge of breaking, exactly the amount of pressure required to hold them there without allowing them to topple over the edge. How many people had she seen inside one of the locked side rooms she was terrified to find herself in again? How many of them never emerged again on their two feet? Of course there was an official number of the lives she'd destroyed filed somewhere in the dusty corners of Level Ten where the horrid Umbridge cow resided. Hermione didn't have the courage to seek it out. Maybe once upon a time she would've been able to see the exact number of interrogations she'd held with a source of pride. Those days were long gone. She didn't understand how she could ever casually go to work in the morning knowing that she would have blood on her hands before lunch. How did she come back home at a regular hour each day to spend the evening with her small family, pretending like what she did was perfectly normal?

It was no use dwelling on a past she could not change, she'd decided. All that really mattered was the simple fact that the taste of blood was no longer as sweet as it once was. Given the same conditions in _that_ moment, she would have different reactions. Learning that if she wasn't swift enough in her mission she might be forced to employ some of her old tactics on the man she was trying to save didn't help calm her nerves in the slightest. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax until it was all over.

Knowing that she had two full days at home where she could think over the details of her growing plan without worry that Rabastan would overanalyze her was encouraging. She was looking forward to the peace and quiet. Blocking out the ambient noise of the Ministry was harder than she remembered. After so long of being alone and wrapped up inside her own mind, she found being around so many people day in and day out upsetting. She pulled a small charmed notebook out of the pockets of her robes to begin making notes in at the kitchen table. Writing in a code only she could understand, she started to sketch out what she had so far.

Antonin wasn't home to bother her planning. It was yet one more thing to be grateful for. Where he was located that night was of no concern to his wife. If he was committing indecent acts in Andromeda Tonks' bed, she was thankful that at least he wasn't trying to recreate some of their more memorable evenings in their own bed. She had too much on her mind to worry about her husband pawing at her whenever he desired. Let Andromeda worry about him for the time being. As much as she truly hated and detested the woman, she had her uses.

Her plan to help Aberforth escape had to be complicated. There had to be at least a dozen moving parts or Rabastan would uncover it immediately. No doubt he was already looking for ways to discover what she was really up to, why she was _really_ back. Simple plans were usually the most effective. Too much going on meant there were more opportunities for it to all go wrong. But, knowing her former lover, he would be expecting the simple. She had to make it all so subtle and complicated that he wouldn't even know where to begin looking.

The roughest of plans was written out before she heard the front door open. A quick glance at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall showed it was a just a quarter to midnight. She hadn't even kept track of how long she was seated at the table crouched over her plans. Casting a spell on the notebook to keep it from prying eyes, Hermione slipped it into her pocket just as her husband entered the kitchen.

Antonin looked exhausted. All thoughts that he'd been spending his evening away with his mistress flew out of Hermione's mind. This was not the kind of exhaustion that came from an erotic encounter between the sheets. She could see without even needing to know the details that her husband was coming home after a very rough day. Feeling the slightest bit of pity for the man, she rose from her chair to pour him a glass of fire whiskey. He accepted the drink with a grateful peck to her lips as he slid down into an empty chair.

Hermione didn't press him for answers or explanations as he gulped down the first glass. She knew him well enough to know that when he was ready, he would speak. When his glass emptied, she filled it again. Her reasons were entirely selfish, of course. Twenty years of knowing the wizard taught her the valuable lesson that too much alcohol always loosened his tongue. She would keep pouring until he refused to drink anymore or until she had all of the answers she desired.

"You were out late tonight."

Antonin sighed. His tired eyes closed for the briefest of moments. Given the opportunity, he would crawl into their bed and sleep for a day if he could.

"There was a meeting in London. It did not go well."

She wanted to know all of the details. Was it just like the ones they had in the Leaky Cauldron, before and during the explosion? How close was he to gathering the necessary support to overthrow the Dark Lord? _Was_ that his end goal? Practically vibrating with nervous energy in anticipation of finally learning some of what happened during these top-secret meetings, she tried to remain patient enough to allow the man to speak.

"We're trying to make plans for the inevitable, for when we no longer have a clear leader. Everyone is aware that that won't be much longer."

"Why wasn't I invited to this meeting? I used to be right at your side for everything."

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. A big part of her wanted absolutely nothing to do with the intrigue that was swirling around the Death Eater ranks, but she couldn't deny that her curiosity wanted to know every single detail. Antonin didn't immediately answer her. He stared in her eyes for several seconds, unblinking, hoping that maybe she would move on from the question if he waited. She could've laughed in his face. She hadn't been gone from his life _that_ long to change so drastically. When she wanted something, she was stubborn enough to wait.

"You've only just returned. I didn't think that… I thought it best that you not get too involved."

"Yet or ever?"

While she could appreciate the sentiment behind his desire to shield her from the unpleasantness of the Death Eater gathering, it also frustrated her that he would try to keep her out of something so serious without even asking her what she wanted. No, she wasn't particularly interested in surrounding herself with the cretins whose company she used to seek out in her former life. That didn't mean she didn't want to at least have the opportunity to decline the offer. Was that asking too much?

"If you would like me to be completely honest with you, Hermione, then I will be. I think it is best that you don't get involved with what's happening now _ever_."

She fought the urge to pout like a petulant child. Of course she appreciated his candor. It made life more bearable than constantly wondering whether or not her husband was telling her the truth. They had their problems certainly. Lying straight to her face had never been one of his faults.

"It's dangerous right now. Unpredictable."

"What makes _now_ so much more dangerous than it was before I left?"

He sighed again and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Hermione assumed that she knew what he was going to say, but was anxious to hear it anyway.

"Because the Dark Lord is dying. Maybe he has a few months left. More likely just weeks."


	147. May 26th

May 26th

Antonin's announcement wasn't as surprising as it should have been. There was a time when no one believed it was even possible that the Dark Lord _could_ die. Once it was discovered that Hermione and Ron assisted Harry Potter in hunting out his horcruxes, their new master resolved to discover everything he could learn about how to combat the effects of destroyed horcruxes. To everyone's knowledge, or rather, those select few who were privy to this exceptionally private matter, there wasn't a single person alive who could answer his questions. Too few people were willing to make even _one_ horcrux, let alone seven. Having an accidental eighth horcrux only further compounded his problems.

How he was able to survive for an additional twenty years after all of his horcruxes were destroyed was a complete mystery. Truthfully, even someone as curious as Hermione didn't want to know. To maintain his existence for so long in such a precarious state must have involved some truly Dark deeds. There was only so much a single person could put their body and soul through before they were doomed.

Even if she wasn't shocked by Antonin's news, she pretended like she was. She knew how to play her husband just right. If he thought she was _too_ knowledgable already on a subject or topic, he would give her only the barest details or stop discussing it altogether. But, if she played at ignorance convincingly, he would not spare anything he knew. He truly was a remarkable teacher. It was a shame that he'd made the wrong choices when he was just out of Hogwarts nursing a broken heart courtesy of the cow Andromeda Black. He would have made a fine professor at Hogwarts. She could see him easily teaching Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts. They might have taken all mention of Defense out of the class title when the inept Amycus Carrow was professor, but it was how she would always remember that class.

The first clue that she had that the Dark Lord was in truly dire health was the mere fact that she'd been back from her defection for almost two weeks and hadn't been summoned to the castle once. She wasn't sure all that her husband was keeping hidden from their master about the past year. Considering the summonses had been few and far between before she ran, she knew that it was theoretically possible that Antonin simply hadn't divulged the _full_ truth to their master at all. Out of fear for her safety and what would happen if she was captured, he might have even been able to lie convincingly for an entire year. Her husband was a master Occlumens, far better than anyone she'd ever known. If anyone could do it, he could. When he was less agitated and no longer upset from what was clearly a trying evening, she would carefully press him for details of what he told the Dark Lord about her absence.

Antonin continued to take deep gulps of the offered fire whiskey. His wife ensured that his glass wasn't empty long. She wanted to know everything even if it meant she had to manipulate him and use his weakness for alcohol against him.

"I saw the Dark Lord this morning at Hogwarts."

No one had been allowed to enter the Lord Voldemort's quarters in the castle for weeks. _That_ should have been another large clue to anyone too thick to understand that something serious was happening. He despised weakness and strove to make certain that no one ever saw him the least bit vulnerable or _human_. Half of his influence was in the fact that he could terrify his people with just the threat of unimaginable power. Seeing in his place a feeble and sick man would have ruined the illusion. That would not have been allowed.

Antonin wasn't one to be denied when he needed to speak with their master. It was his tenacity that almost got him trouble many times in the past when the Dark Lord feared he was planning to take over his position. His legendary paranoia had only grown larger the longer he managed to cling to some semblance of living. Every suit of armor in the castle was an enemy out to depose him. It was little wonder that he didn't want any of his loyal followers to see him in his weakened state. Her husband, however, didn't care. He would intimidate even the fiercest of Hogwarts house-elves intent on performing their duties for their current master.

"He's the worst I've ever seen him. The _smell_ , Hermione… gods, the _smell…_ there is nothing like it. Nothing can prepare you for it. It's as if he's rotting from the inside out. Every breath he exhales or word he says is putrid. I can hardly breathe when I'm around him for fear of vomiting."

"How do you know he's dying? Did he tell you that?"

"No, you know him well enough to know he'll never admit to being capable of death. In his warped and diseased mind, he's immortal."

A great deal of things had changed since she was gone indeed. In the past, they might have quietly hinted at the fallibility of the Dark wizard they chose to follow, but they never came right out and criticized him or spoke against the mythology he'd created for himself. She and Antonin both were responsible for filing reports throughout the years on those citizens of the regime who spoke unfavorably about their Dark Lord. _Never_ had he been so forthright in his criticism. Hermione felt as if her world was spinning faster than she could handle. If her husband was speaking against their master without fear, they were further along in the process to having a leadership change than she realized.

"He's been using some very, _very_ Dark magic to try to stay alive and powerful."

Her husband stopped speaking to down the rest of his glass of fire whiskey. Whatever he was thinking about was upsetting. Hermione wasn't sure she even wanted to imagine what their master was capable of. In her first year, he resorted to drinking the blood of slain unicorns to stay alive. She knew for a fact that part of Walden Macnair's duties before he met his sticky end in her basement several years earlier was to seek out and kill the unicorns that lived in the Forbidden Forest. Many of those who knew the terrible secret were afraid that he'd been successful in eradicating them completely from the forest. She was pleased to be told in the strictest of confidence a year or two after Macnair mysteriously vanished without a trace that Hagrid had seen some foals in the forest. Though their relationship was a bit strained and not nearly as warm as it had been when she was a child, the gamekeeper still made a point to remain friendly after all those years. She suspected strongly that he knew he needed an ally within the Inner Circle and sought her out due to a sense of nostalgia. In thanks for his cheerful presence when she was a frightened girl terrified that her best friends would never forgive her, she did all she could to keep the half-giant protected.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I've helped him before in the past."

There were a few times that she suspected Antonin might be included in some of the more secretive tasks that their master required. If he was ordered to keep his actions silent, he wouldn't even give his wife a hint that he knew something he shouldn't.

"What did he have you do? Kill more unicorns?"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about it."

He would offer no further explanation. Hermione was glad. If the mere memory of what he'd done in the service of the Dark Lord unnerved her unflappable husband so, she didn't want to know. His complexion was tinged a faint green and there were unshed tears in his dark brown eyes. Taking pity on him once more that evening, she filled up his glass. By this point, she'd lost count the number that he'd had. Knocking it back in a single swallow, she knew that whatever was asked of him must have been truly terrible. A shiver of fear crawled up her spine.

"But whatever he has been trying hasn't been working lately. He's weak. Ollie could probably finish him off in his current state with little more than a tickling charm."

"Is that what the meeting in London was about?"

He nodded his head.

"We're making plans for what to do when he finally dies. Have been for months now. Gus must have told you about the explosion in the Leaky Cauldron during one of them."

It was the first time since she returned to Hogsmeade that he made any mention of the time he knew she spent in Cornwall. Augustus would always be a sensitive subject for the two of them. Eventually, it would all have to come out whether she wanted to discuss it or not. She could appreciate the fact that her husband was trying to ease her back into her former life. Many men might not have been so thoughtful when their wives essentially abandoned them for an entire year. Her only response to his statement was a single nod of her head.

"I informed them tonight that he was worse. Any day now I expect to get the message from one of the house-elves that he's finally gone."

"What do you expect will happen after that?"

He took another deep gulp from his glass. With a deep sigh, he met her eyes. The tears from earlier were gone, replaced only with a cold certainty.

"Chaos, my darling. _Chaos_."


	148. May 27th

May 27th

There was no reason to rush out of bed on Sunday morning. It was a bizarre feeling being back home that surprisingly, Hermione was finding it easy to get used to. For an entire year, she did everything she could think of to make certain that she wasn't forced to return to the familiar house on a quiet street in the village of Hogsmeade. Just the _thought_ of returning to share the same living space with her husband was enough to send her running. She wondered why she was beginning to feel like it might just be easier to stay.

With the Dark Lord's death imminent, their entire society was about to be thrown into the chaos Antonin promised. The Muggles who lived alongside the wizards and witches were completely oblivious to what was actually happening in their world. When terrible tragedies struck the Wizarding world that they weren't able to keep hidden, those poor beings without magic were able to simply explain it away as violence of their own making. How sad that it was evident all humans, regardless of their ability to use magic or not, were filled with the same kind of savagery. But, at least the Muggles penchant for violence helped make the Ministry of Magic's job just a little easier while the generation-long conflict continued. Not even Lord Voldemort and his regime was exempt from the International Statute of Secrecy. The regime could rule the magical sections of the country with an iron fist as long as no one unworthy to use magic discovered the truth.

Her conversation with Antonin in the earliest hours of Saturday morning left her with a great deal to think about. Because of his exhaustion and the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed, they didn't speak much past his assertion that chaos was preparing itself to settle into their borders. He was asleep most of Saturday morning and only rose reluctantly from their bed in the afternoon to leave on another mysterious mission he would give her no clues about. Returning long after she'd fallen asleep, she didn't mind that they hadn't had the opportunity to continue their discussion. She was still operating under the hope that she would be able to avoid as many unpleasant and awkward conversations with the man she married as she could in the time she expected to remain.

A nagging thought in the back of her mind kept reminding her that even if she was somehow successful in securing Aberforth's freedom, she wasn't necessarily going to be certain of her own. The Resistance despised the very ground she walked upon. _That_ hadn't changed and likely wouldn't no matter what she did. Even if she was able to slay the Dark Lord herself and bring _both_ Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter back from the dead to rebuild the world from the ashes left behind, she wouldn't be forgiven. Not for the twenty years that she turned her back on the people she once was a part of. They wouldn't forgive her for taking what they thought was the easy way out. She'd committed many, _many_ crimes that she deserved no absolution for. No matter what she did, she would remain an enemy of the Resistance.

Maybe it would be safer to remain with her husband during the dark days sure to come. If she ran, he would never stop looking for her. And if she stayed, he would give his very last breath to ensure that she remained safe. She knew that without a doubt. Antonin would feel it his obligation to keep his wife protected from any threat. It didn't matter that Augustus was the one sitting outside her broom cupboard or that he was the one who wrangled a promise from the Resistance to keep her protected for his assistance in ensuring the Revolution they desired would pass. Her husband had always been her true protector. Even if she couldn't stand the sight of him at times and he'd been violent and abusive during the course of their relationship, he was the one who taught her the skills she needed to survive in their fucked up world. As much as she hated to think charitable thoughts about the man, she knew that without Antonin, she would've been dead many long years ago.

She pressed aside her thoughts about the past to focus on the future. With the sound of her husband's heavy breathing still in her ear, Hermione lay awake thinking about her plan. Antonin's long absence on Saturday and then his desire to sleep in on Sunday allowed her the chance to plan without interruptions. Her first step in the plan for Aberforth's release was a fairly simple one. It wouldn't take much effort. After all, she'd done it countless times before over the years. One had to be adaptable and unafraid to get their hands dirty.

Beyond the first step, she knew she needed help. Her real question was where was she going to find it. The most obvious answer would be to seek out Draco for assistance. Not only was he fully aware of the complete mess she was involved in, but there was reason, however small, to believe that she could trust him to help. She tried to ignore the worries that crept up on her the longer she was away from him that he was playing an angle she didn't understand. Maybe he claimed that night to be falling in love with her. Maybe he even meant it. Regardless, she knew she couldn't afford to blindly believe whatever he said. Everyone had an agenda and they weren't all in her best interest. If she couldn't rely on Draco, she would have to explore other avenues. There were still some people out there who would be willing to help her for the right price. Most of them were less than ideal. She would use them if it was necessary.

The subtle shifting of the bed next to her broke Hermione out of her thoughts. Turning her head to the side, she found her husband awake and staring. Even after many hours of sleep, the man still looked exhausted. She got the impression that it had been a long time since he'd last taken proper care of himself. Feeling the urge to scold him, she bit her tongue. Likely, the biggest reason he was so harried and unlike his usual composed self was because of her antics of the past year. She knew that she'd changed in her absence. Why wouldn't she expect him to be the same?

"You were out late last night."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I didn't hear you come in."

Antonin rubbed at his tired eyes and covered his mouth to yawn. His wife couldn't look away. She was struck by how it felt as if no time at all had passed when they were back in bed talking again. Even after two weeks, she still didn't understand the first thing that was happening between them. Wondering if he would give her some further clue if she got him talking, Hermione turned on her side to face him without straining her neck.

Just the simple moving of her body changed the entire atmosphere in the room. The air grew thick and tense with something she couldn't quite describe. Antonin's eyes fell to the bare skin of her shoulder exposed when she turned. There was a flicker of desire present in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time. Hermione knew it wasn't unreasonable for her husband to expect a renewal of their intimate relations once she was back in their home. It was what normal married couples did, even when they could hardly stand the sight of each other at times. She also knew that if she wanted him to drop his guard around her and give her the information she desired, she would eventually need to give in. While it terrified her in one breath, it excited her in the next. Great passion had always existed between them. It wasn't always a positive experience, but it was there.

He reached across the bed to run the tips of his fingers gently over her exposed collarbone. Every single centimeter of flesh that he touched broke out into a rash of nervous goosebumps. She was afraid of the power he held over her, and even more afraid of the fact that she _enjoyed_ it. His fingers continued a tender exploration of the skin on display. The expression in his eyes proved that he was ready to cross over the line they'd drawn in the sand since her return. As he began the slow movement across the mattress to bring his body even closer to hers, she knew she wasn't ready.

"Theodore Nott dropped by my office Monday morning to see me when I was by myself."

She hadn't planned on telling her husband yet about the suspicious visit. Desperate for anything to say that would shift the mood, the confession just slipped out. Immediately, Antonin's mind switched off of thoughts of carnal relations with his wife to consider what she admitted. He was visibly upset if the scowl on his face was any indication.

"What do you mean he stopped by to visit you? What happened?"

She didn't spare him any of the details. There was no reason. Nott's visit left her unnerved. Baring her concerns with her husband helped to alleviate some of the fear she'd been carrying around for the better part of an entire week. When she told him everything, he climbed out of bed to begin dressing. While he crossed the room to the cupboard he kept his clothes in, he told her that he needed to speak with Corban and Thorfinn at once.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"It didn't seem important."

Antonin didn't like her answer. He crossed back over the room to sit on the edge of her side of the bed. Running his right hand through her hair, he softened his voice. Some of the anger he'd been experiencing just moments before dissipated.

"Don't _ever_ let yourself be alone with him again." He waited for her to nod her head in agreement. "And if you see him go anywhere near our son, _kill_ him."

She wanted to know more, wanted to know why both her husband and Draco considered the elder Nott such a threat to her safety. Before she could formulate the right words into the question, Antonin was out the door. She knew him well enough to not try to stop him when he was on a serious mission.


	149. May 28th

May 28th

Living at home again plagued Hermione with more questions than answers. It was becoming frustrating to never have her prodigious curiosity satisfied. She knew that if she could just get her husband to sit still for longer than a few minutes, she might actually get some useful information out of him. But, to her continued annoyance, he seemed to be perpetually on the move. Just like when she was living amongst the Resistance, she could tell _something_ was happening even if no one would tell her specifically what it was.

She also knew that she constantly being contrary in her thoughts and actions. Rationale had little place in her world those days. One moment she would be angry that no one was telling her anything. In the next, she would be glad that she didn't know what was actually happening. Too much knowledge could be just as dangerous as not enough. Her feelings on the matter were ever-changing like the wind. She never knew which direction she'd blow. Maybe she'd wait for days to speak with Antonin hungry for answers and when she finally had the opportunity, she wouldn't want to know again.

This was what made her grow sloppy in her horrible job months before she actually attacked her husband and ran. Every day that she would step into the Ministry of Magic, she would become sick to her stomach with the anxiety of what she was always being required to do. It was difficult to imagine that there was a time when she actually _enjoyed_ her work, when she actually _believed_ in what she was doing. She was a valuable part of ensuring that their Dark Lord's utopia was created and maintained. Everyone always wanted to focus on the positive aspects of the world he designed. No one ever wanted to discuss the blood that was required, the hands that must get dirty, to ensure the dream.

There was an interrogation of a suspected seditionist three months before her son's eleventh birthday that altered something within Hermione. What began as an ordinary day ended as anything but. For the first time in the years since she was plucked from her broom cupboard and taught another way to think, she openly declared that she didn't want to keep going. Of course, she was only brave enough to whisper it aloud to herself in an empty room, but it was far more radical than anything she'd said or done in her years as a loyal follower of the Dark Lord.

She could never be sure what the exact moment was that made her want to run away. It wasn't the hot blood splashing across her face. No, she'd experienced that disgusting side effect of interrogations more times than she could count. It also wasn't the screams for mercy from the accused strapped to the chair in front of her. She'd learned years earlier to tune those out. Unless they were offering up useful information, she didn't want to hear anything they said. It wasn't the acrid stench of the locked interrogation room on Level Eleven. Almost constant exposure to the horrific smells that nasty curses and human bodies in distress could emit made her almost immune. She was _used_ to smelling them. They didn't bother her.

It was an ordinary interrogation. One she could've easily performed half-awake and with her mind focused on other more interesting topics. But _something_ was different. She remembered looking up at Rabastan's smirking face when she'd applied another cutting curse to the poor sod's bare chest. Though he'd looked at her work the same way a thousand times in the past, something about the twitch in his cheek, the curl of his lips made her long to turn the end of her wand on him. She _despised_ him in that moment when she'd only just merely disliked him for much of their acquaintance, including the years they were in the habit of ripping their clothes off in the office they shared. Like a switch had been flicked inside of her, she no longer wanted to be there anymore.

Hermione sat at her desk and tried to block out the sudden rush of memories from that horrible day. Her gaze caught the edge of the desk where she knew a hidden compartment existed. It was her hidden pleasure, her guilty secret. Sometimes the only way she could even get through a day was to reach into the small drawer when no one was looking. A small vial was usually all she needed to alleviate some of the stresses she'd been under. She recalled vividly leaving the interrogation room when it was evident there was no more useful information to gather from its occupant and heading straight for her desk. One vial would take care of all of her worries. Two would make her feel invincible. _Three_ would help her forget. When she'd downed the fourth vial, she didn't even allow herself the opportunity to worry what that much would do to her body. Or her mind.

She wanted to reach out to press the panel that would swing the drawer open. With all of her worries about what Theodore Nott was up to, she thought maybe a little bit of memory loss wouldn't be the worst idea. She knew for a fact that there was still plenty left inside her secret hiding place. And if she ran out, she knew a wretched hag in Knockturn Alley that would gladly provide her with more for the right price.

Just as she felt her hand stretch out to the desk, she ripped it back to her side. When she was on the run, she feared she would die without the potion. Maybe she almost had. Those first few days, few weeks were madness and misery. How she didn't get caught when she was in the midst of what she knew could only be withdrawal was a mystery. When she came back into consciousness inside a rundown, dingy flat with a frustrated and annoyed Kingsley Shacklebolt wiping her sweaty brow with a wet cloth and spooning broth in her mouth, part of her thought that she was dead. Heaven certainly wasn't her destination. She made a promise to the wizard before she was released from his care that she wouldn't ever allow herself to return to such a low spot again. There was no doubt in her mind that she owed the former auror a life debt. How she came to be found by him was still unclear. She hoped that one day she would be able to put the pieces of it all back together and perhaps even discover a way she could return the favor.

Deciding that remaining seated at her desk put her in danger of succumbing to the urge for oblivion that still existed in her no matter how much time passed, Hermione stood to her feet. It was a perfect time to put into action the first step of her plan. With a mumbled excuse to Rabastan that she was going downstairs to review a case file she desired, it seemed safer to tell at least a semblance of the truth, she headed for the lifts. When she stepped outside of the lift in the Department of Mysteries, she tried to ignore the chill that always crept its way up her back in that level of the Ministry. Each step towards the staircase that would take her to the level where the courtrooms and the neglected file room was located brought up more memories she wished she could push out of her mind.

She could always hear Harry's voice down on that level. No matter how many years passed or how much she changed, she couldn't get the shouts from that night out of her head. Her best friend would be so ashamed of the woman she became and the man Ron eventually became as well. Rabastan's training had been so thorough and so brutal that there was very little about the wizard that existed when they were young in the castle. Rabastan had an effective way of pulling out the very worst qualities of a person and twisting them until there was nothing good left.

Her breathing returned to normal when she was down the stairs. It was easier to push away the memories when she wasn't in that awful corridor. When there wasn't a trial in progress, Level Ten was practically silent. If she was forced to endure a lifetime of shuffling parchment in that dreadful place like the Umbridge cow, Hermione knew she would go completely mad. She wouldn't even need the destructive potions. Certainly there were _worse_ existences, but not many.

Dolores Umbridge sat behind her desk with a scowl on her face. A pile of files almost reaching the ceiling loomed ahead of her. Dust coated everything she wore, including the ridiculous bow that she had perched in her hair. When the sounds of Hermione's shoes clicking into the room reached her ears, she tried unsuccessfully to remove the expression. The woman might hate the younger, but she wasn't foolish enough to be openly hostile to her either. _That_ was how wretches like her ended up in Level Eleven with a false report filed claiming they'd been critical of the regime.

"Good morning, Madam Dolohov. How may I be of assistance?"

Hermione rattled off three files that she required immediately. There was no reason to delay her actions. It wasn't as if she wanted to be down there any longer than the other woman wished her to be. As soon as Umbridge waddled off towards the section housing the documents Hermione claimed she desired, she was completely oblivious to what was happening behind her back. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There wasn't time to waste. With her wand pointed at the ghastly pink robes, she whispered a familiar spell.

" _Imperio_."

Only a couple of minutes later the older witch returned with her arms filled of the requested files. Her mouth was split in a wide, genuine grin. Hermione felt her confidence rise. The woman was foolish to allow herself to be cursed so easily. Had she learned nothing in their world about not turning her back?

"Is there anything else that I can do for you, Madam Dolohov?"

"Not at this moment, Dolores, but I assure you, I will return soon."

The witch's smile never slipped the entire time Hermione was there. Satisfied that the first phase of her plan to ensure Aberforth Dumbledore was able to escape was complete, Hermione retraced her steps back to the Department of Mysteries. Her confidence that she was finally getting somewhere helped push away the worst of the flashbacks that plagued her until she stepped inside the lift.


	150. May 29th

May 29th

She needed to speak to Draco. _How_ she was supposed to accomplish that feat was something Hermione wasn't sure about. It always seemed that when she was on the run, he was there waiting for her at just the exact moment that she needed him. When she would begin to lose heart and want to leave the Resistance village, he would just show up and squeeze her hand or say just the right words to encourage her to give it a little bit longer. The longer she was away from his presence, the more confused she became about his role. What was real? What wasn't? She feared she would never learn the full truth of the matter.

But, one thing was absolutely certain, she needed his help. There was too much at stake to trust that an untrustworthy acquaintance or connection she still possessed from her former life would keep silent about the help she required. If someone even _hinted_ to her husband what she was on the hunt for, it would all be over. He would keep her protected from the consequences of the law, but he would make it so she couldn't leave their house again. Being a prisoner of her own home sounded like a fate worse than death.

Antonin had been wrapped up in something serious ever since she announced that Theodore Nott paid her a visit. She didn't have the first clue where he was or what he was doing. In that moment, she didn't want to know. All that mattered was the fact that he wasn't in her hair bothering her and keeping her from accomplishing her mission. With Dolores Umbridge underneath the influence of her Imperius Curse, she had someone to do her dirty work. This, however, was too much to ask. She had another task for the horrid woman. She couldn't risk that she would be caught and carted off to Azkaban too early.

By Tuesday afternoon, an entire week since the last time she encountered Draco in the woods outside of Hogsmeade, Hermione decided to put to test her theory that the tracker was always nearby. She wasn't sure when she started to believe that she could easily find the wizard. Maybe it was something he said to her all of the times they were alone over the course of the previous several months or maybe it was because she knew what it was he did for both the regime and the Resistance. In the past, he'd always known exactly when to find her when she needed him. If he was being as attentive to her movements as she believed he was, she would be able to find him easily.

She was glad to find that Antonin wasn't home when she returned home from the Ministry. Without him there to make a fuss about where she was going, she knew she could easily slip back out into the village. Making care to be seen by as many people as possible, Hermione retraced her steps from the last time she made the same stroll. Thankfully, no one stopped to talk with her that time either. Her return was still met with suspicion from some of the more hardcore members of the Death Eater Inner Circle and their families. Of course, there had been many that _never_ trusted her to begin with. She was nothing but an upstart Mudblood who didn't know her true place, after all.

Just like the previous week, only steps into the thick forest surrounding the village she heard the footsteps behind her. She continued her trek through the trees until they were further away from the edge than they were before. They had been reckless. It wouldn't do either of them any good to get caught.

Draco seemed intent on recreating the previous visit down to the very last detail. When he pressed his body against hers to pin her against the trunk of a tree, Hermione had half a mind to let him. Antonin hadn't even gotten close enough to her since Sunday morning to put her in much danger of his amorous intentions. She wouldn't have been bothered at all by a little action in the woods. His mouth hungrily sought hers out. For the briefest of moments, after she willingly opened her mouth to deepen his kiss, she wanted him too. Good sense, however, prevailed. It only took a couple of presses of her hands against his chest to get him to stop.

"I only have a few minutes. Besides, just because we didn't get caught last time doesn't mean we're safe this time."

"Come spend the night at my flat. I can promise you we won't be interrupted."

It annoyed Hermione that she was actually tempted by his offer. Of course, it would be foolish. If she didn't come home that night, Antonin would go out searching for her again. He would likely never rest comfortably again while she was outside their home. Always he would be waiting for the moment she ran again. Because she didn't trust her response, she simply pushed on his chest lightly again before changing the subject.

"How is it that you're always able to find me and sense when I'm alone?"

He shrugged his shoulders. She wasn't surprised. It wasn't as if she expected him to give her a straight answer. Throughout the past several months he'd always been very secretive about how he managed to keep finding her when she thought she was doing such an excellent job at hiding.

"Part of my job. If I wasn't any good at it, there'd be no sense in keeping me around."

She didn't want to wander back down the path of remembering that he was fairly dispensable within the regime. It was a painful subject for both of them. Certainly she understood all too well what it felt like to believe herself unimportant and invaluable. There was a time she expected to be murdered at any moment. Instead of allowing him a chance to feel sorry for himself once more, she blurted out the purpose of her meeting.

"Do you know where I can get some polyjuice potion?"

Just simply saying the name of the rare and practically impossible to find potion was enough to make the wizard nervous. As much as he tried to hide his discomfort, she'd already seen it. She knew it was a lot to ask. Polyjuice potion was highly illegal. Anyone caught or even _suspected_ of using it was subject to a lengthy prison sentence in Azkaban. It wasn't something that could just be easily purchased or even brewed.

"What do you need that for?"

"Don't ask me that. Can you get it for me or not?"

Draco exhaled loudly. He wouldn't give her an answer for several seconds. Hermione began to worry that he was about to tell her to fuck off and find her own illegal potion.

"I'll ask around _discreetly_. But, you must be aware that I can't make any promises. _No one_ wants to be caught selling that potion."

"Then just find me the ingredients and I'll brew it myself."

She didn't appreciate his laughter. Maybe she spent too much of her life in a position that commanded great respect, or great fear, from those around her, but she didn't like it. Pursing her lips and glaring, she fought the urge to curse him or kick him in his dangly bits.

"And you actually think you can brew it yourself? All of the books with the instructions were destroyed… on _your_ husband's orders."

"I've brewed it before."

She didn't want to go into a history lesson to explain how she already knew she was perfectly capable of brewing the difficult potion. It was a long time ago and she didn't exactly come out looking that great in the story.

"Oh yeah? When?"

"I promise to tell you later _when_ you bring me what I've asked for."

A devastating smile crossed his lips. Hermione hated that he could make her stomach flip with just a look. How different her life was since New Year's! She never would've guessed that she would be willingly standing in the forest _collaborating_ with Draco Malfoy to commit a very serious crime. When he pushed her back against the tree to kiss her soundly again, she ignored her worries about everything moving just a little too fast. She wanted to enjoy the moment, however brief, while it lasted.

"Last chance to come to my flat tonight."

She thanked him for the offer as she shook her head. Neither one of them really wanted to walk away from the other. A stirring began in them both that wouldn't be satisfied with just another kiss. It would have to be enough for the time being. She'd already spent too long out in the woods as it was. He made his promises to seek out what she required. In a few days, he would find her alone again.

Antonin was already home when Hermione entered through the front door. Surprised to find her coming from outside instead of the kitchen fireplace, he furrowed his brow and asked where she'd been. Knowing that telling the truth was much easier than keeping track of a convincing lie, she told him.

"I went for a walk through the village to clear my head. Ended up in the woods. Just needed some fresh air. I'd forgotten how much easier it is to breathe here at home."

Her answer was exactly what he wanted to hear. His face split into a pleased grin. Maybe he was finally beginning to believe that she was settling back in to her old life. She knew that he desired nothing more than to see her happy and content in their home. To further cement the illusion in his mind that she was finding peace, Hermione leaned up to kiss him. Close-mouthed, but lingering, when they broke apart the tension that always hung in the air seemed to dissipate just a little. She turned her head to examine the pots he was standing over.

"What are you making for dinner? It smells wonderful."


	151. May 30th

May 30th

All day long Hermione was on edge waiting for any kind of news from Draco. She knew it was unreasonable. What was she expecting? The wizard to just waltz into her office in the middle of the day to tell her he'd been successful in finding a highly illegal potion that could get them both thrown into Azkaban merely for _discussing_ it? Besides, if he was able to procure a vial or even just the ingredients, it would take several days at minimum. It wasn't as if she asked him for something simple after all.

Polyjuice potion was outlawed soon after the war ended. Although it had always been an extremely difficult potion to brew and very rarely used, there was a concern that the Resistance or some other faction against the rise of the new regime would dip into the arcane potions volumes to rediscover how to brew it. The Dark Lord had been impressed by the potions use by both his faithful servant Barty Crouch Jr. and Draco's use of it during the year he was ordered to kill Dumbledore. In the wrong hands, there was no end to the amount of damage it could cause.

Antonin was tasked with destroying every single book in existence that contained the old potion several years later when it was believed that there were still some who were foolish enough to brew it for their own nefarious purposes. In a rare effort to be romantic, he'd smuggled the Hogwarts copy of _Most Potente Potions_ out of the castle under his robes. With all of the curtains drawn around their home, he'd presented it to his wife like it was a dozen roses. She'd been so thrilled to receive it that she hadn't hesitated in succumbing to every debauched desire her husband possessed. It was locked up under heavy wards in their basement. She was thankful that she didn't need to see the book to remember how to brew it. Her husband might not be so understanding if he learned what she was doing.

While she waited for news of the polyjuice potion her plan required, Hermione kept herself busy purchasing another concoction that she hoped would aid in saving Dumbledore's life while it also ruined Umbridge's. Slipping out of the Ministry a little early, she made her way to Knockturn Alley. It had been a long time since she last travelled to that familiar district. She found it interesting to discover that she'd actually _missed_ the dark and dreary place. The area that used to frighten her as a young adolescent made her feel at home as an adult. Little did she know when she was still that idealistic child how welcoming the place and its inhabitants could really be.

An old hag that she had been doing business with for years was surprised to see her cross the threshold of her dingy shop once more. The last visit had been a few years earlier. Hermione couldn't remember why exactly she stopped coming. Maybe she hadn't had the need for the questionable potions and items the hag specialized in. It didn't really matter. When she placed her order, the hag was more than happy to assist.

"Careful with the dosage, Madam Dolohov. Too much and you could make the person go mad."

Even though she knew it wasn't her intention, a smile crept up on Hermione's face at the thought. As far as side effects went, that one wasn't half-bad considering who she would be feeding the potion to. She wondered all the way to the nearest Apparition point if there wasn't at least some small opportunity to have a little fun with this dreadful mission. At least the thought helped to dispel a tiny bit of the fear that everything was going to end in disaster.

Antonin was already home when she entered through the front door again. Years had gone by since she last understood exactly how he filled his hours. No longer at the Ministry of Magic every day, he divided his time in a number of mysterious ways. Making certain that the vial she purchased was safely stowed away in the pocket of her Ministry robes, Hermione pushed open the door to the kitchen.

Her husband had always been a strange creature. All of the other wives in the village agreed. Antonin enjoyed taking over the domestic task of feeding his family. Part of his desire to cook most meals came out of necessity. Hermione worked very unpredictable hours for many years. It would have been foolish to wait around for her to come home when he was perfectly capable of cooking himself. Besides, not only did he find an odd sort of pleasure in it that his wife never understood, he was much, _much_ better at the task than she ever hoped to be.

"Did you take another walk through the village?"

She could tell that he was trying to be friendly, to bring some sense of normalcy to a situation that was still fraught with anxiety and confusion. Even almost three weeks into her return they had yet to really sit down and have the conversation they needed. Each of them seemed content for the moment to pretend as if everything was all right. Their first attempts ended so dismally after all.

Hermione nodded her head and granted him a small smile. Startled by the expression, Antonin took a few seconds to return it. After their short kiss the night before, a surprisingly pleasant evening passed. Little was spoken and there wasn't an effort to kiss her again, but it was a good start to lull her husband into the false sense of security she desired. Deciding to keep up the friendly façade from the day before in hopes that he soon would feel comfortable confiding in her again, she stood a few steps away from him watching him prepare their evening meal. A little friendly conversation could only help matters.

"I've really missed having you home with me."

His words slipped out of his mouth in the middle of what she thought was an innocuous discussion about something inane that she witnessed at the Ministry that day. She hadn't expected them to suddenly get so serious. Daring to look him in the eyes, she could sense that he was being nothing but sincere. Hearing her husband speak in such a frank manner surprised her. Unsure how to respond, she blurted out the first thought that came to her mind.  
"Did you really miss me or are you just saying that out of an obligation?"

His sigh wasn't one of frustration. It sounded more _sad_ than anything else. Hermione berated herself internally. What a ridiculous concept! She couldn't afford to let the man convince her with his fake act. There was too much at stake to fall for it.

"I never stopped thinking about you while you were gone. I was so worried about you. I wish you would've come home sooner."

"How could I, Antonin? I was afraid you would kill me."

He set down the spoon he'd been using to stir whatever was simmering away in the pot. Taking the necessary couple of steps to close the distance between the two of them, Antonin gently cupped the outside of her head with his right hand. When she tried to look away, afraid of the intensity of his gaze, he gently forced her to look up again.

"I don't ever want to hurt you, my darling."

"But you have before."

This time, the sigh that escaped from his mouth _was_ laced with frustration. Quiet and subtle, but still present. What he was frustrated with exactly wasn't clear. Antonin took another deep breath and spoke.

"I will always regret the past, but I will promise you that the future will be different."

Such pretty words. She almost believed them. She _wanted_ to believe them. How many times in the past had he uttered almost the exact same promise that he inevitably broke? She wasn't innocent in this either. They were _both_ awful and nasty and violent when it suited their purposes.

The air in the kitchen was thick with a tension she couldn't deny. Forgetting the meal he was supposed to be preparing, Antonin kept his full attention on his wife. She could barely breathe under the scrutiny. When he leaned down to capture her mouth with his, she was tempted to push him away or curse him until he stopped touching her. The thought only lasted for a moment before she couldn't remember why she wanted him to stop.

Everything felt so familiar. Feeling Antonin's body pressed up against hers, his hands running up and down brushing any bare skin he could find, his tongue invading her mouth in that confident, infuriating matter he always possessed, brought back an influx of memories and emotions she struggled to fight against. How was it possible that the man who hurt her so thoroughly could make her feel so safe in his arms? It was dangerous to even _think_ about allowing him to worm his way back into her life in such a manner. She could be friendly with him for the purpose of gathering information, but could she really allow him the opportunity to consume her again?

He pressed her against the kitchen table. Thoughts of the times he took her right on top of the battered piece of furniture colored her cheeks a bright crimson. The escalation of his kiss proved that he wanted more than just a kiss. She was tempted to give him everything he asked for. Why could she not think clearly around him? It wasn't as if she loved him. She'd never felt _that_ with anyone but Augustus.  
A loud knock at the door and then a deep clearing of a throat was what finally broke the spell of the moment. Looking up to see their next door neighbor standing just inside their kitchen with his eyes averted forced an annoyed growl from Antonin and a soft sigh of relief from Hermione. It wasn't like Corban to just press on through to the interior of their home without good cause. Whatever he needed to say to them was important.

"Very sorry, but something's come up."

Everyone present in the room knew each other well enough to know that Corban was telling the truth. Hermione's curiosity threatened to overpower her again. What was so urgent? Was the Dark Lord finally dead?

"I think it's best that you stay home."

She wanted to argue with Antonin at first. Being left out of whatever was happening wasn't how she wanted to spend the evening. But, she also understood that she wasn't ready to be fully immersed in their world again just yet. With a swift peck to his lips, she agreed. She would remain safe in their home until he returned.


	152. May 31st

May 31st

Antonin never returned home from whatever mysterious meeting it was that he had to attend with Corban. She waited and waited for him to come back, but he never did. Frustrated, but refusing to admit that she was _concerned_ about the wizard she married, Hermione sat up. Eventually when the hour grew too late and there were still no answers, she fell asleep on the sofa in the lounge. At least she would be able to hear him the moment he returned.

The sun shining through the windows was what finally woke her up, not the sound of her husband opening the front door. Confused by her presence on the sofa, she rubbed her eyes and tried to remember what happened. Only after she called out for Antonin and heard no response did she come to the conclusion that she'd fallen asleep waiting for him. It bothered her that she was actually worried about the man. After so many years of cruelty, it felt wrong to be concerned that he was potentially in danger. What was so important that he couldn't come home?

Deciding that sitting around all day for him would drive her completely round the bend, Hermione attempted to make the day as normal as possible. Arriving only a short time later than she usually did to the office, she was surprised to find no one in her department yet. Rabastan kept whatever hours pleased him. Since beginning her rather flagrant affair with the Co-Head of the Intelligence Division, her incompetent assistant rolled into the office whenever it suited her. Not that Hermione cared that much. If she could go the rest of her life without seeing either one of their faces, she would be pleased.

She turned her focus back to the piles of parchment on her desk. Her plan was going along as it should be. Until she had confirmation that Draco was able to find the polyjuice potion or gather the necessary ingredients, she was in a holding stage. A lot was riding on whether or not her accomplice could get the potion. Theoretically, it was _possible_ to do what she needed done without resorting to stolen identities, but she much preferred her chances with it. She was also no longer in a rush to prove herself worthy enough to get her access back to Level Eleven any time soon. If she wasn't cleared for the Level, how could anyone suspect she helped Aberforth escape? As far as she was aware, very, _very_ few knew about the existence of the hidden staircase. A few carefully worded questions proved that at minimum Rabastan didn't have a clue there was another entrance. His arrogance and tendency to fully rely on just magic was a hindrance, just like Antonin used to warn her about when she whinged about not being allowed to use her wand in her training.

Until well after noon, she was alone in her office. When she returned from another dismal meal in the Ministry canteen, she was startled to see Rabastan at his desk looking a little worse for wear. Her hated assistant tried and failed to cover her yawns just outside their door. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Hermione sat down behind her own desk.

"Have a late night again, Rabastan?"

His only response to her query was to look up and glare. Under the best circumstances, he wasn't a morning person. After being forced to stay out all night for a reason she still wasn't sure of, he could be positively unbearable. Her only consolation was the fact that she knew if the Dark Lord was dead or some other horrific tragedy befell their regime, he wouldn't have forced himself to come into the office.

"Were you up late last night with that cheap slag outside? She was late coming in too. Will I finally get a chance to sack her?"

He was annoyed at first. His scowl made her smile. It really was too easy to stir the man up. Had he learned nothing in all of his years as a Death Eater how to control his visible emotions? Almost as soon as the scowl appeared, it morphed into a feral grin that put her on edge.

"Long meeting last night. But, of course you knew that already. Must have been frustrating to be left at home."

She didn't want to play his game. There were never any winners. Yes, a small part of her was frustrated that she wasn't included. Antonin's request that she remain home rankled her nerves even as she saw the sense behind it. She _wasn't_ ready to return to her old existence at full speed just yet. She probably never would be ready.

"We all missed you, of course. It's never been quite the same without you there."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned her focus back to her work. She was done being manipulated by her obnoxious coworker. The man truly was vile.

"I wonder if Antonin thought it would be best that you stay home out of fear that you wouldn't be able to control yourself. You've grown a bit dangerous, pet. More so than in the past anyway. Do you think your husband was worried that he wouldn't be able to continue keeping your biggest secret if you were present?"

If she continued to allow him to taunt her, Hermione knew he would consider it a victory. She couldn't allow him to see how much he was actually upsetting her.

"My 'biggest secret', Rabastan? Shut up."

"Struck a nerve, have I? My theory is Antonin doesn't want the rest of us to know how _unstable_ you've become. Having an insane wife is sure to put a damper on his future prospects to rule as the next Dark Lord."

Her first instinct was to shoot an Avada straight to his chest for the insult. Deciding that wouldn't be painful enough, she considered using her favorite spell Antonin helped her perfect years earlier. A single flick of her wrist would open up a wound across his carotid artery that no Healer could fix. At least not in the time it took to die of exsanguination. It was how she preferred to end the lives of those who no longer had any use. But, she knew she couldn't afford to murder the horrible wizard just yet. There was still too much at stake for her to lose her temper.

"Fuck you, Rabastan."

"I would love to, pet, but I'm afraid I'm too tired to make much of an effort. Maybe tomorrow."

Hermione _wasn't_ crazy. Maybe she got confused and disoriented from time to time, but she was _not_ crazy. Hearing Rabastan make his accusation only encouraged her to want to finally end the man's wretched existence. If that made her "unstable" and "dangerous", so be it! But she was _not_ crazy.

Several minutes of stewing in her anger wasn't helping Hermione prove there was nothing wrong. Frustrated that she couldn't concentrate, she rose to her feet and stormed out of the office. Nothing there was pressing. It would all still be there tomorrow. No one stopped her as she made a mad dash for the fireplaces in the Atrium. Likely her angry expression was enough of a deterrent to polite conversation.

Her abrupt arrival in their kitchen startled Antonin enough that he almost dropped the kettle he was filling with water. If she hadn't been so angry, she would've taken the opportunity to remind him about the need to be constantly aware of his surroundings even in his own home. Instead, she stomped across the room until she stood only inches away from the confused, concerned man.

"Hermione, why are you…?"

"Why didn't you want me to go with you last night? Why didn't you want me at your side again?"

He started to calmly give her some excuse about how he didn't want her to feel overwhelmed by too much too soon. Unwilling to listen to his patronizing rubbish, she held up her hand to stop him. He knew her moods well enough to comply.

"Tell me the truth, Antonin. Is it because you think I'm crazy like everyone else?"

"Where is this even coming from?"

"Tell me!"

It was always a dangerous idea to provoke the man. Quickly losing his patience with his wife, Antonin slammed the kettle down on the counter. Whatever he was about to say, she knew that she wasn't going to like it.

"You've already proven that you're confused by a lot. Honestly, you're a liability and if some of the other Death Eaters knew the truth, they wouldn't hesitate to hurt you."

"And just _what_ have I been so confused about?"

She wasn't convinced by anything he said. Maybe there were times that she forgot some small detail, but that was just a sign of getting older, wasn't it? How could she possibly be a liability?

"When was the last time you remember seeing your parents?"

It was a low blow, effective nonetheless. She sputtered, but no adequate response came out of her mouth. He had her there.

"Or how about the fact that you believe I pushed you down the the stairs?"

"You did!"

But as soon as she replied, she began to question her memories. She wasn't completely sure that she could trust the recollections. Not anymore. Antonin lowered his voice to a soft tone, a sure sign that he was growing steadily more and more upset with the direction their conversation was moving.

"And Augustus said you thought Andromeda had been living here with me this past year."

She pushed aside the knowledge that it was evident her former lover had been in contact with her husband. Of course once it was discovered that she'd been hiding away in Augustus' house, it wouldn't take long before Antonin began to demand answers from his rival. What did it even matter what she assumed Andromeda Tonks was up to in her absence?

"It was a reasonable assumption."

"Andromeda is _dead_ , Hermione."

 _That_ was news to her. She hadn't heard anything since returning to the wizarding world about the demise of her husband's favorite slag. Part of her longed to find where the bitch was buried just to dance on her grave, but that just seemed petty. Instead she put on her most insincere frown and ignoring the vein that was beginning to pop out in her husband's forehead, pretended unconvincingly to care.

"Aww, I didn't realize. Was it sudden? Did she suffer terribly?"

His rage-filled eyes told her that he wanted to hit her, wanted to curse her and kill her for being so disrespectful. There had been love on his part for the horrible dead woman. Maybe she should have at least _tried_ to remain respectful, but after thirteen years of comparisons where she knew she always fell short, she didn't have enough energy left in her to care. Her husband loomed over her smaller frame, setting his face only inches away from hers. Anyone else who knew the man's violent tendencies would have been afraid. She refused to allow him to have that power over her again.

"You should know. _You_ were the one who killed her."

Moments after his shocking statement, Antonin flew out of the back door. He didn't trust himself another second around the witch he so obviously wanted to strangle.


	153. June 1st

June 1st

For the second day in a row, Antonin didn't return home to explain himself. It was really beginning to get ridiculous how he stormed out of the house. Wasn't that supposed to be what Hermione did when life became upsetting? She longed to run as far away as she could. Only the understanding that she would forever be an enemy of the Resistance if Aberforth Dumbledore was murdered kept her firmly rooted in Hogsmeade. How could she be expected to start over with a new life if she had to worry about those arseholes as well as her husband?

She sat up for the second night trying to piece together what it was that Antonin told her in his fit of rage. He made very little sense. If she murdered his dreadful mistress, wouldn't she actually _remember_ it? Sure, there were plenty of lives she ended over the years that were completely forgettable. It was part of her job after all to punish those who'd wronged the regime. Even sitting down to really think about her body count was impossible. But, the woman she hated above all others? The one that she resented because she knew how much her husband respected and likely even still loved? There was simply no way she could kill Andromeda Tonks and not remember she did so.

Of course, she hated to think about the gaps in her memory. They were frustrating and only seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. She couldn't even remember how much time had passed since she started experiencing them in the first place. Months? _Years_? What other important events was she forgetting?

The cause of her memory lapses was unknown. She had her suspicions, but that was all they were. Considering the hard life she'd lived since being pulled out of her broom cupboard, her mental issues could be any number of things. Maybe she was Crucioed too many times. After all, the Longbottoms eventually went mad after their intense bout of torture. Did the curse have the same effect if it was applied over the course of many years? If so, she wasn't surprised that a number of other Death Eaters seemed a bit barmier than they used to be. Or maybe she could blame physical damage for her problems. The first real episode she experienced was when she was still practically a newlywed. Antonin hadn't yet raised his hand to her outside of training, but there were plenty of other incidents over the years she was a Death Eater where she suffered damage to her head. She lost count the number of concussions she could boast of. There was always a possibility that the illegal potions she kept stashed away in her desk in the Ministry were to blame. Practically harmless if used sparingly, she'd been known to take too many of them when it suited her purposes to forget what she was doing. Perhaps her problems were due to a combination of all of those factors. It was possible she would never get to the bottom of the mystery.

In an attempt to forget the previous day when she made a rather dramatic exit, Hermione tried to make it another normal day at the office. There were still plenty of case files she could go over. In fact, if she calculated it all correctly, she would have enough work to keep her busy for the better part of a year if she insisted on studying every file. At least it kept her out of the interrogation rooms for a little while longer. If Draco was able to come through with even just the necessary ingredients to brew the polyjuice potion she required for her plan to work, she could be sure that she had enough to keep her mind occupied while it brewed.

No matter what she tried to do that morning, she couldn't get her mind off of anything other than the stupid dead bitch her husband was obsessed with. As much as Hermione tried to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, she couldn't focus on anything but the argument she had with Antonin the day before. She _hated_ the woman and was far from sorry that she was dead, but she wanted to know more, wanted to know what happened. Why was Antonin so convinced that _she_ was the one responsible? She briefly considered asking Rabastan what he knew about the case. That thought was quickly squashed. He would be more apt to use her lack of knowledge against her than he would be to help solve the mystery.

When she finally couldn't stand it another moment, she made her excuses to go down to Level Ten's file room. It was a mark of how distracted her mind was that she didn't even think about how uncomfortable she usually was passing the Department of Mysteries. She descended the staircase to the courtrooms and Umbridge's dingy office. The witch smiled with the vacant expression of one still under the Imperius Curse. It was helpful that a chosen victim was _usually_ able to function quite normally away from the influence of the one who cast the curse.

"Bring me everything about Andromeda Tonks née Black. _Now_."

Dolores Umbridge didn't need to be ordered about twice. She disappeared into the catacombs of filing cabinets. Several minutes later she returned with her arms full of parchments she placed on top of her desk. Hermione ordered her to leave the office for an hour and settled down behind the woman's desk to read.

The first official article of Andromeda's death was from the Daily Prophet. Even just a simple initial scan had Albert Runcorn's fingerprints all over it. He was a master at hiding the full truth all while telling a compelling story. Andromeda's body was found in a dark corner of Knockturn Alley with her throat slit and facedown in a puddle of her own blood. The _official_ statement from the regime was that she was brutally murdered by some unknown Resistance member. They were always quick to blame crimes on them. Article after article proved this had been a major news story _three_ years earlier. Everyone knew about Andromeda's murder, except apparently for the person who committed it. The story even made international news.

She thought back to the day when she was at Augustus' house. It was no wonder that he looked at her so strangely when she mentioned Andromeda moving into her house in her absence. Realizing that he must have known that she was confused, she felt humiliated. Every single time she revealed the worst of her shame to another person, she wanted to disappear forever. Her mind had always been the part of her she valued the most. Losing it was embarrassing. At least he didn't call her out on the delusion. He was just kind, even brewed her a cup of tea to…

 _Hints of strawberry_. She berated herself for not realizing what Augustus was doing to her that day. Never once in their entire history had he ever slipped a potion into her tea without warning her first. She would never in a million years have suspected that he was using that as an opportunity to calm her down with the same potion her husband always used. Only Antonin betrayed her trust in such a manner. What did that mean? Were they working together?

Imagining her husband and her former lover working together on any project at all, let alone _her_ , was difficult to fathom. Neither of them had much use for the other. Their friendship long ago soured thanks to her presence. If they were somehow in partnership it would answer her question why Antonin didn't show up to Augustus' home in Cornwall until _after_ he was summoned back to France. Coincidences _did_ happen, but this all seemed rather convenient. She still wasn't sure how her husband was able to supposedly come to the house three times without her once even seeing him during her surveillance. Nothing was adding up. Once again she had only more questions than answers.

She pushed away the cleverly worded articles that didn't even hint at the actual truth. The real story would be found within the pages of the Ministry of Magic report filed at the scene. There was no reason to keep any secrets on the documents that only trusted members of the regime were able to access. No mention was made of the Resistance being responsible. The cause of death was determined to be as a result of a rare severing spell used to slice open her carotid artery. Magical residue around the wound proved that it wasn't something simple like a _diffindo_ or even practically unknown like a _sectumsempra_. A note was added to mention that it was similar to a spell often used in interrogations by the Department of Intelligence.

Hermione couldn't deny the facts. Further notes declared that there were only a few known practitioners of the unusual curse. That came as no surprise to Hermione. After all, she was the one who _invented_ that spell. With a little help from Antonin in perfecting it, she used it more times than she could count in the violent interrogations when an informant no longer served their purpose.

Clearly, Andromeda served her purpose. There was no reason to allow her to continue living. Hermione no longer doubted that Antonin's accusation was correct. She had ample reason and opportunity to kill his mistress. Just because she didn't remember the event didn't mean it didn't happen. She would have to retrieve her memories from that day. _Why_ did she kill Andromeda beyond the simple fact that she loathed the ground she walked upon? There had to be some clue she was missing. Even in her line of work she didn't kill someone just for the hell of it. There was always a reason.


	154. June 2nd

June 2nd

Rarely had Hermione been so thankful to see the weekend arrive. In her past, she lived for her work. No longer. One more day within the Ministry walls trying to pretend like everything was all right would wreak havoc on her senses. She needed a break from the hostile glares shot her direction when it was assumed she wasn't looking.

After rising from an empty bed after another night without her husband home, Hermione sat at the kitchen table looking over the copies of Andromeda's file she smuggled out of the Ministry. If Antonin came home to find her reviewing the documents, she might be in for another row. She wasn't worried. Her husband no longer frightened her. The amount of time she spent away from him on the run morphed him in her battered mind as some sort of unrealistic monster of mythical proportions. In her worry and fear, she forgot that no matter what he was capable of doing, he was still _just_ a man. He wasn't the Dark Lord yet, and besides, she knew him well enough to know that he had no aspirations for immortality. The insanity that plagued their master from the very beginning wouldn't color her husband's reign.

As much as Hermione hated the woman, she couldn't explain why she would resort to actually murdering Andromeda. And apparently in the middle of Knockturn Alley, no less! Sure, there were plenty of enemies and perceived enemies that she cut down outside of the safety of the Ministry of Magic. She knew she had a temper and a tendency to behave rashly without all of the information. It was a Gryffindorish trait that time and circumstances had only made worse. There had even been a couple that she knew of offhand that she killed just because she didn't like them. They were a threat to the peace in her life she craved. But Andromeda? _Why_? She'd known about Antonin's affair with the woman for almost the entire length of time she lived in his house. He'd tried to be faithful to her in the early years of their marriage. Just as she tried. Even if there was nothing sexual going on between them in that time, she knew that he still relied on her for support and advice.

An idea struck her on how to put to bed the mystery. It seemed completely crazy, but she didn't exactly have a lot of options. If she was lucky, it would work. Gathering the file in her arms again, Hermione headed for the basement. There had been no reason to go downstairs since she returned to Hogsmeade. Before she almost killed her husband and when she believed that what she was doing for the regime was her destiny, her calling, she spent a great deal of time down there. It was something like her home office.

At the bottom of the rickety stairs that she once led Walden Macnair down to his death, she made a sharp left turn. A locked and heavy door loomed ahead. Remembering the right combination, she was able to push it open. When Ollie started walking, she and Antonin both agreed that it was best that they keep the most dangerous artifacts and tools they possessed locked up in a room he couldn't access. Their son was only allowed in the room when he was supervised by one of his parents. They'd instilled a great amount of respect and fear for the space in their child. To the best of her knowledge, he'd never tried to break in on his own.

In the center of the room, taking up much of the space, was an elaborate pensieve. Her husband bought it for her as a gift ten years earlier in a selfish attempt to get her to stop working so much. If she was able to review her interrogations from home to be sure she hadn't missed any critical information instead of using a pensieve kept in the Ministry, he assumed that she would be able to participate more in the running of their home, more in the development of their only child. His plan failed, to his great disappointment. She might have been downstairs more often, but that didn't mean she took a more active role in their family. Work was much more important.

With the article announcing Andromeda Tonks' murder in one hand, Hermione thought about the date and willed her memories to the surface. Removing the thin, silvery strands with the end of her wand, she deposited the substance into the bowl. To the best of her knowledge, she had never been able to call forth a blocked memory. There had never been a reason before, never been an _exact_ date she was certain she couldn't remember. It might all be for nothing. When she dipped her head into the bowl, she might see nothing but darkness. She had to try _something_. The only other option she could think of offhand was to try what the Muggles did with hypnosis. She had no desire to be completely under the control of another human being. Not again.

Slipping into a forgotten memory wasn't as fluid as diving into one she was aware of. Everything felt hazy in the beginning, like her brain was still trying to piece it all together. Dissimilar in many ways to how a deliberately _altered_ memory felt, it was still just as unnerving and unnatural as being in one someone tried to change. She'd seen enough in her work to know the differences. It all felt so strange. Hermione pressed through the haze.

She was in Knockturn Alley. Dressed in her Ministry robes proving she'd likely just come from work, the Hermione in the memory was furious and on a mission. They stood in front of the same little shop Hermione had visited just days earlier. It was a place she had been many, _many_ times over the years. Memory-Hermione pushed the door open so hard the bell above it threatened to fly off the wall. Her gaze focused on the hag and she immediately stomped across the room, ignoring everything else in the tiny shop, to confront the smiling, toothless, old hag.

"Back again so soon, are we, dearie? How can I serve you?"

"You know bloody well what I need, you incompetent old bitch!"

The hag wasn't bothered in the slightest by the witch's outburst. She'd been made to suffer many of them over the years. Hermione wasn't exactly kind to her after all.

"You were paid, quite handsomely I might add, to make certain I had no further need of your services."

With a shrug of her shoulders, the hag replied.

"Your wizard's seed has proven to be quite strong. I never promised it would work."

"You are a liar and a fraud. Give me what I paid for or I'll report you."

Even those who were brave enough to refuse to show fear in front of Hermione would flinch at the idea of being reported. She was not an enemy anyone wanted to have. The hag's smile disappeared. Hermione understood what she was witnessing even if she didn't remember the specific day itself. She'd purchased many potions over the years from the hag to rid herself of more complications in her life that she didn't need. Though not necessarily something she was proud of, it was something she would do again.

Frightened with the threat of being reported, the hag rushed to the back room. It was only then that Memory-Hermione took a survey of her surroundings. In the heat of her anger, she wasn't always as careful as she knew she should've been. Hermione could remember that at least in those days, three years earlier, she was under an enormous amount of stress. The Resistance had popped up their ugly head to cause all sorts of headaches for the regime. She was drinking more of the potions she kept hidden in her desk than she knew she should've. She was getting _sloppy_ , careless. If she continued in that vein, she would've been killed.

A rustling of heavy fabric from behind one of the shelves caught both Hermiones' attention. Emerging from the dark corner near the front of the ratty shop was a smirking Andromeda Tonks. There was no way she wouldn't have heard every single word that Hermione shouted at the hag.

"Is this why you've been unable to give Antonin more children? He was beginning to believe there was something wrong with _him_. Won't this be a relief?"

If Antonin knew what she had been doing over the years since their son was born, he would not hesitate to murder his wife. She'd grown weary of the constant prattling he went on and on about having a daughter. When she succumbed to his desire, she made the decision that she would have _one_ more child for the man just to shut him up. The tumble down the stairs removed all chance that she would allow him to do so again. She was in danger. If Andromeda told her husband what she overheard, he would be so angry that she would be no match.

"Keep your mouth shut or you will regret it."

Andromeda's smile only grew wider. Her relationship with Antonin clearly had given her a false sense of security. She was a fool to not recognize the danger she put herself in by openly confronting Hermione. Eager to run off and share what she learned, the older witch rushed out of the shop. The wife of her paramour was hot on her heels. Hermione was able to grab her arm roughly to keep her from getting too far.

"If you tell Antonin, I'll…"

"You'll what? Kill me? I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"He's always deserved better than to be married to a lunatic like you."

Memory-Hermione was just as prickly about being called crazy as Present Day-Hermione. The fury in her eyes at the insult was unmistakable. Andromeda wasn't even aware of what was happening to her until the blood from her throat began to gush. Unable to scream, the witch tried to cover the wound, but it was too late. She collapsed to the pavement moments later. Still covered in the blood of her victim, Hermione stormed back inside the shop. The hag's terror was evident. No doubt she feared that she was about to be another target of her anger. Ripping the potions out of the hag's hands, Memory-Hermione raised her wand. Her second victim closed her eyes, preparing for the moment of her death.

" _Obliviate_."

Satisfied that the proprietor of the shop wouldn't remember that she was there that day or what she saw when she reentered, Memory-Hermione left the shop quickly. With one last glance at the carnage on the pavement, she smiled. Reaching into the pocket of her robes, she removed a small vial filled with the familiar illicit potion that she used to swallow at every provocation. One vial, two, three, finally _four_ dribbled down her throat. Her smile was still plastered on her face as she stepped over the bloody corpse of her husband's mistress.

Hermione had seen enough. She pulled herself out of the memory. Sitting on the cold floor of her basement, she tried for several minutes to calm her breathing and lower her heart rate. She firmly believed the potions she swallowed were the reason why she couldn't remember the events of that day. It was imperative that Antonin never learn them either. If he knew _why_ she killed Andromeda, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her too.


	155. June 3rd

June 3rd

The sound of the front door opening downstairs woke Hermione up early Sunday morning. For days there had been no sign of her husband. Part of her hated to admit that she was worried about him. What was he involved in that would take him away for so long? Or was he just simply that upset after their discussion about Andromeda Tonks' murder that he couldn't bear to look at the woman he knew was responsible? He could be frightfully difficult to read at times.

Unwilling to lay in the darkness of their bedroom waiting for him, she rose from the bed to seek him out first. Her curiosity of where he'd been was strong. Even if she was a little bit worried that he would take out his anger and sadness on her in some horrific manner, the waiting around was unbearable. Finding him standing at the kitchen sink filling the kettle from the tap in much the same manner as he had been the moment all of their trouble started, she didn't speak to him. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway watching his movements. At the distance across the room, she could tell just in the set of his shoulders and the expression on his face that he was much calmer. He didn't speak to her either. Just turned his attention back to the filling of the kettle.

Hermione needed something to do with her hands. Clearly this wasn't going to be one of those moments when they both just blurted out what they were upset about to talk it out. They handled their issues in a myriad of different ways over the years. Some surprisingly healthy, others far from it. She crossed the kitchen to begin preparing him breakfast. The men in her life were always easier to deal with when they'd been fed.

The tension in the kitchen was evident long before she placed a bowl of oatmeal on the table in front of her waiting husband. She had been able to feel his eyes on her the entire time she was in the room. It was part of her life. Before she tried to kill him, he spent most days completely ignoring her, but when he was attentive, it was impossible to miss. Since her return, if she was in the room, he was focused entirely on his wife. She wasn't sure yet if that was a positive development or one she would come to regret. While he was waiting, he prepared her a cup of tea just how she liked it. She thought it odd how domestic and simple it all seemed. Anyone who didn't know them looking in would think that they were a loving, supportive couple. Appearances were indeed deceiving.

As he tucked into his breakfast, Hermione sipped at her tea thinking over again what she learned the previous day about Andromeda. That was _all_ she'd been able to think about since she pulled herself from the pensieve. Even her dreams were colored with remnants of the hazy memories. She knew that she shouldn't feel guilty about the death. The wretched woman was going to tell her husband a secret she never intended him to learn. If he knew about the herbs and potions she'd purchased from the hag over the years, she had no doubt that he would become so angry that he would kill her. There were multiple incidents over the years when she thought she might finally push him over the edge to where he couldn't control himself. _None_ of those were anywhere close to being as sensitive an issue for him as the growth of their family. His most fervent desire had been to fill their home with the sound of laughter and little feet. If left up to him, they would have had a dozen. She'd denied him the opportunity.

She felt a small bit of guilt creep on her at the thought of what she'd done. As much as she didn't want to be a mother, she didn't necessarily have to resort to such drastic measures. Shaking off the guilt, she resolved not to let it bother her again. There was nothing that could be done about the past. It was over and done. The last potion she took from the hag before her visit days earlier made conceiving another child impossible. If Antonin wanted a bigger family, he'd need another wife. Maybe he would get his chance when she left for good or when she was finally killed for her crimes.

Antonin pushing his empty bowl away from him on the table broke Hermione out of her thoughts. When she looked up to see him finish wiping his mouth on a napkin, she could tell that he was ready to speak. There was an imperious manner he had about him whenever he deemed others worthy to hear what he had to say. She always hated his arrogance. In that moment, however, she was glad that he was at least no longer ignoring her.

"I _always_ want you by my side, Hermione. _Always_."

Relieved, at first, that it seemed like he wasn't going to go straight into demanding to know _why_ she killed Andromeda years earlier, she wasn't sure that she wanted to go down the path she knew they were headed. Maybe it would've been easier for him to just stay away from their house until she was able to free Aberforth. Her husband was presenting a number of complications that she didn't care for. She knew that they needed to clear the air if there was any hope of harmonious living, but she didn't want to have the uncomfortable discussion she knew they were going to have. Without saying a word in response to his confession, she allowed him to speak what was on his mind.

"We've both tried to ignore what was wrong for years. Maybe we made the wrong decision."

She wanted to argue with her that there was _nothing_ wrong with her, but she couldn't. There _was_ something wrong with her and she was desperate to know what it was. Overindulgence in potions when she was stressed out or unhappy certainly didn't help matters. She could at least begin to understand that they were at least partially responsible for the gaps in her memory. When she took too many of them, she couldn't remember. That wasn't all though. There was definitely something more. She couldn't explain the periods of confusion she had when she would wake up and think that Harry was still alive. Or how she still didn't know the truth about her parents. Her pride was keeping her from asking Antonin to clear up the mystery of their fate. She knew that soon she would need to get over it and ask.

"I think you should stop working. At least until we have a solution."

Hermione's first instinct was to argue. The words were coming out of her mouth at a rapid rate before she even had much of an opportunity to think them through. Not working was _not_ an option. If she agreed with her husband's proposed solution, she would lose any chance at all of freeing Aberforth from the prison she was responsible for him being in. She wasn't prepared yet to give up hope that it was possible. Expecting any kind of future where the Resistance still clamored for her blood wasn't a good one.

"Rabastan is dangerous. I thought he was on our side, but he's apparently been seen with Theodore in private. If he's against us, he will use anything he can to hurt us."

She knew he was right. The realization bothered her immensely. Years of working in such close quarters with Rabastan and carrying on a flagrant affair with him taught her more about the man than she really wanted to know. So unlike his older brother in so many ways, he was without a doubt a dangerous enemy to have.

" _Please_ don't make me stay home. I'm only just now starting to feel normal again."

Begging her husband wasn't always the wisest decision. He was visibly uncomfortable by her pleas. Taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly, he asked another question she knew that he wasn't comfortable asking.

"Other than the ones we have upstairs that I _know_ are safe, have you been taking any other potions?"

Rarely had they ever touched on the illegal substances he knew that she consumed when he wasn't looking. It was something of a secret that they both knew about and just didn't want to address. She didn't harangue him about his drinking, he never mentioned her potions. Without hesitation, she shook her head. Those days in Kingsley's flat, however long they lasted, left a big enough impression on her that she had no desire to swallow another.

"Good. I think they only make your confusion worse."

"I haven't had one since…" She cleared her throat, unsure if she wanted to go _there_ , but finally decided she must. "Not since Ollie's eleventh birthday. I don't have any intention of using them again."

He seemed pleased by her answer, deftly brushing aside the awkwardness that likely would always plague them when mention of the day she almost killed him came up in conversation. Rising to his feet, he moved to her side of the table. Antonin took her hands in his.

"And I have no intention of keeping any secrets from you."

With his eyes locked onto hers to prove that what he said was the truth, he began explaining what she missed in the meeting days earlier that started this whole argument. She had no reason to believe that he was lying. If anyone could tell when he was being insincere, it was his wife. There was a lot to discuss. The country was growing restless. Everyone could feel it. He explained the reports that were being gathered by their operatives, in the country and abroad. The semblance of peace was likely just a precursor to something big and terrible coming. They had to be prepared.

"Rumors about the Dark Lord's likely death are spreading. No one is sure how or where they are getting their information, but the Resistance is growing stronger. It's possible that they're even allying themselves with foreign groups. No one can confirm that for me yet. But regardless, we have to prepare ourselves for the very likely possibility that we are headed into another war."

Unable to sit still thinking about the possibility that what they'd fought so hard for all of those years would be for nothing, Hermione dropped Antonin's hands and stood to her feet. She was a nervous bundle of energy. It was even more imperative that she get Aberforth released. When the violence began, she wanted to be far away. Before she could take a step away, Antonin hand caught her gently by the waist. He covered his lips with hers. Lasting only a moment, it helped calm her somewhat.

"I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you and Ollie safe."

He made his excuses to slip upstairs for a shower. At least for the time being, Hermione knew she was spared from the ugliness of a conversation about Andromeda. Maybe, if she was careful, she could keep the wretched bitch's name out of their mouths until she was able to finally leave.


	156. June 4th

June 4th

Remaining calm while waiting for any kind of sign or message from Draco was becoming impossible. Almost an entire week had gone by since their last meeting in the forest surrounding Hogsmeade and Hermione had had no indications from the wizard that he was successful in getting either the already brewed potion or the ingredients required for her to brew polyjuice potion on her own. She berated herself for asking too much of the man. It was a ridiculously dangerous mission. Even those _suspected_ of seeking out the illegal potion could be subjected to cruel punishments and interrogations. Would she be required to face Draco in one of the locked rooms on Level Eleven to demand why he was seeking out the substance banned by the regime?

There seemed very little reason to sit around worrying about what she couldn't control. Draco was intelligent enough to survive over twenty years as a Death Eater when he was frequently the target of hatred and scorn from his fellows. And if he was to be believed, he'd been able to spend at least the last _ten_ years in some sort of alliance with the Resistance. He was, in essence, a spy for the organization they had supposedly dedicated their lives to eradicating. If he was able to spend that many years moving between the two groups without getting caught, surely he would be able to find a little bit of polyjuice potion. If he wasn't successful, however, she needed to be ready with a backup plan. It would do no one any good to put all of her hopes on the one plan.

She sat at her desk in the Ministry trying and failing to focus on her work. To her great relief, Rabastan hadn't seen the need to drag her down to Level Eleven again. Eventually, she knew that her luck would run out. He was the kind of man who would want to test her loyalties. When that moment arrived, he would force her to prove whether or not she was still the same person she was before she disappeared for a year. If she failed to prove that she was, the consequences would be dire. All day long she felt eyes on her when she was staring down at the files on her desk. When she would look up to try to catch Rabastan in the act of staring, his eyes would be averted. He was clever, but she knew him too well. There was a time in their lives when she could anticipate his next several moves. The Dark Lord forced them to be partners for good reason. When they set their minds to it, they worked well together.

Just before she was ready to go home for the day, Hermione began organizing the files on her desk. She was using the hours at work each day to catch up on everything that she'd missed while she was on the run. When she was far from Hogsmeade and her husband, she wanted to pretend that that part of her existence wasn't real. She ignored everything and had no desire to learn what was happening outside of the insulated bubble she was moving in. Now that she was back in the midst of the danger and intrigue, she knew she needed to learn what she could. All of their lives were about to change. She needed to be ready for it when it happened. As she was stacking the parchments, Rabastan stood to his feet and addressed her for the first time all day.

"You've been ignoring me, Hermione. I don't like it."

The dramatic pout he put on his handsome face used to make her laugh. He was an expert at playing the spoiled brat when it suited him. She was glad she didn't know him as a child. He must have been positively unbearable. Once upon a time she found him to be exceedingly charming. Now, she didn't understand why she ever thought that in the first place. It must have been the mass amounts of alcohol and illegal potions she consumed in his presence. She matched his drama with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"I've not been ignoring you. I've been trying to catch up."

When he began to slowly cross the room to her desk, Hermione grew nervous. Since the day she made it clear that he wasn't to except a renewal of their inappropriate relationship now that she was back, he'd kept his distance. If Antonin was right about the fact that he was not on their side, she could be in a great deal of danger. It was imperative that she remain fully on guard at all times around the wizard. Rabastan perched himself on the edge of her desk, only centimeters away from her. She couldn't imagine what he was up to. The games he played were many and varied. As uncomfortable as she was, she refused to show fear. It was what he wanted, what he desired. Even though she was exhausted and too tired to play the game, she knew she had no other choice. More than just her life was riding on it.

"We used to be so close. What happened?"

His appeal to nostalgia was a new tactic she couldn't recall him ever trying before. At least he was trying not to be repetitive. She could appreciate him attempting to make his attempts to play whatever angle he was fresh. Part of her was curious to see how far he would take this. Maybe he might even let her know what he was up to.

"I think we both grew up."

Rabastan's fingertips brushed against the stray hairs that were slipping out of the severe hairstyle she had her locks twisted into. Part of the costume that made her 'Madam Dolohov the fearsome interrogator', she wasn't foolish enough to leave her hair long where anyone could grab it while she was working. Too many painful lessons learned the hard way. He gently pushed them behind her ear, taking care not to let the curls snag on his fingers. It was an act he'd done without thought for years. Though it never bothered her before, Antonin's warning about her Co-Head rang through her mind. He was unpredictable, _dangerous_. She had to be careful.

"I missed you when you were gone."

"Now you're just lying. What do you really want, Rabastan?"

He wasn't offended by her question even if it did come out of her mouth a little sharper than she intended. Besides her husband, if there was anyone still alive who was familiar with her harsh tongue, it was Rabastan. His lip slipped out in the prominent pout that was all a part of his act. She knew him every bit as well as he knew her.

"But I'm not lying. I _did_ miss you." He moved his hand to cup her cheek, then to her neck, and with each word he spoke moved it lower down her body. "Every single part of you."

As much as she might have liked to forget the day ever happened, all she could think of was how terrified she was when she was tied up and helpless in Fenrir's bedroom. Rabastan didn't even know who she was. It didn't even matter to him that what he was intending to do to her was wrong. Too many years of his life had been spent with the ability to behave in however atrocious manner he wished with little to no consequences. It gave him, and others like him, a false sense of value and self-worth. Hermione should know. She'd been just like him once upon a time. Brushing his hand off of her breast, she shot him a look that dared him to try again. Rabastan chuckled, but didn't touch her again.

"Are you not afraid of upsetting the worthless little cunt outside? She might get jealous if she finds out about the attention you're giving me."

His chuckle grew to a full-blown belly laugh. She hated that the sound of his mirth threatened a smile out of her. The corners of her lips began to curl ever so slightly.

"I'm afraid she has become a bit…"

"Clingy?"

He nodded.

"I warned you that would happen. Did you not learn your lesson from the _last_ assistant?"

"She will need to be reassigned to a different department."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She might have hated the girl from the moment she stepped foot in their department, but the thought of training a new assistant was wretched. Didn't she have enough on her plate as it was? Multiple times over the years since they began their department she warned Rabastan to stay away from the witches they hired. It was a lesson he was evidently never going to learn despite the number of times he swore he would never do it again.

"Married women only for me from here on out. I find them to be less expectant of anything other than a good time."

"You're disgusting. _That_ will never change."

"I've never heard you complain before, pet. Especially not when I've laid you on top of this desk and buried my face between your gorgeous thighs."

The room seemed to grow warmer with each and every word he spoke. Unbidden and unwanted, images of the pleasurable times in their past he was referring to pressed to the front of her mind. He wasn't wrong. There had been few reasons to complain. In fact, there had been _nothing_ to complain about except that she didn't want to recall the past when it was taking all of her self-control not to run from the room as fast as she could. Rabastan seemed to understand that he'd unnerved her if the smirk on his lips was any indication.

"Speaking of marriage… your husband is in a lot of danger. Are you aware of that?"

Of course she was. Antonin was _always_ in danger. With the fall of the Dark Lord imminent and the uncertainty of who would take his place, he was even more so. To come right out and admit the truth proved that Rabastan had grown quite bold. Ordinarily, he was the one who was content to pull the strings from the sidelines where no one else could see him work. What was his game? Unwilling to give him what he desired, she gave her colleague as safe an answer as possible.

"We're _all_ in danger, Rabastan. Any one of us could be killed at any time. Haven't you learned that yet?"

He liked her answer. Rising back to his feet, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Yes, pet, that's true. Some of us, however, are in more danger than others. When you're interested in bettering your chances of surviving what's coming, let me know."

Rabastan left their shared office moments later giving Hermione a great deal to consider. All night long, ignoring her husband's concerned inquiries about what was bothering her, she thought about the man's words. Was he trying to recruit her over to the side that would oppose her husband's rise to power? And if so, did she want to let him?


	157. June 5th

June 5th

Returning to work at the Ministry the day after Rabastan made his not-so-veiled invitation to join him in overthrowing her husband in the inevitable power struggle looming ahead put Hermione in an awkward position. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say to the man's request. Did he actually believe that she would be willing to betray her husband of over a decade? The more she considered it, the more she realized that _yes_ , he did. After all, she'd almost killed her husband. While that wasn't common knowledge to their society at large, the secret had to have been known by the entire Inner Circle. Certainly Rabastan wasn't the sort of person to _not_ seek out any potential information on his rivals.

He very well could be using what he knew about their tumultuous marriage to make his offer. Did he think that he could turn her so easily with just a few pretty words and touches of her hair? If so, he was losing his edge. Or, perhaps more unnerving, he hadn't even begun trying. He could become more creative as time went by. Part of her felt that there was a time she would've been easily persuaded to join forces against her husband. But, she couldn't afford to get sucked into the power struggle. Not when she had a mission ahead of her that could mean the end of her life if she failed. Once Aberforth was released, she would be out of the country so quickly no one would be able to drag her into that mess.

There was no sign of Rabastan all day long. Whether he was fulfilling orders of another sort that took him away from the Ministry or if he was simply skipping work to give Hermione ample time to think over his offer, she didn't mind. It was easier when he wasn't pretending not to stare at her from across the room. She could think clearly when he wasn't around.  
Just as she was preparing to leave for the day, her red and puffy-eyed assistant walked into the office carrying a delivered message. Hermione didn't even bother hiding the rolling of her eyes. If the girl was that upset over the end of her relationship with Rabastan, she wouldn't have been able to survive a minute in their world without crumbling to bits. Lots of people thought they were strong enough to enter in the ranks of the Death Eaters only to discover quite quickly how wrong they were. Holding the message in her hands, she didn't open it until the horrible witch was out of the room.

She didn't recognize the handwriting on the outside of the sealed parchment. In fact, unless she was mistaken, it appeared that whomever wrote the missive wanted to disguise their usual writing. There were plenty of opportunities for an owl to be intercepted when it was sent to the Ministry. No doubt part of her assistant's arrangement with Rabastan was to open any of Hermione's correspondence when presented with the opportunity and report to him anything worth knowing. Carefully tearing open the note, Hermione bit back a smile when she read the contents.

 _Same time and place as last Tuesday_

Perhaps only ten minutes passed from the time she left her office to the moment she was stepping into the familiar grove of trees where she met Draco the week before. There would be no other reason for him to risk exposing their connection unless he had good news about the polyjuice potion. Almost as soon as she arrived, she felt the familiar grips of his arms around her body. Instead of pressing her up against a tree as he'd done only a couple of weeks earlier, he spun them both in place, Disapparating them away from the heavily wooded area.

Side-Along Apparition was miserable under the best of circumstances. The moment her feet landed on a solid surface and the tracker released his hold on her, she spun around to slap him on his firm chest. If any other soul tried to capture her and take her against her will to an unknown location, they would get much worse.

"Don't _ever_ Side-Along me again without warning, Draco."

He smirked, her warning amusing more than frightening. Feeling the temperature in the room begin to rise, or perhaps just in her flushed cheeks, Hermione looked away from the wizard at her surroundings. Wherever they were, it wasn't luxurious. Perhaps it had been at one time, but the heavy layer of dust and cobwebs coating every surface hid all of its former splendor.

"Where have you dragged me?"

"I'm surprised you don't recognize it."

Looking up from the decaying carpet to make a better examination of the location, she realized almost immediately that she _did_ recognize the crumbling house. Over twenty years had come and gone since she last graced its halls, but Number Twelve Grimmauld Place still held fond memories from the time in her life that she was young and so certain that good would prevail over evil. Overcome with an influx of emotion that threatened to bring tears to her eyes, Hermione sniffed and willed them away.

" _Why_ are we here?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders, a smirk appearing on his face.

"As the last of the Blacks, it's mine. No one ever comes here. Most don't even know it still exists."

She could see how that would be true. It wouldn't be around for much longer if the neglect was still allowed to continue. Still unsure _why_ he would bring her there, Hermione allowed him to lead her down the narrow staircase to the basement kitchen. Seeing the familiar table where many meals were spent with members of the Order and then later with just her boys, the emotions from earlier returned at full force. It was all beginning to feel overwhelming. She turned her attention to a small cauldron at the end of the table. Walking towards it, she hoped that the various vials surrounding it were what she assumed they were.

"I couldn't find any already brewed, but I was able to call in enough favors to get the ingredients."

"What do I owe you?"

Money was no longer an issue now that she had access to her vaults, but she was also aware that money had little value to a Malfoy. They already had plenty. Likely, Draco would come to her later when he had a favor. Considering the danger she was forcing him to be in just by being around the ingredients for the highly illegal concoction, she was going to owe him a great deal. Possibly even more than she could offer. If he did all of this for the purpose of encouraging her to be the Resistance's spy again, she wasn't sure what she would do. Instead of coming right out and admitting what he wanted, he just shrugged his shoulders again.

"I'm sure we can figure out some mutually beneficial arrangement."

His confident wink made her laugh. If all he wanted in exchange for the ingredients and the danger that possessing them brought to his existence was the use of her body, that was a bargain she was prepared to make. Certainly she'd done more for less in the past. And it wasn't as if she wouldn't be willing to slip into his bed again and again. As long as he put a stop to the ridiculous notion that he was somehow falling in love with her, she would meet him in whatever dark corner he desired whenever he wished until she repaid her debt.

"You are free to use the house as you need to brew. No one will bother you here."

"That's very generous of you, Draco."

She reached out to pick up the various vials to inspect the quality of the goods. Even just a quick glance proved they were of the highest quality. Nothing less for a Malfoy, of course. Her curiosity about what sort of favors he had completed to earn him the ability to get the difficult to procure ingredients was certainly something she desired to quench. How was it possible that every visit with the man simply increased her number of questions?

"I ask only that while you're here, you cloak your magic."

Hermione carefully set down the vial of boomslang skin she held in her hands to turn around and face the man. What kind of request was that? Before she could ask him what he meant by it, Draco spoke again.

"Your husband is probably still tracing your magic. If you were to use it somewhere unfamiliar or unexpected, he would probably come look for himself what you've been up to. It would be rather awkward if Antonin showed up here."

As much as she wanted to deny that her husband was still tracing her magic to see where she was, she couldn't. It was _exactly_ the sort of action Antonin would take. Despite pretending that he trusted her enough to leave her alone, he was still watchful, still ever vigilant for the moment she decided to run again. She nodded her head, a promise that she would do as Draco asked. With a smile on his face, he slid his arms around her waist to rest on her back.

"Did you know that today was my birthday?"

She shook her head. It was hard enough sometimes to keep up with her own birthday. His arms tightened their hold.

"I think before you get started on brewing your potion that I'd like to unwrap my present first."

All thoughts about the polyjuice potion were temporarily pushed aside as he made good on his promise. When he set her naked body on top of the old table and began pulling moans and screams from her mouth with just the flick of his tongue, the touch of his hand, she idly thought it would be easier to push away the haunted memories attached to the filthy kitchen if she had much more pleasurable ones to replace them.


	158. June 6th

June 6th

A pleasant calm overtook Hermione once she was secure in the fact that she had a cauldron of polyjuice potion bubbling away in the kitchen of Number Twelve. She hadn't been aware of exactly how anxious she'd been feeling until the day after her unexpected visit to the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Now, able to take a deep breath and see the light at the end of the very long tunnel she stood in, she began to believe that her end goal was possible. She _was_ going to save Aberforth Dumbledore from his execution and somehow remove the target the Resistance placed on her back. Of course, she would never be able to satisfy William Wood with anything less than her brutal and painful death. She could handle one loose cannon. He wasn't exactly the first.

Knowing that it would take a month to brew the potion was disheartening, but at least there was a timeline. She wouldn't be stuck in her Hogsmeade home or her Ministry office wondering how much more she had to endure before she was free to run again. Once she left she had no intention of looking back. Antonin would come searching for her, she had no doubt. If she was careful and smart, she could avoid him for the rest of her life. The desire to climb aboard a ship going to another part of the world was so overpowering she could almost taste it. What would it be like to no longer live in fear? No longer have to look over her shoulder?

Part of the reason why so few in their society, pre-rise of the Dark Lord and post, ever even considered trying to procure their own batch of polyjuice potion was simply because it was an incredibly difficult potion to brew correctly. If she was completely honest with herself, it was an absolute miracle that Hermione was able to brew it successfully in her second year. Her issues with the cat hair aside, if she had made a single mistake in the brewing, all three of them could've been killed or irrevocably mutilated. It wasn't safe to have the average brewer even attempt it. The laws in place making it illegal were also there for everyone's safety. Wasn't it better to just ban the dangerous substance outright than to allow another incompetent potioneer to hurt themselves? Besides, polyjuice potion took too long to brew. Few had the patience to wait.

Back in the Ministry the day after Draco's rather eventful birthday, Hermione was surprised to see Rabastan. He didn't speak a single word to her all day. Didn't even look in her direction. His attention was focused solely on his work. Based on the incessant scratch of his quill for hours, she assumed he was writing up his official notes and report for an interrogation he conducted the previous day. It would certainly explain his absence the day before after his strange offer.

She didn't have the first clue which of the unfortunate prisoners was his latest victim. If it was Aberforth, she assumed that he would throw that knowledge in her face as some sort of cruel taunt. Rabastan knew there was more to her connection with the elderly wizard than she was willing to admit. He could be frighteningly perceptive. But, she knew her Co-Head well enough to understand that he played numerous games at the same time. To assume that one knew all that he was up to was foolish and almost always entirely incorrect. He could be simply waiting for her to _ask_ him what he had been up to. Doing that granted him a level of power over her that she didn't like.

So, she tried to focus on her work instead of what he was doing across the room. He'd given her a lot to think about as it was. She didn't really need anything else. There was a long and violent history with Antonin. Rabastan knew that well enough to make the offer to team up against her husband. If she stood with Antonin, he would never let her leave. Maybe Rabastan and his partners would allow her to simply walk away from the country in exchange for her assistance in the coming power struggle. It wouldn't take much to make the offer very attractive.

Perhaps another hour of Rabastan's quill scratching passed before she could stand the suspense no longer. Hermione tried to seem as disinterested in what he was doing as possible when she asked him what he was working on. Immediately seeing through her ruse, his frustrated expression quickly morphed into an amused grin.

"What do you care what I'm working on?"

She assured him in no uncertain terms that she _didn't_. Each of them returned to their own individual files. It didn't take him long to forget his amusement. Back to being frustrated and annoyed by his work, his scowl returned and several sighs punctuated the air. In the past, back when she would suffer the man's touch on her body, she would use her considerable charms on the man to put him in a better mood. Of course, she usually only waited to dive down to that level when there was something that she needed from him.

Like the answer to whether or not he spent the previous day interrogating the very wizard she was risking her life and her freedom to help escape. The report he was working on was still laid across the top of his desk. It wouldn't take much persuasion to distract him long enough to read at least the name on top of the report. When he sighed one more time, she made her decision. Despite going against what she felt was right, she would do what was necessary to get her answers without rousing the horrible man's suspicions. Besides, it wasn't as if she hadn't done the same countless times before.

A nonverbal spell shut the door to their office with a deafening thud. Rabastan looked up to see what was happening just as she muttered the incantation to lock the door. The sound of the click brought his old smirk back to his face. He turned his gaze to Hermione. She stood to her feet, dropped the Ministry robes she loathed, and began to the familiar trek across the carpet to his desk.

"How is anyone supposed to concentrate with your constant sighing?"

"I did not realize I was bothering you, pet. Please accept my heartfelt apologies."

There was nothing sincere about the man, not his words, not his smile. Hermione berated herself for even considering this drastic course of action. Surely there was another option, another way to discover what she wanted to know without stooping so low. But, he was tricky and when he stared at her with that familiar hunger in his eyes, she found it easier to push aside her concerns, push aside her fears after that horrible day in Fenrir's bedroom. Maybe this was what she needed to get those thoughts out of her mind. She'd been at his complete mercy then. Now, he would be at hers.

The seams of his trousers threatened to burst with the pressure of what he was holding within. Hermione dropped to her knees, pushed his knees apart, and ran her hands up his thighs. Part of her felt nervous. Mostly, however, she felt empowered. He'd told her secrets he didn't mean to in the past when she'd appealed to his baser instincts. One brush of her hand against his bare skin drew a deep guttural moan out of the man. It had been over a year since the last time they were in the same position, but it felt like no time at all had passed. Wrapping one slim hand around the base of his length, Hermione looked up to meet his eyes.

"Do I have your promise that you'll cease your obnoxious sighing for the rest of today?"

Rabastan nodded his head, unable to utter more than another moan at the feel of her tongue lavishing his most favorite of body parts. She wasn't sure how much time passed with her mouth moving over him, tasting him, teasing him. Long enough that his breathing grew ragged. Long enough that just as she thought he was about to lose all control, he gently pushed her head away and lifted her entire body in one smooth familiar motion. Carefully, yet firmly pressing her down on top of his desk on her belly, Rabastan lifted her skirts and tore her knickers. Only mere moments passed until he buried himself up to the hilt inside of her, ripping a scream from the witch.

So lost in the sensations of their illicit encounter was she that Hermione almost forgot to take the opportunity to look over his reports while Rabastan was distracted. Knowing that he was the sort of wizard to prefer to keep his eyes closed for much of the act to be able to _feel_ what was happening, she knew that she could get enough of a glance to at least determine who the unfortunate victim was. With his bruising grip on her hips and his frantic and fierce slamming into her body, she found it difficult to focus long enough at the words written out in front of her face. Determined that she would join him in his quest for pleasure, the wizard's right hand left her hip long enough to slide down her front and slip between her thighs. Knowing exactly where to apply the right amount of pressure due to frequent opportunities for practice, she felt her nerves on fire just as she read a name that she was unfamiliar with at the top of his report.

Hermione was able to give herself over completely to the sensations once she knew that her mission hadn't been a failure yet. Her body continued to convulse and tremble until Rabastan's last deep moan of completion. Still nestled inside her body, he lowered his heaving chest on her back as he tried to catch his breath. He kissed the base of her neck. Just outside of her ear, he whispered.

"Did you get the information you were seeking?"

Before she could even stutter out a denial, his chuckles tickled the back of her neck.

"All you ever need do is ask, pet. I'll tell you whatever it is you long to know."

She stood up to her full height abruptly, almost knocking the horrible man off of his feet. With just a single push, she was able to extricate herself from his touch. As she crossed the room to retrieve her discarded robes, she pulled her skirt back down and tried unsuccessfully to repair her ruined knickers with a spell. Instead, she settled for removing the remnants and destroying them with an incendio spell as her partner laughed.

When she was presentable enough to face the world again, Hermione rushed out of the shared office without speaking a word to the wretched wizard. She had a potion to check on, and she wanted to be as far away from him as physically possible.


	159. June 7th

June 7th

Following her encounter with Rabastan in their shared office, Hermione had been anxious to scrub all reminders of his touch from her body. Hoping that she wouldn't run into Draco when she stopped in at Number Twelve to ensure the polyjuice potion was still coming along as it should, she was grateful for once to find herself alone in the crumbling, old house. Memories still clung to every cobweb-infested corner, but something about the place made her feel comforted, made her remember the parts of her past she generally tried to shuffle away from her thoughts. They soon became overwhelming enough that she wasn't sad to walk out the front door.

The very moment she entered her home in Hogsmeade she stormed up the stairs to fill their luxurious bathtub. Her hope was that she could rid herself of some of the reminders of her failed attempt at manipulation. Sensing that she was not in the mood to be bothered, her husband said nothing to her as they passed on the stairs. She'd been humiliated enough that day that she couldn't bear it if he asked her what it was that had her so upset.

Antonin gave her space the rest of that night. They spoke as little as possible over their shared meal. Even with the constant threat of their world crashing down around their ears, her husband attempted to keep as much distressing news away from her as he could. She appreciated his perceptiveness that evening. Even if she was still mulling over Rabastan's offer from earlier in the week of betraying the man she was forced to marry. If he could offer her a future free from the confines of the family she never wanted, she knew it wouldn't be that difficult to say yes. The married couple slipped into the same bed side by side and passed another night not touching.

Thursday brought a return of a sullen and frustrated Rabastan to their corner of the Ministry of Magic. Relieved that he didn't immediately make some ridiculous remark about their activities the day before when he first entered the office, Hermione went back to ignoring the wizard as best as she could. It was evident from the very beginning that something had him in a terrible mood. When her assistant Rachel walked into their office with a message to pass to the man with red eyes and great big tears in her eyes, Hermione had to bite back a laugh when Rabastan snapped at the girl. She'd forgotten how funny he could be when he was angry.

"You know, I have half a mind to keep that wretched waste of space in our department just because of the amusing effect she has on you."

His response was simply a hate-filled glare that would've made most in their world cower in fear. She knew him too well to succumb to his fits of rage. He only lashed out at those he deemed unimportant. If one had any sort of value to him, he wouldn't dream of hurting them until it was necessary to further his agenda. Considering his offer days earlier, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her.

There was more going on with the temperamental wizard than she was aware. Based on the stress present in his shoulders, Hermione knew that she didn't have the full story. Something more than just the incompetence of their department workers or a frustrating interrogation was going on. This was the time in the past when she would lock the door to the office, but that was not going to happen. If she was smart, that was _never_ going to happen again. To fall to such an embarrassingly low level the day before was a shame she would have to learn to forget. Another option presented itself when she thought about how to get the man to calm down. One that she wasn't the least bit nervous or disgusted about exploring.

"Were you serious the other day about me teaming up with you to overthrow Antonin?"

His sly smile helped to dissipate some of the tension in his frame. Rising from his desk, he crossed the space between them to perch himself at the edge of her desk. Just as he had days earlier, he wanted to be as close to her as possible before he spoke about potential treason. Before either of them could speak, a rustling of parchment caught their attention. Rachel was almost across the threshold when Rabastan slammed the door in her face with a spell. The click of the lock left no room for interpretation. No doubt the ignorant chit believed they were about to repeat their actions from the day before. There were few secrets in their department. It was cruel to taunt the girl so, but Hermione couldn't help but chuckle again.

"You're aware that _nothing_ is going to happen today, aren't you?"

Laughing, Rabastan assured her that when he set his mind to what he wanted, he could be very _persuasive_. She knew that to be the truth. All too well. Clearing her throat and pushing aside reminders of their past encounters, she replied that he wouldn't be persuasive enough to rip her knickers again. Needing desperately to change the subject, she brought his offer back up.

"There is a small, but growing, group of us that do _not_ want your husband as the next Dark Lord."

"You are aware, of course, Rabastan, that such talk is dangerous. Not only could I report you to the Dark Lord, but there's nothing to keep me from telling Antonin."

He laughed again. A tightening in the pit of her stomach put Hermione on edge. When he was amused, it usually wasn't a good thing. That had been a lesson that many had learned the hard way over the years.

"And how loyal exactly are you to a man that you almost killed, pet?"

It wasn't a surprise that he knew about that day. If he _didn't_ know what happened would've been a much bigger surprise. Secrets were rarely kept secret in the Inner Circle. Information was currency, _power_. Rabastan was the sort to seek it out wherever possible. While she didn't believe that he was seeking the position of Dark Lord for himself, she did wonder just who it was that he was working with. Theodore Nott was the obvious answer. Of course, like she was well aware of, Rabastan played multiple games at the same time. No one, besides himself probably, knew them all.

"That _incident_ is hardly worth speaking of. It's over."

At first he seemed as if he wanted to argue with her, but he stopped himself. Maybe he knew there was no purpose. She wasn't going to debate her actions that day. Part of her was still unsure _why_ she even attacked Antonin so brutally.

"What did you do this past year? Where were you?"

"I travelled. Made new friends. Spent some time with old friends. Nothing terribly exciting I'm afraid."

His raising of a single eyebrow made her nervous.

"Old friends like _Fenrir_?"

There was no reason to deny the truth. Clearly, he was already aware of the time she spent in the werewolf's cottage. Maybe he discovered it on his own. Or maybe Fenrir wasn't as loyal to her as she thought. When she didn't immediately dispute his statement, Rabastan laughed.

"Antonin doesn't know how close we were to catching you that day, does he?"

"How did _you_ know?"

"I didn't. Not for certain. Not until I saw that little birthmark at the base of your spine again yesterday when I had you so deliciously placed on top of my desk. I suspected that day, of course. Perhaps if your husband hadn't been so determined to _not_ look at you tied up on the floor he would've recognized his own wife's sweet arse."

"Why didn't you say anything to Antonin?"

All hints of amusement dropped from Rabastan's face. He grew quite serious, the tension in the room began to escalate. When he brushed the tips of his fingers along her chin, Hermione could feel her skin prickle with goosebumps.

"Because you are his weakness, pet. You always have been."

His reasons for approaching her became completely clear. Whatever faction he was a part of wanted to use her against her husband. Seek out his weaknesses. Rip him apart from the inside out. Hermione was conflicted. As much unpleasant history that existed between them, she wasn't sure she wanted to take an active role in destroying the man.

"What are your plans for my son when this is all over?"

"You're not suddenly developing some kind of maternal instinct, are you?"

"Leave my son out of this."

Rabastan sighed and rolled his eyes.

"We were hoping for a clean break. Sons so often desire vengeance for their fathers."

Hermione couldn't believe that he was discussing the murder of her child so calmly. There was no way that she was going to get involved in _anything_ that put Oliver in danger. Just as she demanded he remain safe when she was considering spying for the Resistance, she forced a promise out of Rabastan that she wouldn't hesitate to tell Antonin everything she knew unless he kept her son safe. He reluctantly agreed with another roll of his eyes.

"I'd recommend when this is all over that you change his name and send him off to Beauxbatons or some other foreign school. He won't be welcome at Hogwarts."

If Antonin was killed in this power struggle, she would make certain that Oliver was well cared for. Even if she was a shit mum, she didn't want her child to get caught up in the nastiness of adults. She'd already had to fight a war she had no business fighting when she was a child. To demand the same of her son was cruel.

"Well, I suppose you will want to consider all of your options before you agree?"

She nodded. Rabastan kicked at her desk, opening the secret compartment she'd so far managed to leave shut since she returned to the Ministry with his foot. Filled with dozens of vials of the potion that she swore to herself, and Antonin, that she would never touch again, she felt an itching desire course through her veins to swallow them all.

"Want one for old time's sake?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt would be ashamed of her weakness if he knew. Wherever the former auror was hiding, he would curse her for succumbing to the temptation after he kept her alive in his dingy flat for so long. She pushed the compartment closed, forcing a dramatic pout out of her Co-Head.

"You used to be more fun."

He hopped off her desk to return to his own. This wouldn't be the last time they had this conversation. She had a great deal to consider.


	160. June 8th

June 8th

A troubled mind always made for difficulty sleeping. Every single moment since Rabastan left her desk after stating quite clearly that he was involved in a group determined to bring her husband down if he tried to become the next Dark Lord, Hermione thought of nothing else. There was a time in her life when Antonin had her complete loyalty without question. She would have done _anything_ for her husband. Many times she'd gone against her instincts or desires to ensure that _his_ instincts or desires were followed. Was she willing to forget everything, good and bad, about their past to betray him?

She couldn't get comfortable. Unsure of the time, she knew it was well after midnight. Likely closer to morning than she hoped. It would be a long day at the Ministry if she couldn't get at least some sleep. Missing a day of work wasn't an option. Rabastan might take it as a sign that she wasn't even considering joining him in the future coup d'état. She could be labeled an enemy of his group before she even had a chance to decline or accept his invitation. Now that he was aware that she had some interest in Aberforth that wasn't entirely official, her Co-Head could use that information against her. Maybe she would return to find that Aberforth had been moved to a more secure facility or that he had been executed. No matter how tired she was, she had to remain on her normal schedule. _Nothing_ could be altered.

Part of Hermione was furious that Rabastan would give her so much to think about when she already had enough on her mind. Why couldn't he wait just a little bit longer for her to put her plan to help the elderly wizard escape first before telling her that she would be welcome to join his revolution? She had to remain focused on the plan she created. Getting distracted by Rabastan would end in failure. She couldn't afford to fail. Her future, her very existence was on the line. If something happened to Aberforth, she had no doubt that the short tether Ginny Weasley kept on William Wood would disappear. As much as she couldn't blame the man for his hatred of her, she really didn't like the idea of him getting close enough to kill her.

Any thoughts of Wood always made her remember how close he'd gotten to her in London that horrible night. What would have happened if she wasn't able to get away? It didn't bear considering. She was also bothered with the ease in which it seemed that he found her wandering the streets. London wasn't a tiny village. With a population in the millions, he shouldn't have been able to find her. Experience taught her that coincidences didn't exist. Not really. The smirk he had when their eyes met proved that he wasn't surprised to find her there. William Wood _knew_ where to find her. How?

It was true that there were countless people in their world who wanted Hermione dead. That was a reality she'd been living in for decades. Before the war, during the war, after the war… it was all the same. She knew that she was likely to always be in some measure of danger thanks to her past choices. William Wood was different though. He was tenacious, single-minded, and perhaps, just the right amount of insane to even consider his chances against one of the Dark Lord's most dangerous Death Eaters. Hermione hadn't gotten to the position she was in simply by laying on her back and letting powerful men aid her in her rise to the top. No, she _earned_ her place. In order to earn it, she had to be ruthless. It was certain to come to bite her later.

She couldn't think about Wood finding her so easily in London without her thoughts then invariably changing to Draco. Was he somehow responsible for the ease in which her location was discovered? He knew how to track her, a trick he wasn't willing to share with her just yet, but she had hope that one day he might. How close was he to Wood exactly? There might have been some jealously between the men, but they were friendly. Was there a time when Draco was kind enough to teach him his mysterious talent? It really was the only option that made any sense.

Even with daily visits to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Hermione hadn't seen Draco for days. Not since his birthday. She knew that his position within the regime kept him away for long periods of time. It was what he preferred. Spending too much time around people he despised wasn't enjoyable for him. Eventually, he would seek her out again. He hadn't made his reasons clear for his continued fascination with her yet. Perhaps, that too, would be another mystery solved.

It was easier for her when he stayed away. Every time she entered the old Headquarters, she expected to turn a corner and find him waiting for her again. Several months had gone by with him flitting in and out of her life in various capacities and he still confused her. He never once made his motivations clear. Other than getting Aberforth released from the prison she was responsible for putting him in, she had no idea what Draco actually wanted from her. Maybe he claimed in a whisper in a darkened room that he thought he was falling in love with her. Maybe he even believed it himself, but she wasn't buying it. Usually, she could think a lot clearer when he wasn't in the vicinity. Something about the wizard felt _off_. She couldn't explain it exactly.

In an attempt to try to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, she turned on her side again. The light from a lamppost outside on their quiet street fell over her sleeping husband. All thoughts of Draco were temporarily pushed to the back of her mind to focus on Antonin instead. Back in Hogsmeade for almost a month, she knew that he was giving her the space he assumed she needed. Besides the moment in the kitchen that was interrupted by Corban and an innocuous kiss here and there, he'd hardly touched her. It was most unlike him and definitely out of his character to be so considerate.

Before she stabbed him and left him for dead, Antonin had always been the sort to all but _demand_ his rights as her husband. Not that she minded usually. He was a man of many talents and he was almost always in a much better mood afterwards. With such a voracious appetite for the tastes of the flesh, she wondered what he did while she was gone for an entire year. Andromeda Tonks had been dead for three years. Were there other women she didn't know about? He was always discreet in his extramarital affairs, unlike his wife. She only knew about the wretched bitch because their relationship had been going on long before they married.

She knew it was selfish that she rarely thought about the effect that her leaving must have had on him for the past year. Beyond the physical pain she inflicted on him, the worry and concern he claimed to have felt must have been considerable. Maybe there wasn't even time for him to think about how empty his bed was if that was the truth.

Rabastan's offer came rushing back to her mind. Yes, there had been a difficult past with her husband, but was she actually capable of betraying him? She wasn't sure. One moment she thought she could and then the next, she couldn't even imagine it. If Rabastan was expecting an answer soon, he was going to be disappointed.

"Are you all right?"

The sound of Antonin's sleep-heavy voice startled her out of her frustrating worries. She hadn't even realized he'd woken up at some point. Even in the dimness of the room, she could see the concern on his face thanks to the lamppost. Her first instinct was to lie and tell him that she was fine. For a reason she couldn't understand, she opted to be honest.

"I can't turn my mind off long enough to get to sleep. I didn't expect it was going to be easy to come back, but I didn't know I would feel so lost… so _overwhelmed_."

"Are you wanting to run away again?"

"Honestly? Yes. It was easier when I was out there."

Antonin's sigh was tinged more with sadness than it was frustration. The years together taught his wife how to tell the difference.

"Is it working at the Ministry that's causing this?"

"Partially."

"Maybe you should stop working."

A year or two earlier, the same suggestion would've started a blazing row that wouldn't have ended until they were both ready to murder the other. Walking away from her position at the Ministry wasn't an option in her mind back then. She spent too many years working too hard to just give up so easily. Besides, it would make Rabastan happy, and she'd spent most of her career doing what she could to frustrate and annoy him.

Now, she desired nothing more than to never have to go back to that horrible building. If Aberforth wasn't relying on her to help him escape, she would've taken her husband's suggestion in a heartbeat. It wasn't possible though. By her calculations, the polyjuice potion wouldn't be ready until the beginning of July. She would have to wait long enough to put her plan into motion before even thinking about resigning.

"If I quit now after being back only a few weeks, it'll be seen as a sign of weakness. We can't afford that right now."

It was an argument that he couldn't disagree with. Their world was full of cutthroats out there only looking out for themselves. A single _hint_ of blood in the water would bring the sharks around to feed. They had to be careful.

"I'm sorry that it hasn't been easy for you since you've been back. I'm sure that's my fault."

Petulant, apologetic Antonin was a character she rarely saw. He existed, but the circumstances had to be particularly dire for him to come out. Even in the safety of their bed, her husband rarely was so quick to offer an apology. Usually, he considered them weaknesses, a way for an opponent to gain an upper hand. Was it all an act? Or, had something else changed in her time away?

"I think we're both perfectly capable of making each other miserable, Antonin. You don't own the exclusive rights to that."

She didn't flinch when he reached his hand out to brush his fingertips along her jaw. The feel of his touch was both familiar and strange all at the same time. A vulnerability she could only remember seeing a handful of times appeared on her husband's countenance.

"You and Ollie are _the_ most important things in my life, Hermione. _Nothing_ else matters more than you two. I would do _anything_ to keep you both safe."

There was nothing but sincerity in his statement. In that moment, she actually believed he was telling the truth. When his lips pressed against hers, she didn't push him away. No one interrupted them that time.


	161. June 9th

June 9th

Hermione took advantage of Saturday morning to sleep in a little longer than she normally would. Following her unexpectedly pleasant activities with her husband in the early morning hours Friday, she was able to fall asleep for at least three or four hours before she had to get up to be at the Ministry. It wasn't much sleep. Just enough to keep her functional for another day in the office she already despised.

When she stumbled into the office a little later than usual, she was surprised to find it empty. Rabastan never made a single appearance all day. She didn't allow herself to worry about the implications of his absence. There were many reasons why he would be gone. Some were even perfectly innocent. Without him there to bother her about her choice whether or not to join his band of renegades, she found the day go by quite pleasantly and quickly.

Draco didn't meet her at Number Twelve either. She was able to slip into the crumbling townhome, check that the potion was still progressing as it should, and be back home before she was missed. Not that Antonin bothered to even come home until after she was already in bed asleep. She was glad to not have to face her husband so soon after the first time they renewed their marital relations. It was bound to be awkward when they first had a conversation.

She didn't know what to make of the change in their relationship. Feeling Antonin's kisses on her bare skin and the perfect way he knew just how to touch her to make her pant and moan for more confused her. She did _not_ love him. Not in the conventional sense at least, but there was something oddly comforting about feeling the weight of his body on top of hers. Like she had finally come back home where she belonged.

It was a ridiculous notion that she chastised herself for thinking the moment she thought it. Years of an unhealthy symbiotic relationship with the wizard skewered her perception of reality. What sort of woman thought that life with a man who frequently lost his temper and hurt his wife physically was something to aspire to? Yes, Antonin had been on his best behavior since she showed up on his doorstep just before midnight on their son's birthday. That wasn't an indication that they would continue down the same path. Maybe he did change while she was gone, but that was too little and much too late. Pleasant weeks and one exhilarating night didn't make up for years of pain and degradation.

The gentle touch of her hair forced Hermione's eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the window proving that it was already at least mid-morning. Her husband sat on the edge of the bed, already fully dressed with a smile on his lips. Thanks to his late night on Friday, they hadn't had the chance to actually speak since they comforted each other in the middle of the night. The desire to repeat their earlier actions warred with her practical sensibilities that they needed to not muddy the waters with anything physical again. Antonin greeted her with a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Get dressed. I have a surprise for you."

No one would have ever believed Hermione if she said so, but over the years they were married, her husband had proven countless times that he had a bit of a romantic streak hidden inside his violence and anger. Just as he spoke gently to injured kittens, there was more to him that most people never got a chance to see. Unsure what he was up to and yet very curious to find out, she slipped out of bed.

"You're being very mysterious this morning. Where are we going?"

Antonin looked up from his cup of tea when she met him down in the kitchen fully dressed and ready for whatever surprise he had in store. A half-smile appeared on his face making him appear much younger than the scowls he usually wore would have one believe. Setting his cup down in the sink, he crossed the room to take her hands in his.

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?"

"You can't even give me a hint? What if I don't like it?"

"I can't guarantee that you will _like_ it, but at least some of your questions will be answered."

He could be cryptic when it suited his purposes. Hermione hated when he wouldn't come right out and answer her question. But, experience taught her that she wasn't likely to get any additional information out of the man until he was ready to divulge it. She just had to trust that he wasn't about to drag her off to her death or to something worse.

No further clues were given to her about the surprise her husband had in store for them. Taking her by the hand, Antonin led them out of the front door. The quiet street they lived on was practically empty. Not afraid that they were in danger of being seen, he leaned down to kiss her again. It seemed that opening the door the other night was bringing out another side of him that she hadn't seen in awhile. Maybe he really was trying. With a whispered assurance that she could trust him, Antonin Disapparated them both away from Hogsmeade.

The moment the squeezing ended, Hermione knew where she was. No longer constrained by the Apparition, she still felt like her lungs were captured in a vise that was slowly being tightened. It had been so long since she was last there. Or had it been? She couldn't even trust her own memories and didn't understand why.

"They're expecting us."

She stared up at the house she grew up in with her Muggle parents unable to fully comprehend what was happening. _Who_ was expecting them? Each step she took closer to the answers she desired became more difficult. Her feet felt like heavy iron weights. Without Antonin's gentle urging and pulling along, she might not have made it to the front door.

A single knock courtesy of her husband brought the door open only moments later. Standing in the doorway looking perfectly healthy, if a bit elderly, were her parents. Excited to see them both, her mother accepted a kiss on the cheek from her son-in-law before wrapping her arms around her speechless daughter. While Hermione tried to wrap her mind around what was happening, she watched her father shake Antonin's hand and slap him good-naturedly on the back. Not only were they familiar with each other, they appeared to be quite friendly. What was happening? Her father turned her attention to his daughter to hug tightly. Still dazed by the revelation that her parents were indeed still alive, Hermione placed her hand on Antonin's arm before they followed her parents inside. She lowered her voice to a whisper that only he could hear.

"You _hate_ Muggles."

"But I love _you_. Ollie needs grandparents."

He led them both inside to the dining room where her mother had a lavish lunch prepared. Hermione didn't understand what was happening. How was it possible that she blocked the memories she had of her parents being alive? There was something sinister going on that didn't sit well in her stomach. Like she had with Andromeda's delightful demise, she just _forgot_ that her parents didn't die in the war in a terrible accident? She hated that she didn't know what was happening to her mind. The potions that she used to drink too much of to help her cope with the reality of how awful her world was couldn't be entirely to blame.

Antonin was correct when he said that he wasn't sure that she would _like_ the surprise, but that she would at least have some answers. The problem with the meal, however, was the fact that she had even more questions than she had answers. Every moment they sat in the once-familiar room chatting over lunch like nothing strange had happened in their lives only served to make her even more confused. She knew she was behaving strangely. Her parents were too kind to mention that she was unusually quiet.

"Hermione, dear, I'll be honest that your father and I didn't like the idea of your research trip in South America. While it sounds terribly fascinating, it _was_ a long time to be away from your family."

She couldn't argue with her parents. Not over the lie they had been told to conceal their missing daughter's true location for over a year. Antonin constructed a very plausible story that she'd been asked to study an obscure branch of magic down in the rainforests. While it wasn't supposed to keep her away from home for as long as it had, there had been some unforeseen complications. Lies rolled off of his tongue with ease. _That_ was more like the man she was used to than the one he'd been trying to be since her return.

Few times in her life had she been so glad for a visit to be over. Every second she was with her parents she was reminded that there were entire blocks of her memory that were completely missing. She had no answers for what happened to her mind. After a couple of hours of inane conversation where Antonin took the lead to spare his wife, they said their goodbyes with a promise that they would be back again as soon as Oliver was out of school for the summer holidays. Perhaps afraid that she would try to run, her husband grasped her hand once more to Side-Along Apparate her with him home. The moment they entered the safety of their own home, she felt the crush of emotions hit her.

" _Why_ can't I remember them being alive, Antonin?"

He didn't have any answers. Seeing that she was in distress over the visit, he pulled her against his chest. For once she didn't even want to push him away.

"When was the last time I saw them? Do you remember?"

"Christmas Day… a few months before you _left_."

"None of this makes any sense. I _remember_ them being dead. Killed in an accident during the war. But I also remember them dying after the war of illness. How can they still be alive and I don't remember them?"

She could feel herself growing more emotional and distraught with each moment that passed. Antonin asked again if he could take her to St. Mungo's to see a specialist he knew. Apparently, despite her refusal over the years to visit with a Healer, he'd been doing his own research, meeting with Healers all over the country who might be able to help her. He even admitted once that he stepped into a Muggle hospital in his desperation to find _someone_ who could help his wife. She still couldn't bear the idea of a stranger messing around in her brain.

"We will figure this all out, my darling. There's got to be _something_ we can do."

When he led her up the stairs back to their bedroom, she didn't fight him. The day's events left her feeling exhausted. He slipped a vial of the potion he always had her take when she needed to calm down into her hand. Nervous at first to take it, she only swallowed it when he promised her again that they would find out what was wrong with her mind.

She almost believed him.


	162. June 10th

June 10th

Hermione woke up alone in bed sometime in mid-morning. A simple glance at the clock on her bedside table would have told her exactly what time, but she didn't have the energy to turn her head. Not just yet. The dose of the damned strawberry-flavored potion she took the day before when they returned from visiting her parents was a bit heavier than she expected. It would take a little bit of time for the effects to wear off once she woke up. No doubt Antonin assumed she was more agitated and confused than usual.

Which she was if she had to admit the truth. Every single moment she spent in her childhood home felt like a dream she didn't understand. If they'd actually been there for a visit the Christmas before she ran off, that must have meant that the confusion she had about her parents happened _after_ that holiday. Neither her mum nor her dad treated her any differently than they had in the past she _could_ remember. The secret of her diminished mind must have remained a secret from them. Or Antonin would've made a more believable lie about her being in a longterm care ward inaccessible by Muggles, not a South American rainforest researching magic. Her past as a shit mum and wife wasn't a surprise to her parents apparently if they weren't even horrified by her absence for so long.

The taste of the damned potion still lingered on her tongue even so many hours later. For years, Antonin always promised her that its only purpose was to help calm her when it was clear she was confused. She used to fight him, paranoid that he was trying to control her. He was a man who liked order and being in power. As often as they butt heads, it wasn't much of a stretch to believe he would do something so sinister. Eventually, when she could recognize the benefit of the potion, she stopped fighting. When he resorted to the _other_ one that made her sleep for days on end, that was a completely different story. Those vials were usually only brought out for extreme incidents.

Thinking about the calming potion brought back memories of the day Augustus slipped one in her tea during her stay in Cornwall. How did he just _happen_ to have some on hand? It wasn't as if she had ever had any sort of confusing periods when they were together. No, those didn't start until after she was married. It was time she got some answers from her husband. She'd waited long enough in an effort to keep the peace. Forcing herself out of the comfort of her bed, Hermione headed downstairs.

He was right where she expected to find him. Holding a cup of tea in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, Antonin looked up at the sound of her entrance into the kitchen. His heated gaze as he made no secret of the fact that he was admiring his wife's body in her thin nightgown made Hermione's cheeks burn. It brought up thoughts about the early hours of Friday morning. Even after so many years together and every nasty thing they put each other through, it was evident that he was still attracted to her. Rabastan may have been right that she was his weakness.

When she sat down in the chair across from his, Antonin realized that she was serious about something. Folding his newspaper up, he set it down on the table to give her his full attention. She knew his expression well enough to know that he wasn't looking forward to whatever she was about to say. Part of her considered just ignoring her concerns for a little while longer. She was only going to stay long enough to help Aberforth Dumbledore escape. Once that was done, she was out of there, hopefully to never return.

"The potion you gave me yesterday, the one you always give me… how did Augie come to have some in his possession?"

Antonin sighed. Whatever he assumed they were going to discuss wasn't nearly as upsetting as what she brought up. He gathered his thoughts before speaking. Hermione's patience wore thin.

"Are you working with Augie, Antonin? Is that why he had some?"

"I'm not _working_ with Gus any more than I usually do in execution of our orders from the Dark Lord. Did I give him some of the potion? Yes, I did. When you slipped away after Dumbledore was captured, I went to Cornwall, assuming that you would seek shelter with him. I left some vials there in case you showed up. I was worried about you."

"Worried that your insane wife was wandering around the country without her potions?"

It was evident that he didn't want to fight with her. That was often the way of it. Sometimes she was more passionate than her husband, more ready to go to battle than he was.

"Did you leave any more vials around? Maybe with Allie or at Lee Jordan's home in Wales?"

His second sigh was much heavier than the first. Everything about him seemed exhausted. In that moment, he appeared much older than she remembered. It was surprising. He was hardly in middle age for a wizard and he was from a family known for extended lifetimes. The only reason his parents were both dead was because of a very suspicious trip they took to Russia when he was locked up in Azkaban. Official reports listed their deaths as an accident, but there were rumors his father's younger brother was responsible.

She hadn't realized how much her husband aged in her absence. Was it due to the extent of his injuries she inflicted upon him? Or because of the stress of the prior year? Likely it was all of it and more that she didn't know yet. There were lines on his face that she didn't remember, more streaks of silver in his dark brown hair than there used to be.

"No, just with Gus."

It still bothered Hermione tremendously that he was able to visit Augustus' house three times without her ever seeing him. How was that even possible? She wanted to know his secret. Experience taught her that she likely never would. Her husband sighed yet once more, his frustration with their conversation growing.

"Gus said that he gave it to you when you were talking about Andromeda."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the mention of the wretched cow's name. She _hated_ talking about her, _hated_ even thinking about her miserable existence. There was a real fear present when his former mistress was brought up because she couldn't afford for him to figure out the true reason why she killed the bitch. If he asked, she wasn't sure that she could convince him of a lie. He was an expert at rooting out deceptions.

"I just _forgot_ she was dead."

It wasn't necessary to add that the reason why she forgot she murdered the witch was because she drank too many of the potions she tried unsuccessfully to hide from him over the years. He knew about her habit. Knew about it and _despised_ it. While he could understand the attraction to drinking too much alcohol, he had never been one to take illegal potions. _That_ all started thanks to Rabastan. He was always the devil on her shoulder whispering in her ear, telling her to drink more.

Antonin seemed unsure how to proceed with their discussion. Most of the fight in Hermione dissipated. She had her answer. No, Augustus wasn't working with her husband in some nefarious scheme regarding her. No, he didn't leave potions everywhere he thought she might one day seek shelter. It was embarrassing enough that Augustus knew about the mental struggles she had. If anyone else learned about it, she was concerned that she might lose some of the tentative footing she had in their society. As long as she was there, it would be helpful if no one else knew she was less than perfect.

No longer wishing to argue with her exhausted husband, Hermione made her excuses to return upstairs. She needed to get dressed and get out of their house. With the end of the school year rapidly approaching, she knew that Oliver was unlikely to get a pass out of the castle to come visit. There was no reason to spend all day cooped up inside the house. Not when she had a potion to check on.

Following a long shower, Hermione dressed and steadied her nerves for another possible confrontation with her husband. Giving him time to think and stew might have encouraged him to renew their discussion. At the bottom of the stairs, she made an abrupt turn towards the kitchen. The door underneath the staircase opened to her surprise. Antonin emerged from the entrance to the basement with a fierce look on his face. Based on his raised eyebrows and his sudden suspicious expression that he wasn't able to hide until after she'd already seen it, he didn't want her to know he'd been downstairs. In the entire time since she'd been back in their home, she had yet to see him go down there.

"I'm needed at the castle. I'll be home later."

He brushed his lips against her cheek moments after he shut the door and locked it. Unwilling to give her any further explanation about why he was needed at the castle, Hermione watched him leave through the front door. Her curiosity about what he was doing down in the basement was overpowering. Waiting for at least three minutes to make sure he didn't return home suddenly, she removed the enchantment they always kept on the basement door.

There had been no reason for her to go down there again since she learned the truth about Andromeda's murder. Once the memory was safely restored to her mind, she made sure that she left no remnants behind, no clue that she'd been down there at all. Antonin asked too many questions that he didn't need to know the answer to.

She knew where he'd been the moment her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A side room he built himself served as their private vault. All of their most dangerous artefacts and books were contained in that space. The echo of his fresh wards were easily detected by one who knew what to look for. Careful to undo his wards without setting off any kind of alarm or nasty defensive spell, she was able to open the door with little trouble. Either he trusted her to not use anything that they stored down there against him or it was all an elaborate plot to catch her doing something she shouldn't. No matter. She wasn't afraid of him.

Due to rarely needing to be down in that room, it was neglected and dusty. Some of the objects contained within were fickle. Scouring charms could damage them so they didn't worry too much about harmless dirt for most of their treasures. Based on the dust floating in the air, she could tell that he'd opened a small trunk in the corner. Checking to make sure there weren't any other spells used to protect the contents, she cautiously lifted the lid.

A fluid-like silvery cloth laid across the other items within caught her attention immediately. She knew that cloth. Very, _very_ well. For years she wondered whatever happened to the Cloak of Invisibility after Harry died. When had it come into her husband's possession? Surely he would've told her! She didn't dare touch it. Not yet. If Antonin suspected that she knew about it, he might move it somewhere she didn't know about and she might need it later.

At least now she finally understood how he was able to approach Augustus' house three times without her seeing him once. What else had he been doing with the cloak?


	163. June 11th

June 11th

Monday morning began just like every other morning. Hermione was finally settling into something resembling a routine. She shared a tense, quiet breakfast with Antonin just like old times. He didn't return again until very late the previous night when she was already in bed. Never one to share too much unless he'd been drinking, he gave her no details about his trip to the castle or what happened when he was finished. With a perfunctory kiss to her cheek, he left only minutes before Hermione headed to the Ministry.

She was thankful to have an excuse to get out of their home even for just a few hours. It was beginning to suffocate her, make her long for the days and months she freely roamed the country. The weekend had been surprisingly eventful and emotional. She missed the times she had nothing else to worry about but where to sleep and what to eat. Lingering so long in Hogsmeade after so long on the run moving from place to place was making her antsy. She was anxious to complete her mission. Unfortunately, there were still _weeks_ to go before the polyjuice potion would be ready. Even with the added bonus of being able to sneak Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of her basement, she couldn't push her plan ahead of schedule.

Rabastan was missing again from the office. In the past she might have been concerned or overly curious about what he was up to, but she honestly couldn't be arsed to care. Loitering in the Ministry pretending to have an actual interest in her former career was much easier when he wasn't around to watch every move she made. Somehow he was aware that she had an interest in the fate of Aberforth Dumbledore. She could've cursed herself for not being as secretive as she thought she had been. Clearly, she was out of practice in playing the game. That was _not_ a slip-up she would've made in the past.

Their department's _official_ concern was figuring out who was responsible for the explosion at the Leaky Cauldron. Captured Resistance members, even those assumed to be high-ranking within their rebel organization, were to be handled at a later date. Besides, there was little reason for her to be concerned that Rabastan's absence meant he might be doing Aberforth harm in one of the interrogation rooms in Level Eleven. She got the impression that he was going to wait for her before he did anything to that particular prisoner. Maybe he would force her back into her sadistic duties once again just for the pleasure of determining whether or not she had loyalties to Dumbledore.

She tried to push that thought out of her head before it upset her. _If_ she was forced to interrogate Dumbledore before she was able to help him escape, she would deal with that issue when it came up. There was no sense worrying about a possibility that might never happen. But, it would be just like her Co-Head to do something so diabolical. She knew he was concerned that she'd lost her edge. He wasn't wrong. What used to excite her about her job now only brought dread and fear. If she was forced to torture another person into giving up their secrets again, she didn't think she could do it. Before she ran, it was hard enough. There was a reason why she'd been drinking too many illegal potions during that time of her life. Some days, that was the only reason she was able to make it to the next. What she had been tasked to do was unpalatable. Somewhere in the past twenty years she'd begun rediscovering her conscience.

Rabastan was always looking for her weaknesses. From the very first day they were assigned to work together in the same department, he'd been trying to find reason to take control over the entire office. If he insisted that she return to more practical applications of her skills in the office, he would discover what he'd been looking for. Perhaps then he wouldn't want her anywhere near his group determined to prevent her husband from ascending to the Dark Lord's throne. The assumption that Rabastan was working with Theodore Nott made very little sense to Hermione. She'd never seen the two of them as potential allies. It made her wonder how many different factions actually existed out there. Would their world crumble when the Dark Lord finally died because there were so many splinter groups scrambling for power?

She couldn't focus on her work. Not that there was truly all that much to do. During the lunch hour, when the other workers in her department were gone for their midday meal, Hermione slipped out of the Ministry. There were no point remaining there pretending to work. Not when she had a potion she was more concerned about to check on.

Polyjuice potion was a fickle brew. She learned that the hard way when she was in second year. It still amazed her that she was able to brew it successfully at such a young age. Many tried and failed to disastrous results. She was fortunate that she didn't end up killing her best friends. Her unexpected visit on Saturday prevented her from checking it one day that weekend. To her relief when she was able to slip out of her house on Sunday for a few minutes, everything was as it should be. She wondered if Draco made a visit to the crumbing townhouse in her absence. Or if he might stop by again when she showed up that day.

Only three or four minutes into her arrival at Number Twelve, she got her answer. Only able to just glance at the potion to make certain that it was bubbling and the right consistency, she wasn't surprised to hear the front door open. Steps down the rickety stairs to the kitchen basement soon followed. Draco's smile proved that he was glad to see the witch.

"Do you have wards set up to inform you of visitors?"

"What do you think?"

She hated to admit that she liked the cheeky side of the wizard. If he'd shown more of that during their school years instead of his cruelty, they might have had a much more enjoyable time at Hogwarts. His arms slipped around her waist from behind; his hands rested on her hips.

"Don't want to run the risk of missing you when I have the time to pop in, do I?"

Satisfied that the potion was progressing as it should, she turned around in his arms to look to see if there was sincerity in his face. Before she could get a good look, his lips were pressed against hers in a heated kiss. She knew it was wrong to encourage him, especially when she was still unsure what his true motivations were, but she found him to be a pleasant distraction. Instead of pressing her against the kitchen table as he did on his birthday, Draco took her by the hand to lead her up the stairs.

"Which room did you used to sleep in when this was the Headquarters?"

Intrigued, she told him. Minutes later after climbing the decrepit main staircase, they were inside the small room she used to share with Ginny. Nothing about it changed in the years since she'd been there last. Beyond the fact that everything inside was crumbling to dust, it was the same. Draco led her over to the bed she once slept in, not even caring that it looked to be about to fall to pieces. A simple cleansing spell cleared it of the dust and cobwebs that had accumulated from over twenty years of neglect. It was far from the luxurious backdrop of his flat, but she'd certainly done equally naughty acts in much less desirable locations.

Their coupling was fast and rough, as different as possible from the tender passion she shared with her husband only days earlier. Frustrated that she allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of Antonin in that moment, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore everything but the feel of Draco on top of her. It was by a sheer miracle that the bed didn't collapse. When they'd each found their release, they remained on the narrow bed catching their breath.

"I wish you would come back to my flat with me."

Time apart from the wizard helped clear her mind of some of the confusion she had when she was still on the run. No longer afraid that her husband was out to capture and murder her, she was able to relax and actually _think_.

"You don't expect me to believe that you really care about me, do you, Draco?"

He rose up on his elbow to stare down at her with an incredulous expression. His acting skills were getting better over time. Before he could stammer out an acceptable response, they were both startled by the unmistakeable sound of the front door creaking open.

"Malfoy! Where are you?"

She might have only heard his voice for the first time back in the launderette in Edinburgh months earlier, but Hermione was certain that she would never forget the sound. Especially not considering the number of times William Wood threatened to kill her. How did he know where to find Draco? _Why_ was he there? She knew there was always a chance that Draco would betray her at some point. Fearing that she had been deceived, she jumped up from the bed. If she had to, she was going to fight. She reached for her wand first, then worried about her clothes.

"Stay here. I'll get rid of him."

Draco pulled on his trousers before stepping outside the room. With the door cracked open, Hermione was able to hear everything the two men said. She dressed quickly.

"What is it, Wood? I'm not alone."

The older wizard scoffed.

"I can tell. Couldn't find a better place than this dump?"

"She's married. There could be a scandal if we went anywhere else."

"I don't care about your sex life, Malfoy. Your presence is _requested_. Just come to the village as soon as you can find the rest of your clothes."

He didn't return to the bedroom until they both heard the front door shut behind Wood. Fully dressed and furious, Hermione demanded to know how the man who wanted to murder her more than apparently all others knew how to find him. Though reluctant to tell her at first, he finally sighed.

"I taught him some of my tricks a few years ago."

How William Wood was able to find her in London suddenly made a great deal of sense. She knew it couldn't have been a coincidence. No wonder he was so confident when she turned the corner on that dark street. He _knew_ where she was.

"You're the reason he almost caught me in London."

"No, that's impossible. The tracker has to have something in their possession that belonged to their subject for the spell I use to work. How would he even get something you own?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. _This_ was the wizard that almost bested her in many of their classes?

"Maybe from the tent full of possessions I left behind in the village he wants you to meet him in?"

There was no possible way he could argue against that. Once he was dressed, Draco kissed her with promises that he would make sure Wood stayed away from the house long enough to allow her an escape back to Hogsmeade. She waited several minutes after he left, each moment passing growing more and more furious.


	164. June 12th

**_Author's Note: Thanks again to all of you lovely reviewers! I wouldn't be able to make it through this insane, incredibly stupid challenge without you! ;)_**

* * *

June 12th

It took Hermione a long time to calm down after almost being caught in bed with Draco by William Wood. The entire incident was upsetting. Hours after she escaped from Number Twelve and returned to the safety of her own home, she thought about how terrible that entire afternoon could have gone. Despite the fact that she was actively trying to assist one of their leaders in escaping from his inevitable execution, Wood had no desire to follow orders where she was concerned. Given the opportunity to murder the woman who murdered his little brother, he would take it. No doubt he imagined that asking forgiveness later would be easier than obtaining permission before.

Hermione knew that she shouldn't have been surprised that Draco gave the horrible man lessons in tracking. Though she still didn't entirely understand the wizard's role with the Resistance, it was evident that he'd spent years working with them in some capacity. Maybe he thought by teaching one of them how he was able to track so efficiently they would begin to trust him. Whatever the reasons behind his decision didn't matter. All she cared about was the fact that the lunatic knew where to find her whenever he desired. Staying in the Ministry and in Hogsmeade would keep her safe, but if she started running again, he would find her. Perhaps before she gave up completely on the idea of murder and destruction to start a new life, she should look into tying up at least one loose end. She'd been responsible for ending the lives of countless others. What was one more?

Determined to keep up the normal schedule she created until Aberforth was free or she was killed, Hermione forced herself up the next morning at her usual time. Antonin was too preoccupied with something happening inside his own mind to give her much attention. Even the night before when they'd shared a meal and had a long conversation, he'd been distracted. He all but collapsed into bed, exhausted from whatever he'd been doing.

When she descended the stairs to fix a cup of tea before heading to the Ministry, it was much of the same. He nodded in response to her greeting and then went back to staring into his bowl of oatmeal. The man truly could be odd. As curious as she was at times to know what was happening inside her husband's mind, that morning she didn't care. She was glad he was too distracted to give her much attention.

"I have to leave the country for a few days."

Antonin made his announcement just as she sat down in the chair across the table from his. Something in his voice sounded off. She wasn't sure exactly what it was, only that he didn't sound like himself. The stress of the impending demise of their master and the uncertainty of what would happen afterwards was getting to him. Part of her felt the tiniest hint of sympathy. Immediately, she squashed that thinking. _He_ was the one who got himself into that mess. He could learn to deal with the consequences.

"Where are you going? Why?"

She knew the moment she asked her questions that she would get no answers. The man could be too mysterious for his own good at times. After standing to his feet, he moved around the table to where she sat to kiss her goodbye. There was more passion in the gesture than she expected, more weight to his action than usual. Was he worried that he was about to head off to his doom? Sometimes he could be terribly dramatic.

Moments later he left through the front door. Hermione continued sipping at her tea for several minutes, wondering just what the hell was going on. An idea came to her that made her set her cup down. If her husband was planning to be gone for a few days, he wouldn't miss what he didn't know she knew he had down in the basement. She didn't waste another moment descending the stairs into the darkness. Afraid at first that he might have taken the Cloak of Invisibility with him on his trip, she sighed in relief when she saw the silvery fabric still resting in the top of the trunk she'd seen it in days earlier. As a non-verbal promise to her husband to not run off again any time soon, she'd emptied out her beaded bag and left it in a drawer in the lounge. Once she was back upstairs, she tucked Harry's cloak inside and put the bag in her pocket back where it belonged.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione actually looked forward to entering the Ministry of Magic. Maybe her glee was just a little too obvious when she didn't even take a moment to glare at Rachel her idiot assistant. The girl would likely take that as a sign of trouble that she would need to report back to Rabastan. No matter. Hermione wasn't worried. In order to create the future she desired, she would get rid of the obnoxious witch if necessary. She'd done it plenty of times before in her life. Just like with William Wood, what would one more hurt? It wasn't as if she wasn't already damned for the crimes she'd committed in her past. One more wouldn't discolor her blackened soul.

She was nervous about her plan. It was foolish, but she knew that if she didn't take advantage of the surprising gift of the cloak, she would regret it. There were a number of small moving parts to the plan to get Aberforth released. Any one of them could go wrong. Giving her excuses to Rabastan sometime mid-morning that she was dropping in to another department for a few minutes, she headed for the lifts, the weight of the beaded bag in her pocket noticeable. Her Co-Head didn't care where she went. Just like her husband had been that morning, something had Rabastan's mind occupied as well. She likely could've slipped out of the office without him even being aware.

The Department of Mysteries' corridor didn't bother her that day like it usually did. She was able to rush through the area to the staircase that led to the courtrooms on Level Ten. Again, the level was almost completely abandoned. Only Umbridge seated behind her desk in the file room greeted Hermione.

"Stand outside the broom cupboard door. If _anyone_ tries to open the door to follow me, restrain them."

An Imperiused Dolores Umbridge made for surprisingly pleasant company. She smiled at Hermione and assured her that no one would open the door. Satisfied that her Unforgivable curse was still active, she slipped into the broom cupboard with the secret staircase. Not wasting another moment, Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak over her head. It was difficult to use the once-familiar magical artefact without her mind rushing back to simpler days when she shared it with Harry and Ron. Would Harry approve of her using his father's cloak in such a way? Deciding that the opinion of a dead wizard didn't matter, she pressed on.

The door to the secret staircase was little more than a scuffed panel in the wall at the end of the row of cells. Even ignoring the dim light of the prison, one wouldn't know it existed just by glancing at it. She didn't believe that she was in any danger of another Ministry official coming down to Level Eleven while she was in there, but to be safe, she very carefully and very slowly pushed open the hidden door. When no one appeared in her line of vision and no one made a noise, she felt confident to slip out and close the panel behind her.

It was bizarre to be inside the familiar room with the all of the cells filled with prisoners and no one aware that she was there. In the past, whenever she entered the Level, _everyone_ knew. She would be assaulted with visual glares and shouted death threats. Once upon a time it amused her to see how angry and violent the helpless prisoners could get at her appearance. Seeing them all calm and in various stages of consciousness was strange.

She was glad that Aberforth's cell was in a dark corner. It would be easier to hide their conversation that way. When she tiptoed up to his cell and found the man peacefully dozing, she felt a wave of guilt rush over her again. It had never been her intention to get him captured. Would he believe that when she told him? No matter. Whether he appreciated the gesture or not, she _would_ help him get out of his confinement. Even if it meant she ended up in the cell he vacated.

Once she was able to coat the immediate area in silencing and Notice-Me-Not spells, Hermione tapped her wand on the bars of his cell. Almost immediately his blue eyes flew open to stare at the nothing in front of him. Aberforth blinked his eyes several times, clearly trying to decide if he was imagining the sound or not. Just as he was about to convince himself he'd heard nothing and close his eyes again, Hermione pulled the cloak off. His eyes widened for a brief moment. A sneer followed.

"Why am I not surprised you ended up with that cloak? What else did you steal from the wizard you claimed was your best friend?"

"We don't have time for you to list off all of the reasons you despise me, Dumbledore. Someone could be down here any minute."

She could tell that he was trying not to seem too curious about her arrival. So much like his older brother in many ways, he was almost successful in appearing bored and unmoved. Realizing that she wasn't going to leave him in peace immediately, Aberforth sighed and sat up on his cot. The buzzing of the spells she cast could be heard easily. Perhaps only his curiosity kept him from telling her to bugger off.

"It wasn't my intention to get you arrested that day."

"Of course it wasn't." He rolled his eyes, unconvinced. "But, then again, maybe you're right. It's not as if you've had much of a head for planning lately. My sources tell me that you've been _confused_ a great deal for _years_."

Her first instinct was to curse the man for his impudence. How _dare_ he bring up such a sensitive subject? She also desired to know what sources he could possibly have, but she stopped herself from asking. There just wasn't enough time. If she stayed away from their office for too long, Rabastan might get suspicious. The last thing she needed was to get caught down there. Her plan relied on the fact that very few people were even aware there was another entrance to Level Eleven.

"I've got a plan to get you out of here."

That was enough to get the man's attention. He sat up straighter, ready to listen.

"What are you planning?"

"Don't worry, Dumbledore. It'll work."

She didn't have the heart to tell him that her plan was insane and it could very likely fail at every turn, but it was all she had. Better that she only give him the barest amount of hope. Just in case it blew up in her face as it probably would.

"I need some of your hair."

He narrowed his eyes, but plucked out several strands from the top of his head. The cell was small enough that he was able to hand them to her through the bars without even standing up. Hermione tucked them away in a safe pocket.

"And some of your blood."

Asking a wizard for blood was no small matter. Blood magic was dangerous and powerful. She could be doing any number of diabolical actions with it. But, he held out his hand, allowing her to cut his finger. When several drops of the fluid were safely sealed in a vial, she assured him one more time that she would get him out of there.

Their meeting was over moments later. With the cloak covering her body once more, Hermione cleared the area of spells and even the spell residue. She slipped back into the secret staircase. Umbridge stood sentry up until the moment she emerged from the broom cupboard with the cloak back in her bag and told her to stop. It all seemed too easy, but it was proof that maybe she would be able to carry through with her ridiculous plan.


	165. June 13th

June 13th

With no clue to her husband's whereabouts, Hermione spent a great deal of time thinking and wondering where Antonin ran off to. Returning to an empty home was once a feeling that she loved, but it now felt odd. Somehow in the past month she'd gotten used to living with the man again. To not have him in bed next to her, as he had been for the better part of thirteen years, was more unnerving than she wanted to think about.

There had been no further information provided her regarding the Dark Lord's condition. She got the impression that only something truly serious would make Antonin leave the country even for just a few days. If their master's condition was as dire as he claimed it was, at any moment they could discover he was truly dead. Why would Antonin risk missing being home for that possibility?

She decided that there was no sense in trying to uncover any of the man's secrets. It wasn't her problem. There was only one reason why she was back in Hogsmeade. As long as Aberforth was still languishing in his cell on Level Eleven, she would pretend to be the dutiful wife of the feared Death Eater. If it was required of her to maintain her cover, she was even willing to pretend to be a loyal Death Eater again herself. The _moment_ Dumbledore was out of the Ministry and safely on his way back to the Resistance, she was leaving. Nothing that Antonin had to say would entice her to remain. She was done with the life she'd led for twenty years. It was time that she try to move on.

Of course, it was easier said than done to not dwell too much on her husband. Sitting at home alone with nothing else to occupy her time tended to force her mind to thoughts about the man. His behavior since she returned had been very secretive. Where exactly were his loyalties? There was a time in her life when she knew without question that he was one hundred percent committed and loyal to Lord Voldemort. _Something_ changed and she wondered what it was.

She recalled the night they spoke about the Dark Lord dying. He'd been more upset than she could remember when he spoke of how their master resorted to truly Dark magic to keep himself alive. Though one to utilize Dark magic to suit his own purposes, what the Dark Lord asked him to do was much worse. _What_ had he done? What was so terrible that he'd been on the verge of bursting out into tears over their kitchen table just thinking about it again? She couldn't remember ever seeing her husband so undone.

Spending another evening alone inside her Hogsmeade home would likely drive her even further round the bend. Once she returned from her daily trip to Number Twelve to check on the progress of the potion that was the only hope she had for helping Dumbledore, she knew she couldn't bear to just sit in there waiting for it to be late enough to go to bed. When she was alone she was more tempted to seek out the illicit potions she knew she shouldn't take. Much more harmful than the ones Antonin insisted she take to clear her mind, she knew that once she swallowed another, she wouldn't be able to stop. Not until she was dead.

Draco hadn't bothered to stop by the house he inherited when she was in. Her curiosity about the meeting he was required to attend in the Resistance village was strong. The next time they were alone again, she wouldn't let him touch her until he answered some of her questions. That was assuming, of course, that she ever wanted him near her again after learning about his alliance with William Wood. How much more did the horrible man know?

Deciding that she couldn't sit alone in her house another moment, Hermione stepped outside into the cool evening air. Thanks to its proximity to the Dark Lord, there was always activity in Hogsmeade. It wasn't always the most enjoyable sorts of activity, but at least she knew that she would be able to find something to preoccupy her mind without resorting to breaking the promise she made to Kingsley Shacklebolt and then again to her husband. Besides, a walk through the village was healthy. She'd been far too stagnant and inactive since her return.

"Hello there, Princess."

Only steps away from The Three Broomsticks, she found her opportunity to kill a few hours. She didn't even see Thorfinn Rowle until after he spoke. Her mind was far away.

"Hello."

Neither of them had seen the other since the day she stumbled into the same Muggle cafe he was eating in. She couldn't help but think that fate was a funny thing. As much as she always scoffed and turned her nose up at the very idea of Divination and intuition, she wondered sometimes if there wasn't something to it all. Just because she was more comfortable with kinds of magic that could be studied and learned out of a book didn't mean there didn't exist variations that required instinct. Maybe she was _meant_ to run into Thorfinn that day and the fates intervened. Snorting softly, she rolled her eyes. Maybe there was some truth to her being crazy.

"I'm starving and Hannah took our girls to her dad's again. Want to come inside and keep me company? I'll buy you a pint."

She always had a hard time saying no to the massive giant of a man. Even when they didn't like each other much just after the war ended, she found herself being easily persuaded to do something or go somewhere by him. That same persuasiveness also lifted her skirts a few memorable evenings. Until Hufflepuff Hannah captured his heart. It was a running joke amongst the Death Eaters that since the two of them met, Thorfinn wasn't even aware that other women existed in the world. Some thought she was a weakness, others were envious of what they found.

Very little about The Three Broomsticks changed in the years since she was a student. Madam Rosmerta was a bit older and the clientele a bit more dangerous thanks to the Death Eaters running the village, but Hermione could almost close her eyes and imagine that the man she was seated across from was Harry or Ron and this was another Hogsmeade Saturday before their world turned to shite. Despite being an extremely talkative man, often to his detriment, Thorfinn had little to say as he filled his belly. Food was more important than speaking. It made his dining companion laugh. Sometimes he was little more than a child. She envied his ability to push aside the horrible deeds he'd witnessed to always find humor and something good in his world instead. Sometimes she was entirely too pessimistic.

She hated to admit that she missed anyone, but she really missed the time she used to spend with Thorfinn. And Hannah too, really. The four of them used to spend many evenings together. Their children were growing up together. Antonin always teased Oliver that choosing which of the Rowle girls to fall in love with would be the most important decision he ever made. Nothing would make him happier than to have his son marry into that family. Hermione just tried not to think about that day. Surely they had _years_ before they needed to consider who would be their daughter-in-law? But, she knew that Hannah was just as keen as Antonin. She loved Oliver almost as much as she loved her daughters. With their families so intertwined, it wasn't unreasonable for Hermione to admit that she missed them. Years as a Death Eater hiding her true feelings, however, kept her from saying so.

"Do you actually chew your food or just swallow it whole?"

Thorfinn looked up from his plate to wink and give her a cheeky grin. It wasn't the first time she asked him the same question. Where he managed to put the food he ate was beyond her. Even considering his height and his impressive muscular physique, she would assume that someone who ate as much as he did would weigh at least nine hundred pounds. She envied his metabolism.

"I haven't seen you around the village, Princess. You been hiding from me?"

Truthfully, she'd seen hardly anyone since she returned. Unless they worked at the Ministry, her path didn't cross the paths of her former comrades. Antonin's intention to keep her away from the bulk of the Death Eaters made it even more difficult. Not that she cared. Life was easier when she didn't have to keep up the appearance of being who she used to be for very long.

"No, not hiding. I've been at home every night for over a month now. You could've just walked over if you wanted."

"I know Antonin is relieved to have you back. He seems much calmer now."

"If you say so."

She didn't really want to get into a conversation about her husband. Especially not if it was going to turn into a discussion about how worried he was about her or how much he truly loved and cared for her. No one knew more about her relationship with Antonin than she did. What went on in their home behind closed doors was no one else's business. He'd proven time and time again what a talented actor he was. She wasn't going to allow Thorfinn to convince her that Antonin felt something he didn't. Thorfinn, despite being a surprisingly intelligent man, either didn't get the hint or wasn't interested in changing the subject.

"Your absence was hard on him. When he woke up in the hospital…"

"I know. He went mad with worry about me. Tried to get out of bed to go find me. Had to be sedated."

Thorfinn set his fork down on his empty plate. Lifting one eyebrow, he stared at Hermione for several beats. His scrutiny was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable when he finally spoke.

"And you don't believe that's true?"

Hermione sighed. When she went for a walk through the village, this wasn't how she expected her evening to go. Maybe she should've stayed home after all. Leaving her house didn't keep her thoughts from becoming consumed by her confusing husband anyway.

"There's a lot you don't know about my marriage, Thorfinn. About our past. Let's just leave it at that."

At first, he seemed as if he wanted to argue. Opening his mouth, he closed it almost immediately. They each took a sip of their butterbeer in silence. When his glass was empty, Thorfinn set it down and reached across the table to place his hand on top of hers. He was suddenly quite serious, very unlike his usual silliness.

"I don't know who or what you've seen in the past year, Princess, but it's _very_ important that you remain loyal to your husband."

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"I haven't been loyal to Antonin at any point in our marriage, Thorfinn. That's not exactly a secret."

"What you do in bed is none of my business. I mean loyal to him publicly. Everyone needs to know that you support him."

"Why? Who cares what I think?"

"You have more influence than you realize."

Even though she wasn't convinced, she didn't want to argue with the man. She made a promise that she would consider what he said before excusing herself to go home. Being alone in an empty house no longer sounded like a terrible way to spend the rest of the evening.


	166. June 14th

June 14th

After yet another uneventful day at the Ministry of Magic pretending she was actually completing the work she apparently was still getting a paycheck for, Hermione was glad to exit the Atrium out into the streets of London. Waiting for the polyjuice potion to finish brewing might possibly be the one thing that finally pushed her over the edge of the cliff into complete insanity. How did she not remember how frustrating it was to check on the brew every single day and wait? Every single day that passed with the potion still bubbling away in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was agony.

As soon as she was certain that there were no Muggles nearby to witness her disappear into thin air, she spun in place with the destination of the former Headquarters in mind. Even if it was just for a few minutes, she had to make a visit every day to check its progress. Some days she did nothing but ensure with her own eyes that it was still there. With enough gaps in her memory, she couldn't afford to rely on the shaky recollections of stirring it. She had to _see_ it to believe it was happening. So much of her plan relied on the polyjuice potion. Enough that she'd woken up many times in the middle of the night to worry that it would all fail.

Yet again, there was no one waiting for her inside the house. She took her time descending the stairs. Once she was satisfied that it was progressing as it should and that she hadn't imagined the cauldron with its bubbling contents into existence, she lingered in the hope that Draco might pop in. They hadn't seen each other since the day William Wood interrupted their post-coital rest. The damned man might have even been responsible for her missing out on another round.

She didn't love Draco. No, even the very thought of that foolish idea made her laugh. Most of the time she could barely stand the sight of the wizard. Their relationship might have progressed to a more intimate level than she ever would have expected in the months since New Year's, but that did _not_ mean her feelings for him were somehow reverting back to those of an adolescent schoolgirl who had yet to learn how the world operated. What they did was foolish and dangerous and _exciting_. Maybe it was the prospect of her husband catching them that made her so eager to keep hoping he'd show up when she stopped by. Or maybe she liked the idea of the Resistance uncovering what they'd been up to. Danger was exciting. It was half the reason she enjoyed her friendship with Fenrir over the years.

When it was evident that there was going to be no illicit liaison on top of the kitchen table or in one of the dusty bedrooms upstairs, Hermione resigned herself to another night alone in her house. Antonin hadn't even bothered to send her an owl to let her know when he would be back. She didn't want to even contemplate the sickening idea that she was maybe missing her husband a little. _That_ was preposterous. She merely had gotten _used_ to him being there. Apparating to the center of Hogsmeade, she walked slowly home in no rush to get there and tried to decide if she wanted to pick something up for another meal alone. Finally deciding that she didn't want to run the risk of running into someone she didn't care to speak with while out in public, she made straight for her front door.

Something about her house felt _off_ when she entered. Perhaps as a result of needing to be on guard the entire time she was a fugitive, Hermione could tell when there was the slightest difference in her house. She stopped to listen to anything out of the ordinary. Footsteps upstairs caught her attention immediately. Whomever was inside her home didn't care in the least being quiet about it. She held her wand out, ready to attack, if necessary. Her heart beat rapidly against her chest. Each climb of another stair brought her closer to the danger. Who was up there? Was William Wood finally taking a reckless chance to get rid of her? Once she was inside her bedroom, she gently pushed the door to the bathroom open a crack to peer inside. Her shoulders sagged and she threw open the door in her anger.

" _Fuck_ , Hermione!"

Antonin dropped the towel he was pulling out of a cupboard to point his wand in the direction of his annoyed wife. Realizing that she was walking in on her husband about to take a shower, Hermione wished she could've gotten out at least one painful curse before he was ready to block it with a shield.

"I thought you were an intruder. You could've warned me you were coming home today."

He turned the taps on the shower to let the water warm up. When he was finished, he crossed the bathroom to kiss his wife in a proper greeting. She still wanted to curse him for frightening her.

"Of course I came home today. Did you think I'd forget what day it was?"

Antonin kissed her again, lingering a little longer against her lips than the first kiss.

"I was going to take a quick shower and then take you to a nice dinner in Diagon Alley, but if you'd rather join me, we could just stay home to celebrate."

His fervent trail of hot kisses down her neck made his offer very tempting. Certainly there had been plenty of pleasurable evenings in their past that started with a shower together. But, she placed her hand on his chest to gently push him away. He was visibly disappointed at first. After another peck to her lips, he promised her that he wouldn't be long if she wanted to change.

"I'm partial to your deep purple dress if you're unsure what to wear."

With a cheeky wink that actually made her smile, Antonin undressed and entered the steaming shower. Hermione went straight to the exact dress he was talking about. It was her favorite too, and as it had been hanging up in her wardrobe while she was on the run, there had been no opportunity to wear it for over a year. She was pleased to discover that it still fit. Her body had gone through some changes when she was practically starved. The time back in civilization helped her regain some of the slight curves she'd been proud of.

"Where are we going exactly?"

Antonin wouldn't give her any hints beyond the fact that they were going to a restaurant in Diagon Alley. When they were both ready to leave, he took her by the hand and Side-Along Apparated them to their destination. She wasn't sure what the occasion was and was reluctant to ask. It wasn't his birthday and it certainly wasn't hers.

They entered a small, intimate restaurant she'd never seen before. Clearly changes had been made in her absence to the wizarding shopping district. With his hand on the small of her back, Antonin led her to a private table in the back far from the other patrons. The small table was covered in candles creating the perfect corner for more than just conversation. A bottle of champagne was already uncorked and waiting.

"Good evening, Madam Dolohov, Mister Dolohov. Thank you for coming in tonight. Our chef has prepared a special meal for you that we are certain you will enjoy."

Hermione felt a small pang of pity for the nervous maître d'. They weren't exactly the most inconspicuous of couples. No doubt the poor man and the rest of the staff would be on pins and needles the entire time they were present in fear that they would do something to displease them. Once upon a time, Hermione found it amusing to witness how intimidating they could be to others. In that moment, however, she longed to assure him that there was nothing wrong. Before he rushed off to the kitchen to check on their first course, he poured them each a glass. Antonin held up his to toast his wife.

"Maybe those who are superstitious would call this an unlucky year, but I don't believe in that sort of nonsense. Neither do you. I think this will be the best year yet. Happy Anniversary, my darling."

They clinked their glasses and drank. Hermione felt silly that she didn't remember her own wedding anniversary. Thirteen years earlier she'd been practically dragged to the altar under duress. It was hardly the most beautiful day of her life. Still both heartbroken and slightly relieved that she wasn't able to marry Augustus, she'd not been thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Dolohov. She was still angry that she was being forced to marry anyone at all, let alone Antonin. Theirs was hardly the most joyful of weddings. Usually, she just tried to push memories of it out of her mind. There was little wonder that she'd neglected to remember the significance of the day or why her husband would rush back from his secret meeting abroad to plan a romantic dinner.

As far as anniversary celebrations went, theirs was fairly pleasant. Whether it was the liberal amounts of champagne flowing or something else entirely, they were able to keep up an enjoyable conversation. Each course was even more delicious than the last. Hermione raved over each dish to try to put the poor, nervous staff at ease. More alcohol was consumed as the evening progressed. Though there had been times since she returned to Hogsmeade that they'd been able to relax around the other, they had been few in number. By the time the second bottle of champagne was all but gone, her husband was in the best mood she'd seen him in in a very long time.

"Do you know what I wish we could do, Hermione?"

She smiled and shook her head. It had been a strange evening. Her face was almost sore from smiling more than she was used to. Evidently, she'd allowed certain muscles in her face to grow weak with disuse. Antonin leaned in closer and lowered his voice so no one else in the entire world but his wife could hear him speak.

"I wish we could take Ollie and run far away. Do you remember that island I took you to? Where we spent all day relaxing in the sun on the beach and all night making love?"

Her cheeks burned at the reminder. _Of course_ she remembered their island vacation to the hidden magical island in the Bermuda Triangle. She would never forget what an enjoyable time they'd had. _So_ enjoyable in fact that she had to make a trip to see the hag in Knockturn Alley soon after they returned.

"I wish we could run there. Never come back."

It was most unlike her husband to say such things. Especially out loud and in public. He might have been whispering, but there were ears everywhere. Hermione had no idea he felt that way. She'd assumed, like so many others, that he wanted nothing more than to be the next Dark Lord. Had she misunderstood his desires? Sliding his hand through her curls, Antonin pressed his lips against hers, not once caring that there might be an audience.

"I think we should go home, Antonin."

Their meal was over soon after his confession. Once the bill was settled, they rushed back to the privacy of their home. Maybe the champagne was to blame. They were hardly across the threshold before they were determined to recreate the nights they spent in Bermuda right in the middle of their Hogsmeade home.


	167. June 15th

June 15th

At the sound of her alarm blaring, Hermione rolled over on her side to shut it off. A pleasant ache in her body reminded her of the delightful end to her anniversary celebration the night before. Antonin had been insatiable. She teased her husband more than once during their exertions that he must have imbibed some kind of performance enhancing potion. He'd only laughed and plucked another delightful chord from her primed body. Perhaps the chef added a few special ingredients to his dishes to assist the couple in enjoying a night they'd remember. Certainly Hermione couldn't imagine forgetting any part of it any time soon.

She reached for the edge of the covers. There was no sense wasting time avoiding getting out of bed. Before she could set her feet on the floor, she felt Antonin's body slide behind hers. He pressed his lips to her bare shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. Pressing up against her thigh was further proof that he didn't want to let her go.

"Stay home today."

Even after a pleasurably exhausting night, she was very tempted to give in to his request. Nothing at the Ministry seemed nearly as important as what was happening right inside their bed. The Dolohovs might not have always liked each other much, but there was never any denying that they had excellent chemistry. Antonin's hand slid down her bare body leaving goosebumps on her flesh wherever it touched. His lips and tongue traced patterns on her shoulders and neck. She had to bite back a sigh that she knew would only encourage him.

"Stay here and let me taste every inch of you."

"You don't think you did that last night?"

"I want to do it again."

He lifted her thigh and slowly pressed inside her body for the countless time. The sigh she was trying to stifle came out at the intrusion. Yes, the Ministry could wait just a little bit longer. It wasn't as if she was really doing any serious work there anyway. Antonin's pace remained languid and unhurried. In his mind, surely he was hoping that he could entice her to stay in bed all day. He was almost successful. Up until the very moment that his deft and practiced fingers pulled another trembling orgasm from his wife and he followed behind only seconds later, she was of the opinion that there were worse ways to spend her time.

"You are a very evil man."

Antonin laughed as she climbed out of bed, her legs still a bit unsteady. She glared at him over her shoulder with no heat. His eyes raked over her bare body, proving his appreciation for her form even after so many years was still evident. It made her cheeks flush. Pushing aside the desire to crawl back in next to him and forget her responsibilities and their less-than-convivial past, she forced her way to the shower.

All morning long her mind kept returning to the events of the previous evening. She decided that she would need to get Antonin drunk on champagne more often. He was much more pleasant and enjoyable after a few drinks. She was glad that Rabastan wasn't present in the office to ruin her mood. Wherever he was didn't matter. Remembering Antonin's words the night before about wishing to run away with his family to an island thousands of kilometers away struck her as being very interesting. Did he no longer have ambitions to ascend to the throne to be the next Dark Lord?

She'd never once, for even a single second, desired to replace their master. Even if he no longer had his horcruxes, Hermione was half-convinced he would never die. Imagining being his successor was moot at that point. Lord Voldemort would outlive them all. When the trickles of doubt plagued her and she imagined him toppling, she never saw herself taking over. Antonin? Yes, absolutely. He was the logical choice. Years of being the Dark Lord's right hand prepared him for the position. For him to admit now, even candidly to his wife, that he wanted to run could be his downfall. What if someone like Rabastan or Nott heard him say something so bold? He was being reckless to admit something so personal.

Friday passed quickly to her great relief. She was exhausted. There had been little time to sleep the night before. Not that she was complaining. The Antonin she was with was much more pleasant to be around than some of his other personalities. Stifling yet another yawn, Hermione checked the time. It was late enough in the day that no one would blame her for going home. As she arranged the files she'd been reviewing in neat stacks, a knock at the door annoyed her. It would be just her luck to be stopped by some worthless visitor moments before she was free of the horrid place for two full days.

"Yes? What do you want?"

She barked out her question, not even bothering to look up. If it was her worthless assistant bothering her, she would finally grant Rabastan his wish to get rid of her. It was no longer fun torturing him with Rachel's unwanted presence if she started annoying Hermione too.

"I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to speak privately."

Hermione dropped the files she was shuffling at the sound of the voice she hadn't heard in months. Standing just inside the doorframe, Augustus looked as if it physically pained him to be there. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn't unreasonable to expect him to drop by her office eventually when he learned where she was. Deciding to try her best to put everything unpleasant behind them, she crossed the office to greet him properly with a hug. Stiff and tense at first, she feared his pride wouldn't let him give in. Finally, Augustus sighed and returned the affection.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, Augie?"

As she teased her former lover, Hermione's eye caught Rachel watching the two of them. No doubt she was taking notes of everything that was happening in hopes to get back into good graces with Rabastan. The girl was desperate for reasons that her boss didn't understand.

"Let's talk, but not here."

"Meet me at my house in five minutes?"

"I'll meet you on the _beach_ next to your house. That'll be safer."

He started to argue, but decided against it. Spending even a moment inside his house was a recipe for trouble. She didn't want to get caught in an awkward position. Augustus kissed her cheek, offered Hermione an innocent reason for stopping by her office for a minute loudly enough for Rachel to hear, and walked away towards the lifts. She took her time organizing her files to give him a few minutes' head start. When she thought enough time passed to make it seem unlikely that she was following him, she exited.

Augustus stood in the sand staring out at the ocean waves. Though Hermione knew this was likely to be an uncomfortable conversation, she directed her steps straight to him the moment her Apparition deposited her onto the beach. He tried to offer her a smile, but it fell flat. They began an awkward walk across the sand unspeaking at first. Of course, Augustus had always had a bad habit of saying too much.

"I was only in France a week before I was able to come back."

Hermione sighed. It was only ever going to be a matter of time until they had this conversation. Best to just get it over with.

"Do you know how disappointing it was to come home and find you gone?"

"It wasn't safe for me to stay there any longer, Augie. Antonin found me. He almost caught me."

His reaction was to scoff and roll his eyes. Despite all of his years, he could act like a petulant child when it suited him. For once, Hermione found it annoying instead of mildly charming. She wasn't in the mood to deal with him. If he didn't stop or get to his point quickly, she was going to leave.

"Were you the one who told Antonin where he could find me?"

Augustus shook his head. The question of how she was discovered there still hadn't been answered. Draco claimed Fenrir was the one who revealed her location, but she wasn't convinced. Fenrir never once betrayed her. Why would he start now? Of course, it was always possible, and even most likely, that Antonin simply showed up on his own. Why would Draco bother to lie at all? She stopped that line of thinking before it could go too far. Draco's suspicious motivations could be examined later.

"Were you lying to me when you promised that the reason you wouldn't come back with me was _not_ because you wanted to go back to Antonin?"

She sighed, suddenly exhausted in every part of her body. Did he really come all the way from France just to ask her if she was lying about her true feelings for her husband? _Yes_ , she decided. That was _exactly_ the sort of dramatic gesture he would make.

"Augie, you're being ridiculous."

A copy of that morning's Daily Prophet was shoved into her hands. It was already opened to a section way in the back that Hermione rarely looked at. She could understand his anger, his insecurity, maybe even excuse it. Splashed across the society page was an article about her wedding anniversary celebration the night before. A photo where the couple appeared to be quite happy accompanied. Captured right at the moment Antonin was whispering to his wife and then kissing her without thought or care who was watching, it was definitely incriminating. She looked up to see the hurt present in Augustus' eyes.

"Augie…"

She wasn't sure she could tell him the truth of why she was really back with Antonin. He _might_ support her efforts to get Dumbledore released, but he was also likely to try to keep her safe by exposing her plan. It was just too risky. He'd already proven he was willing to tell on her when he was worried. She couldn't afford to fail. Pushing the paper back in his hands, she made a decision.

"Go back home to France, Augie."

It was time she went back home herself. She took a step away, but his next statement stopped her from moving any further.

"I've been recalled. Dark Lord's orders. I'm not going back to France again. Not for awhile anyway."

Hermione didn't want him in the country. It was easier to forget about him when he was gone. Why did he have to come back into her life to muck everything up when she _finally_ had a plan? Could he not see that he wasn't wanted?

Except… he was. She could easily see falling back into his embrace. It was why she needed him to leave her alone. Almost as if he could read her mind, Augustus pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The feel of his lips against hers was exactly what she needed to remind herself they could never be together again. No matter how much she wanted it. She pushed him away. With pure grit and determination, she was able to cloak her magic to allow her to Apparate to Number Twelve.

Her mind was still reeling from the unexpected turn to her ordinary day as she checked that her potion was still bubbling away as it should. Relieved that Draco didn't stop by to upset her further, she calmed herself again enough to cloak her magic to return to Hogsmeade.

Antonin was already home. Seated at the kitchen table with an open bottle of fire whiskey and a full glass, she could tell he was in a foul mood. Experience taught her it was always best to avoid him when he was like that.


	168. June 16th

June 16th

Antonin's unexplained poor mood persisted the rest of Friday night and well into Saturday leaving his wife confused and more than a little annoyed. Ordinarily, he would give Hermione at least some indication of what was wrong. Was this to be yet another _delightful_ facet of her husband's personality she missed developing over the year she was gone? It seemed that every time she turned around there was something new to discover about the man she thought she knew. Had she really been so out of touch with reality thanks to the illegal potions she used to drink with shocking regularity?

The real indicator that he was upset by something she did, or _didn't_ do, was the fact that he kept to his own side of the bed. Most nights she couldn't even move without accidentally brushing against him. He liked to stay as close to her as possible. In the past when she'd made him mad, he would either spend the night in Andromeda's flat or he would refuse to touch his wife. With Andromeda dead and no replacement she was aware of yet, his only option was to stick to the edge and hope he didn't tumble off into the floor.

Hermione didn't have the first clue what he was upset about, but she didn't let it bother her. He'd always been unpredictable. Maybe he was upset that she chose to go to work when he asked her to stay home in bed with him instead. Or he was angry about something she did seven years earlier that he suddenly remembered again. It could be anything. She didn't have the energy to try to read his mind.

It was easier to avoid him when he was acting so strangely. Less chance to get caught up in his temper. After a late breakfast where he refused to even look in her direction, Hermione had had enough. Standing to her feet in a movement that might be considered a tad dramatic, she announced her intention to run a few errands in London. Any excuse to get her away from the infuriating man. Besides, it would give her a chance to check on her potion. She couldn't afford to have another weekend like the one before where she forgot to check on it. Each day that ticked on brought her closer to her goal. It was too reckless to endanger the potion when she was so close to finishing it.

"Don't forget we have Nott's wedding reception this evening."

Even though it was childish, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the reminder from her husband. As if it were possible to forget that she was required to attend such a dismal event. It would be her first formal social engagement since she returned. Antonin might have been able to keep her away from the Death Eater meetings, but to not attend the reception of a member of the Inner Circle would be an insult of the highest order. Though they might have desired to be anywhere else in the world, the Dolohovs would be there with insincere smiles on their faces to congratulate the unhappy couple.

Just as it always seemed to happen when one was dreading an upcoming unpleasant task, Saturday passed by too quickly for Hermione's liking. Long before she was ready to face the ugliness that was a high society event in their regime, she was standing in the kitchen with her husband dressed in their finest dress robes while they waited for the invitation portkey to activate. Theodore Nott was gleefully throwing out his galleons and his political influence to show off. Very few people were allowed to have authorized portkeys. If he was willing to spend so much on just the invitations, she could hardly imagine what the rest of the wretched reception would be like.

"You'll actually have to stand close enough for me to hold on to the portkey if you want me to go with you."

Hours away from Antonin had only slightly improved his mood. She was half-tempted to slap the man and tell him to get over whatever it was that was bothering him. Didn't they each have enough to worry about without him doing his best impression of a spoiled teenage girl who didn't get her way? He stepped closer, allowing her to take hold of the edge only moments before they were whisked away to the site of the reception.

Hermione spent the first few seconds of their arrival simply trying to calm her nerves. After being away for so long, she wasn't sure that she was going to be at the top of her game that night. There was a great deal of intrigue that accompanied those horrid social occasions. She would have to be very careful what she said and to whom she said it to. Over the years she managed to learn all of the intricate rules and nuances thanks to her teacher. Antonin taught her from the very beginning how to read the people they were doomed to spend the rest of their existences around. His lessons had been invaluable. Yet again, she knew she would need to call upon something he taught her to survive the night.

Everyone who was anyone was present. Guests were arriving in regular intervals to fill up the manicured grounds of the Nott Estate. From an old family that could proudly claim to be a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Theodore Nott had more money than sense, according to her husband. With almost as much money as the Malfoys, they were able to buy influence easily over the generations. Like the Dolohovs, all of the guests wore their finest clothes and many of the women were dripping with jewels. It was how many of the richest families showed off their wealth. Hermione was thankful that Antonin never saw the need to drape her in diamonds. She was far more than a simple trophy to him. Remembering their wedding night when he made it clear that he wanted her as a partner, she looked up at him and smiled. Taken aback, he softened his expression just the slightest and took her hand in his to face the crowds. She was grateful that he wasn't going to shut her out all night. It was so much easier to navigate the dangerous social waters with him by her side.

The guests were expected to wait their turn to congratulate Theodore and the newest Mrs. Nott in a receiving line at the entrance to the estate. Instead of subjecting the masses to the farce of a wedding service, the groom only requested they be there to _celebrate_ the event that no one else wanted. Hermione felt sorrow for the poor girl weighted down by the massive diamonds from the Nott family vault. She couldn't be more than eighteen years old newly married to a wizard in his late nineties. Even as she tried to keep a bright smile on her face, it was evident that she was terrified. What sort of cruelties was she going to be subjected to? The older witch didn't even want to fathom. Yes, her own marriage had been coerced, but at least she had had the opportunity to do some living before it was. And, it wasn't as if she was shackled to a grotesque. Considering wizarding genes, Antonin wasn't that much older than his bride and he was still quite handsome. There were worse fates. Mrs. Nott was a testament to that fact.

Theodore made quite the production of greeting the Dolohovs when they finally made it to the end of the queue. To her husband's credit, Antonin was able to remain as gracious and respectful as one should be in the same situation. Hermione expected to see the slightest bit of deference on Theodore's part due to the high status that her husband held thanks to his proximity to the Dark Lord, but to her surprise, Nott was almost _dismissive_ of the man that would likely be his next master after the inevitable downfall of their current. It was subtle, of course. Overtly insulting Antonin would be too dangerous. Theodore knew the fine line he couldn't cross. If there was any confusion as to where his loyalties lie, it was cleared up in the short interaction. Hermione met Antonin's eye as they walked away, glad to be free from the arduous expectation. What he didn't say out loud with a single look could fill volumes. When they were home alone, she knew he would be more vocal about his thoughts.

"I need a drink or I'll never make it through this horrible evening. Would you like one?"

"Please… a _big_ one."

The corner of her mouth curled up at his empathic request. Usually he tried to keep a sober head about him in public, but she wouldn't begrudge him one drink at least. The whole affair was akin to torture and as the resident expert on pain, she should know. She sought out the bar. Ignoring every single person who crossed her path, Hermione didn't stop until she was standing in front of the tables piled high with fire whiskey. Knocking one back in its entirety first, she grabbed one for each hand to return to Antonin's side. When she turned around, she almost fell into the chest of a wizard standing much too close.

"Hello, Hermione. It's been a long time."

She knew the moment would eventually come when she would have to speak to Ron again. They'd spent twenty years avoiding each other whenever possible, but they were never able to completely stay away. Lord Voldemort's plan to keep them as his prized puppets prevented that. Once upon a time they had been close friends. She'd even hoped that after the final battle their one kiss could've turned into many. It wasn't meant to be. She was thrown into her broom cupboard and he was dragged away to his own prison. Neither of them were the same people they used to be and they never would be again.

"Hi, Ron. If you'll excuse me, my husband is expecting me."

His gentle grab of her elbow stopped her from progressing any further. Ron lowered his voice to keep those around them from hearing what he had to say.

"And are you planning on _always_ being at your husband's side?"

Considering Rabastan was his mentor and they were still very close, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that Ronald was on his side. Likely they would find themselves allies again if she took her Co-Head up on his offer to join his faction. She decided to be honest.

"I haven't made up my mind about the future."

"Don't wait too long to decide. You don't want to risk being on the losing side again."

Even though it lasted only a couple of minutes, Hermione was unnerved by the entire exchange with her former friend. She rushed to Antonin with their drinks, relieved to be away from Ron. It didn't take much to remind her why it was that she no longer had any use for him. She desired nothing more than to leave the horrible reception. Unfortunately, she knew that they would have to stay longer to avoid creating a scandal. Keeping up appearances was important to keep their slim hold on their position.

Antonin seemed to thaw ever so slightly after the first sip of his fire whiskey. Slipping her arm through his, Hermione knew that playing the supportive wife was the best way to ensure they both made it out of there in one piece. Her husband appreciated the gesture, but still remained cold. She still didn't know what she'd done to upset him. Maybe she would never learn.

The Dolohovs moved through the crowd of guests playing the game perfectly.


	169. June 17th

June 17th

Midnight came and went and yet, Hermione was still socializing amongst the cretins she hadn't been sorry to be away from for a year. She didn't understand why it was necessary that the infernal event last into the early morning hours. Every single word that came out of the insipid guests mouths was worthless, tedious. How was it possible that she once _enjoyed_ being present at those farces? They used to give her the opportunity to show off, to assert her own superiority over the worst of the Pureblood supremacists. None of them were ever foolish enough to outwardly insult or challenge her. Not with her influence with the Dark Lord or her deadly husband always eager to defend her name. At Nott's hideous reception, however, she wasn't enjoying playing any of her old games.

Many of the guests, especially those she hadn't seen yet, were eager to speak with her for at least a few moments. Maybe they were all trying to figure out for themselves the true reason for her long absence. Hermione wasn't sure if she was relived or not to discover that only a few people in their society actually knew she ran away. Most were eager to swallow the carefully crafted lies in the Daily Prophet about her travels abroad. Antonin made certain that Albert Runcorn used his propaganda machine to keep all mention of his injuries and her defection from the newspapers. Albert spun many convincing tales about their actions the past year. It made returning that much easier for Hermione. Of course, there were always a few who were suspicious.

Ron didn't approach her again the entire night to her relief. Content to stay close to his wife, he spent the evening around an entirely different set of people than his former best friend. Romilda Weasley preferred the younger, more rambunctious set which suited her besotted husband just fine. Hermione and Antonin tended to surround themselves with the older, more experienced, more _serious_ Death Eaters and their families. Rarely did those paths cross expect at large events. Everyone involved was generally happier with that fact.

One of the biggest surprises of the night was the late arrival of the entire Malfoy family. Even Narcissa was out in a lavish robe looking every bit the same haughty, proud woman she had always been. Hermione had to admire that even in the face of known enemies she refused to be cowed. Inside she might have been quaking, but it certainly wasn't noticeable. Lucius made an effort to sober up long enough to speak to everyone with the least amount of power. That, unfortunately, extended even to Hermione. She listened to him prattle on about how pleased he was to see her again and how he hoped that her travels were both relaxing and productive. Every word he said was ignored as she tried not to make it obvious she was staring at his son.

Draco might have wanted to be present at the reception even less than she did. She thought it was a bit cruel that he was expected to attend the celebration of the marriage that was designed to essentially replace his best friend, especially with his suspicions that Theodore was responsible for the explosion. While she pretended to speak with Lucius, Antonin engaged Draco in a conversation. Though she'd had plenty of experience watching her husband converse politely with one of her lovers, somehow it was different and more disconcerting with Draco. Maybe because she knew about his connection to the Resistance. There was a time in the not-so-distant past that she would've gladly turned him in for treasonous acts.

She didn't know if it was possible or even wise to try to engage Draco in a conversation of her own. It would likely seem strange to outsiders. Their past was well-known by those who attended Hogwarts at the same time and it wasn't as if either one of them had ever made an effort before to be friendly in public. She decided that keeping her distance from the tracker was the only option that made any sense.

They hadn't had an opportunity to speak since their afternoon rendezvous was interrupted by William Wood. She had a number of questions to ask Draco. Considering he was surprisingly perceptive, she got the impression he was aware and had been avoiding her ever since. She wanted to know _exactly_ what he taught Wood and why. What was their relationship? Back in the Forest of Dean when they were staying together in the tent, she witnessed the two men shake hands. Were they friends? But then they were slightly hostile to each other in Resistance village. That could've been a show put on for her benefit. Had he been completely honest about his relationship with the man?

 _No_ , she decided. Draco was full of secrets and she was under no delusion that she would one day learn them all. She might not even learn a single one. Keeping secrets was what Death Eaters did. Secrets were currency, safeguards, traditions. To show all of one's cards was to be considered dispensable. There was no reason to be kept around if they had nothing to offer. Even the illusion of knowing more was enough for some people to skate by.

In the end, Hermione was grateful when Antonin all but dismissed the Malfoys from their presence and escorted her away to another group of guests that had to be spoken with. She felt every bit like they were on some demented political campaign trying to ensure the lowly voters' continued support of Antonin in the next election. A lifetime of similar evenings stretching ahead of her so thoroughly depressed Hermione that for the briefest of moments she worried she wouldn't be able to keep the practiced, insincere smile on her face. Only the reminder that Aberforth's successful escape from the Ministry holding cells was her escape too kept her from cursing herself in the chest. What a dismal life that would be!

"How much longer do we have to be here?"

Hermione whispered to her husband shortly after midnight. The festivities seemed to be in no hurry of winding down. Theodore Nott continued to offer elaborate toasts in an effort to be certain his guests had an opportunity to see firsthand how extensive his wine cellars were. It was disgusting. The opulent display of wealth made Hermione sick to her stomach. With their positions within the regime, it was always possible that the Dolohovs could've moved into a massive manor like Nott's. She was glad they were both content and happy to remain in their modest Hogsmeade home. Why should only three people live in a cold mansion?

"You know as well as I do that to leave before the bride and groom would be taken as the worst of insults. We can't afford that right now."

She understood the risks of angering those within the Inner Circle. The smallest perceived slight could begin a blood feud that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren would be doomed to continue. Legend had it that the bad blood between the Malfoys and the Weasleys began over a substandard bottle of wine and a poorly timed joke about someone's mother generations earlier. Purebloods could be so touchy where their honor was concerned. Hermione found them all to be positively exhausting.

Doomed to remain for an undetermined amount of time, she made herself familiar with the tables that held all of the alcohol. While Antonin continued to move around the crowd in an effort to make everyone feel like he was on their side, Hermione slipped away for more to drink. In her opinion, there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make that reception palatable. She picked up another glass of fire whiskey, losing count of how many she'd already consumed. In no hurry to rush back to Antonin, she lingered close to the table.

"Beautiful reception, isn't it?"

She snorted into her glass at Augustus' sarcastic remark. Always light on his feet when he wished to be, she hadn't even noticed him approach. Or she was already so intoxicated that a herd of erumpents could've come barreling through and she wouldn't have noticed. She was growing dangerously lax in her constant vigilance. That would have to be remedied before she went on the run again.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. The new Mrs. Nott looks positively overjoyed too, don't you think?"

The poor girl had been on the verge of tears all night long. What should've been the happiest day of her life was turning into anything but. How a person could sell their child into marriage in that day and age was revolting. It had taken a great deal of effort on Hermione's part to keep her lips from curling up in a disgusted sneer when she was introduced to the bride's parents. They should have been ashamed of themselves, not grinning ear to ear like fools. She wondered if she could figure out a convincing reason for them to be arrested. If she had the chance to bring suffering to their lives, she would figure out how to get over her distaste and fear of the less pleasant aspects of her job. She especially wouldn't mind slicing the smile right off of the mother's face while she screamed. What sort of mother could damn her own child to such misery? A woman would know _exactly_ what her innocent daughter was in for with a man like Nott as a husband.

"You've got that face you make when you want to drown someone in their own blood."

Augustus' amused chuckles brought her out of her increasingly sadistic fantasies. She granted him the smallest of smiles, but neither confirmed nor denied that he was correct in his assumptions. What happened in her mind really was no one else's business. Besides, it was liable to frighten most people, Augustus included.

"I want to apologize for my behavior at the beach."

"Augie…"

"No, don't interrupt me when I'm being serious. I was unfair to you. While I'm still very confused by _why_ you're back with Antonin, if I truly love you, I should trust you."

It meant a lot to her for him to be so honest. She wished desperately that she could explain away the misunderstanding, tell him that she was on a mission for the Resistance, and beg him for forgiveness. All that would do was put him in danger. She placed her hand gently on his forearm.

"Thank you, Augie. I promise that one day I'll explain everything."

He appeared to be on the verge of saying something more, but was stopped by the abrupt arrival of Antonin at her side. Ignoring Augustus' presence entirely, her husband took her hand in his. One glance at his countenance proved that whatever thawing took place over the last several hours was frozen over again. He was fuming and doing his utmost to not make it obvious.

"The bride and groom are preparing to take their leave. You might have noticed if you weren't otherwise _distracted_."

With an apologetic look towards Augustus, she allowed Antonin to drag her away to the gates of the estate where all of the guests were gathered. She found her anger only increased when she witnessed the visible tear streaks down Mrs. Nott's face. There would be no escaping her fate that night. Hermione wondered if it was possible to kill Theodore in front of everyone and make it look like a tragic accident.

Only moments after the newlyweds disappeared into the night air for their honeymoon destination, the Dolohovs returned home. Antonin released her hand the second they were back in front of their door. Another night was spent in bed as far from each other as physically possible.


	170. June 18th

June 18th

It was telling that returning to the Ministry on Monday morning was a relief to Hermione. Being stuck at home with Antonin was miserable. He was still silent about what it was that she'd done to upset him so. Based on his behavior at the end of the reception, she was smart enough to decipher that he'd been less than pleased with her spending even just a few minutes alone with Augustus. Some jealousies would never die, she supposed. It had all been innocent with hundreds of potential witnesses. None of that seemed to matter to her husband. Truthfully, she didn't much care that he wouldn't talk to her. Sometimes that was easier.

A tense Sunday melted into a welcome Monday. It felt strange to actually feel pleased about returning to her office on Level Two. At least for a few hours that day she could be assured that she wouldn't have to face down her petulant, angry husband. Eventually, they were going to have to resolve whatever it was that was making him so upset, but she felt sure she could last a few more days before she exploded and demanded he tell her. She couldn't place the blame entirely on Augustus. Antonin was mad long before they saw her ex at the wedding.

She sighed, deciding to push all thoughts of her cantankerous husband out of her head for the time being. By her calculations, she had almost exactly two weeks until the polyjuice potion would be ready for its final ingredient. Two weeks wasn't really all that long if she thought about it. There had been longer stretches in her marriage where they were unable to speak to each other without violent outbursts. She could make it through the next couple of weeks. Once she secured Aberforth his freedom, she wouldn't give another damn what sort of mood her husband was in ever again.

Rabastan chose to finally grace their department with his presence just before noon. What kept him from keeping proper hours at his job was none of Hermione's concern. In the past she might have harangued him for not telling her explicitly what he was doing during the time he was expected to be working within their office, but that seemed like a great deal of effort to expend on something she didn't care much about.

"You seemed awfully _cozy_ with Antonin the other night at Theodore's dreadful reception, pet. Does that mean you've finally made your decision?"

Her Co-Head stared at her from behind his desk with a bright grin on his handsome face. For once, he was actually quite amusing. Perhaps that wasn't his intended purpose, but it worked. After the wretched weekend she had, a little bit of levity was most welcome.

"You seemed awfully _cozy_ with your own wife, Rabastan. Are you two on good terms again?"

Taken aback by her question at first, he blinked a couple of times before bursting out in loud laughter. She found herself joining in with her own. As much as she hated him, his laughter was infectious. Always had been. When the laughter died down, he grew quite serious.

"Yes, I'm afraid the dear little wife and I are on good enough terms that she's demanded we have another baby. I explained to her that it was unseemly. We have enough children. We're not the Weasleys after all."

His scowl made Hermione laugh again. Replacing his grimace with a satisfied smirk, he raised a single eyebrow.

"Want to come lay on top of my desk and help me get the taste of her out of my mouth? It's been entirely too long since you've come apart on my tongue."

A lazy flick of her wrist sent a mild stinging hex to his arm. Not terribly painful, it was more annoying than anything. If she truly wanted him to feel some measure of pain, she was highly experienced in the proper techniques.

" _That_ is not going to happen again, Rabastan."

"I'll say it again, pet. You used to be more fun."

Hermione was growing weary of their daily interactions. In fact, everything about the Ministry of Magic and their magical society at large was tiresome. Contending with her irascible husband's ever-changing moods was difficult enough. She was ready for her mission to be over. One way or another, success or failure, she just wanted to be done. If she could have her one desire, she would be able to push her plan through faster. She hated that she was at the mercy of the polyjuice potion. None of her other ideas were nearly as good. Waiting was a necessity.

But, it didn't have to be a complete waste of her time. As long as she was stuck there for the immediate future, she could at least gather as much information as she could. There was likely to be another war soon. How many different sides would exist was still unknown. More than just being the Resistance versus the Death Eaters, it was going to be complicated. If she wasn't successful in slipping out of the country before the fighting began, it would be best if she knew as much as possible. Perhaps Rabastan would tell her what she wanted to know if she just asked the right questions.

"Who exactly is part of this group you are so determined I join?"

One side of his mouth curled up into a smirk. He was no fool. After working for the regime in some capacity as someone who could pull answers out of reluctant subjects, Rabastan knew how to keep his own mouth shut. He wouldn't come right out and give her everything she requested. No, he'd make her work for it. That wasn't a problem. Working for so many years in close quarters with the man taught her his tells. She knew just by looking at him what he was thinking at times.

"Let me just guess then. You can tell me if I'm correct."

He laughed, but didn't demand she stop. She chose to take it as an encouragement to keep going.

"Ron, obviously. He's been on your side since Day One. I can't imagine that's changed."

Though he didn't come right out and admit that she was correct, Hermione could tell by the twitch in his lips that she was.

"And I know that despite her friendship with me, Alecto would never willingly follow my husband."

Another tiny twitch.

"Marcus Flint hero worships you."

Another twitch. He might have believed that he was being too subtle, but she knew. She recited several more names that he reacted to in different ways. Some of them, like Thorfinn, she threw out there knowing full well they weren't a member of his faction just to see how he would react. To be truthful, _none_ of his comrades struck a bit of fear into her heart. They would all be easily defeated. She was surprised at him. What could he possibly be thinking surrounding himself with such worthless allies? It wasn't like him at all.

"Theodore Nott."

His was the only name that drew out a noticeable reaction. As soon as the words fell from her mouth, Rabastan was scowling again.

"Absolutely not!"

At first she worried that he was protesting _too_ much, but then she examined his features more closely. The vein that only seemed to pop out of his neck when he was truly angry was evident. His breathing changed ever so slightly. Maybe not enough for anyone other than someone trained and experienced in the art of interrogation to notice. His reaction was genuine to her surprise. She thought for certain that Nott teamed up with her partner. Realizing that there was _another_ faction out there to worry about only made her more anxious. How many enemies did she and her husband have again?

"Nott is worthless and I have no use for him at all. Even if he invited me to join a rebellion, I wouldn't bother."

All suspicions she had about them working together were gone. Rabastan was right when he said he wouldn't sully himself to stoop to Nott's level. Knowing that they weren't in league together gave Hermione a rather interesting idea. Thanks to Draco's tip weeks earlier, she knew just what to do.

"You know, I've been able to find a surprising number of connections between Theodore and several of the suspects we arrested for suspicion of blowing up the Leaky Cauldron."

Rabastan's smile made him look as if Christmas came early that year. He rose to his feet and eagerly crossed the office to sit on the edge of her desk. All of the files she'd been reviewing were still there stacked in neat, organized piles. She handed him a couple to get started. It didn't take long for him to peruse the notes she'd made in the margins of the parchment. His smile only grew brighter.

"It was common knowledge that Theodore Senior didn't care much for Theodore Junior. I'm not surprised at all by this theory. In fact, I'm rather annoyed that I didn't think of it myself."

"He didn't waste any time getting married to replace his heir."

Rabastan clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply.

"You don't know the half of it. He approached my wife and me _days_ after the explosion to see if we would be interested in forming an alliance with him. Apparently, he's always thought my eldest was rather pretty."

"But Julia is only…"

" _Sixteen_ years old."

The man had a number of faults and terrible traits, but he loved his family. Or, his children at least. His wife was another issue entirely.

"He was generous enough to suggest we wait until she was seventeen to formalize the marriage. Can you even imagine? As if I would allow my sweet, little girl to become nothing more than chattel to that monster! Gemma was even angrier than I was. She said some words that no proper Pureblood girl should know and threatened him with a few inventive curses if he ever dared to come within a hundred meters of our daughter."

There was more than just a hint of pride on his face when he spoke about his wife. Perhaps there was something there after all. Minuscule, no doubt, but still present.

"Well, Rabastan, I think in good conscience there is only one thing we can possibly do."

"Bring Theodore in for a bit of questioning downstairs?"

She was almost excited at the prospect of his interrogation. Did that mean she was falling back into her old patterns and habits? Or was this just simply a special case because of the vileness of the man involved? Hermione decided she would think about it later, _much_ later.

"Do we want to wait until his honeymoon is over or should we save the new Mrs. Nott from his touch?"

His face split into one of the first genuine smiles that she had ever seen.

"No need to rush. Mrs. Nott is in no danger. Nor is her virtue. During one of Theodore's endless toasts, I might have slipped a pesky little potion into his wine when he wasn't paying attention. Poor man won't be able to _perform_ for weeks. Not even with the potions you know a man of his age swallows in the bedroom. Their honeymoon will be over long before he can consummate the marriage."

Hermione could've kissed the man for his deviousness. What a delightful revenge against a horrible man!

"Let's also bring in his new in-laws. Maybe they know something."

If he understood the real reason why she wanted to arrest the poor girl's parents, he didn't say. Only smiled a little wider. Perhaps he was feeling every bit as disgusted by their decision to sell their daughter as Hermione.


	171. June 19th

June 19th

By Tuesday evening, Hermione had lost all patience with her husband. After a day spent planning how to bring in Theodore Nott and his new in-laws and another afternoon visit to Number Twelve where Draco refused to make an appearance, she was exhausted and in no mood for the same sort of foolishness that had been plaguing their home for days. What happened since their surprisingly pleasant anniversary to put Antonin in such a foul mood? Trying to ignore it was no longer a viable option. He was driving her mad.

When she walked through the front door after returning from checking on her potion, she found Antonin sitting on the sofa in the lounge drinking yet another glass of fire whiskey. Because of his known issue of struggling to keep his thoughts to himself under the influence of alcohol, he rarely drank. _Every_ single night since their anniversary she watched him drink at least a glass, but usually more than that. Something terrible was weighing on his mind. Based on how cool he was treating her, she knew that she was at least part of the problem.

"How long are you going to keep acting like a child, Antonin?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Once they were out, she discovered she was relieved. Walking on eggshells around her husband for days was exhausting. She couldn't remember how she used to be able to put up with his sour moods for so long. Maybe the potions she used to consume numbed her more than she realized.

"Excuse me?"

He narrowed his dark brown eyes, angry that she dared to speak to him at all. This went against their usual pattern. If she left him to his own devices, they would not speak until he was done being angry. Part of her was beginning to miss the effect that Andromeda clearly had on his life. At least when she was alive, he could vent to her about what an awful woman his wife was. That would usually help him to get over his anger faster.

"Exactly what I said. Everything was great Friday morning. What happened when I was at work that angered you so much? What could I have possibly done when I wasn't even home?"

Antonin stood to his feet. If they were going to have one of their passionate rows like old times, he wasn't going to do so seated. He liked to use his height to his advantage. Maybe there was a time in her life when he used to be able to intimidate her by looming over her, but no longer. Determined to prove that she wasn't afraid of him any longer, Hermione closed the space between them. There would be no shrinking away. Not again. He seemed every bit as determined as she to take control of the argument. After he took a deep breath, he stared with the same hard expression that terrified his would-be victims.

"Why were you in Cornwall on the very same day that Gus was back in the country?"

She was taken aback by his question. How could he possibly know where she'd been? There hadn't even been an opportunity to speak to him about her activities that day because he was already angry when she got home. Who would have told him? Was her idiot assistant spying on Antonin's behalf as well as Rabastan's? When she didn't immediately answer his question, he scoffed.

"Why would you leave the Ministry early, Apparate to Cornwall, and not come home for an entire hour? What were you and Gus doing in that time?"

It should have been obvious that jealousy was the emotion that was driving him. Too often it was. Their marriage was complicated, unconventional in every sense. She found it laughable to imagine that he hadn't known that she was unfaithful to him over the past thirteen years. While he might have alluded to her liaisons, never once did he outright ask her why she was with a man who might've been her lover. To demand to know why she was with Augustus went completely against his character. What other changes was she going to uncover about her husband as time went on?

"We were just talking."

"For a whole bloody hour?!"

Hermione stopped to consider what he was asking her. How did he even know in the first place that she'd left work early to go to Cornwall? Rachel might have been able to tell him that she left early after speaking to Augustus for a few minutes, but there was no way she would've known _where_ she went. She remembered Draco's request from the day he took her to Number Twelve for the first time. He asked that she always cloak her magic when she was going to or from the house and while she was working inside. At the time, she thought his fear that Antonin was still tracking her every move ridiculous.

"Tell me, Antonin, did you ever _stop_ tracking my magic?"

For the briefest second he looked ashamed. But only for a moment.

"How else am I supposed to find you when you run away again?"

She sighed, suddenly very exhausted. It was foolish of her to assume that he would eventually trust her again. He never would. No matter what she did, what she said, he would always be waiting for her to run away again. Not that she could exactly blame him. Perhaps that was why she was so upset. His distrust was only going to make starting over in a new life that much more difficult. He might even make it impossible.

"You're never going to stop, are you, Antonin?"

"Are you going to keep running?"

Whatever she said in response was likely to be a lie, so she said nothing. Her silence told him everything he needed to know. He scoffed again. She really hated that sound. It usually was followed by some sort of horrible, cutting remark. It was his pattern.

"Is that what you and Gus were doing? _Talking_ about running away?"

"It's none of your business what we were talking about."

"Oh, it's none of my business what my _wife_ talks about alone with her ex-lover for an entire hour?"

There were certain buttons that when pushed, easily sent Antonin over the edge. He'd always had a problem with his jealousy. Sometimes it was irrational. Often, however, it was entirely justified. Like when it came to Augustus. She knew from the moment she returned back to her teacher's home after staying behind in France alone with Augustus that the former Unspeakable would be a hot button issue between them. Even when they weren't involved as anything more than teacher and student, he'd been jealous of his friend's relationship with Hermione. When she knew how much it affected him, she even thought it fun to make it worse. In that particular moment, however, she just wanted the row to be over with. It was already climbing to dangerous levels.

"Just drop it, Antonin. No, we weren't talking about running away together."

She regretted starting the argument in the first place. All she wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and maybe an early bedtime. Being awake and around the man she married was becoming too difficult. Before she was able to make it even a step away, he reached out to grab her arm. Not as hard as the day she stabbed him, but hard enough to anger her. She spun around to glare at him, wrenching her arm out of his grasp.

"Do _not_ grab me. That didn't work out very well for you last time, did it?"

"I see no knives anywhere close."

He was truly committed to extending their row if he was willing to bring up such a sensitive subject in a callous manner. Well, if that's what he wanted, Hermione was wiling to give it to him. It had been a long time since their last. She was out of practice.

"You know, I kinda miss the days when that horrible bitch Andromeda was still alive. You could go to her flat when you were upset and leave me alone."

"Don't you _dare_ speak of her like that."

It was a low blow. She knew that. He had always been sensitive about his mistress. Cared about her deeply or some such rubbish. The only reason Andromeda wouldn't marry him was because he was already in love with his student. She found it odd that he never asked her _why_ she murdered the woman. Had they already had that discussion in the past and she just couldn't remember it?

"Gus was the one who told me that you were still in his house."

She didn't believe him. What did he have to gain by telling her husband where she could be found? He wanted her to be waiting for him when he was able to come back from France. Why else would he have told her on the beach that he was disappointed when he returned to Cornwall after a week and discovered she wasn't there any longer? Realizing that she didn't believe him, Antonin smirked.

"He didn't want to tell me you were there. But, he also didn't know how long he was going to have to stay in France. The Dark Lord's orders haven't exactly been terribly clear lately."

His smirk morphed into a grin she despised. She knew as well as he did that most of the Dark Lord's recent supposed orders were coming directly from him. If Antonin wanted to keep Augustus out of the country, it wouldn't take much effort. He had the power and influence. At least as long as Lord Voldemort still continued to breathe.

"He was worried that you would be in danger if left alone for too long. He didn't like the idea of you wandering around the countryside lost, alone and insane."

The back of her hand cracked against his mouth at the the insult. She would not allow _anyone_ to call her crazy in her presence ever again without feeling some sort of punishment. It felt good to strike him, even better than a curse. This was more personal, more _real_. Antonin's fingers immediately reached up to touch his newly split lip. She'd put every ounce of her anger in it and one of her rings might have snagged his skin. Blood clung to his fingertips. His eyes flashed with a fury she was all too familiar with.

She expected him to hit her back, expected him to show her how forceful he could be. When he didn't move to punish her, she was confused. He'd never been hesitant to hit her before.

A flash of a memory she'd forgotten appeared out of thin air. She gasped at the recollection of them standing in their bedroom having an argument at some point in the past. He'd said something that she didn't appreciate. In an almost exact reenactment, she split his lip with the back of her hand. He touched his lips, saw the blood, and did nothing. Just walked away without retaliating. Anger might have radiated from him, but he did not strike or curse his wife.

"Why aren't you hitting me back?"

It seemed strange to demand her husband explain his reasons for not being violent. The rage in his eyes was instantly replaced with confusion, concern, _fear_.

"Hermione, darling, I've _never_ hit you. Not unless the Dark Lord ordered it."

He seemed almost hurt that she would accuse him of something so vile. His hand slid through her hair in a gentle, tender motion.

"And he's so weak now that if he _did_ order it again, I'd kill him first."

She didn't know what to believe. Stepping out of the reach of his hand, she turned around and ran up the stairs. She didn't know what was the truth - her memories or his words?


	172. June 20th

June 20th

Sometime after the damned clock downstairs announced loudly that it was one in the morning, Hermione continued to stare at the ceiling above. She hadn't been able to sleep after her long bath. Her mind continued to race, going over the heated conversation she had with her husband hours earlier when she got home. When he came to bed, she pretended to be asleep to prevent a continuation of their discussion. Nothing made much sense in her mind. Rehashing it all over again seemed to be a pointless endeavor. Surely staring at the cracks in the plaster on the ceiling was a much better use of her time.

As she listened to the steady breathing coming from her husband's side of the bed, she remembered what he told her. There had been such vehemence coupled with such sorrow in his voice when he told her that he never hit her outside of the Dark Lord's orders. She knew how to tell if a person was lying, especially when that man was Antonin. They'd shared so much of their lives together. There was no one she'd been more intimate with, not even Augustus. She loved Augustus and a part of her knew that would never change. What she had with Antonin was different from every other relationship. Marriage, it seemed, wasn't just a piece of paper after all. They shared a connection that she'd never shared with anyone else. If he was lying, she would know about it. Besides, in the entire twenty years that he'd been an ever-present part of her existence, he never had a reason to lie.

The Dark Lord had many different methods to punish his followers when he felt they deserved it. One of his favorites, as a method to control both parties, was to insist that spouses conduct the harshest punishments against each other. Also a twisted test of loyalty, it showed who was more important: their spouse or their master. If it was even suggested that a husband or wife was going easy on their spouse in their punishments, they would be expected to receive double. Hermione could understand his reasoning. Even though they were required to propagate their magical bloodlines, Lord Voldemort wanted their ultimate loyalty to be to _him_ , not to each other. Much easier to crush potential rebellions in that instance.

Countless times over the years she'd been cursed by Antonin for a perceived failure. Sometimes, the Dark Lord preferred that he utilize physical violence against his wife. She couldn't exactly blame Antonin for his part in her punishments. If he refused, he not only would be punished right along side her, but they would be at risk of being seen as potential enemies of the regime. They had a son to consider. He did as he was ordered while their master watched.

What she couldn't understand at all was why he would claim that he never hit her outside of their master's orders. She could _remember_ him hurting her many times quite vividly. After the incident with the stairs, he didn't touch her for at least two years. His guilt over his part in that horrible incident kept him on his best behavior. Not until she returned home from a mission that went badly did he strike out at her, slapping the back of his hand across her mouth. Rodolphus had been downstairs when it happened to her complete mortification. No one needed to know what went on behind closed doors. Antonin rushed out of their house, no doubt to London to see his mistress, leaving Hermione alone with a sleeping son and their friend. Without asking for permission, Rodolphus healed the split in her lip and summoned one of her husband's best bottles of fire whiskey. He never said a word about what he witnessed. She was thankful for that small kindness. It was embarrassing enough knowing he'd been present.

"Have you been able to get any sleep at all?"

She wasn't surprised to hear Antonin's voice. Somehow he always seemed to know when she trouble sleeping. Maybe she shook the bed too much when she tossed and turned or maybe it was another sense he possessed. Hermione worried that they would have another tense conversation if she replied. But, in the end, her curiosity got the better of her. It usually did.

"Why do I have so many memories of you hitting me and pushing me in our home if you claim you've never hit me outside of the Dark Lord's orders?"

Antonin turned on his side and rose up on his elbow to get a better look at his wife. She was nervous to look at him, afraid of what she'd find if she did. When he didn't immediately answer, she risked it to look at him. He was staring, the same sadness and concern from earlier back on his face. It seemed he didn't even know how to respond. Feeling nervous, she continued.

"I heard you talking to Corban in the kitchen that Saturday he came over. When you told him that I was accused you of pushing me down the stairs, he got angry. Why?"

He laid back down on his back with a heavy sigh. Rubbing his hands down his face, it was evident he also didn't want to have the conversation they were having. _Tough_. They needed to have it. She was going mad. Shouldn't he _want_ to help the wife he claimed to love?

"Because I _didn't_ push you down the stairs."

"Then why do you feel guilty?"

Another sigh was his initial response. There was no denying that he felt guilt. It was written all over his face when she accused him that night they fought. She could hear his guilt in his voice when he told Corban that he wasn't exactly innocent either. What happened? She was exhausted of not understanding. Though it took every ounce of her pride, she knew she had to ask him the truth.

"Antonin, I beg you not to keep anything from me anymore. Tell me the truth. What really happened that day?"

When he threw back the covers and stood to his feet, Hermione prepared herself for a terrible row. Instead, he sighed again and gestured to the door.

"It'll be easier if I just show you. Come downstairs."

Even though she knew it was bound to be cold down in the basement, Hermione didn't bother covering up her thin nightgown with a robe. The desire to uncover the truth was too strong. _Her_ memory of that day was vivid. She could recall every single detail down to the feel of his hands on her back. Only her curiosity made her follow him down to the lowest level of their home. What could he possibly have to show her that she didn't already know?

She grew nervous as they stood next to the pensieve that she once used in her work. It was bad enough that she _suspected_ there was something seriously wrong with her brain. Would she be able to handle learning that she was correct? And if she wasn't remembering that day as she should, what did that mean? _Why_ was she not remembering correctly?

"If you've been wondering what memories were real and what memories weren't real, why haven't you tried to use the pensieve yet?"

His question annoyed her enough to roll her eyes before she answered. Of course, she didn't want to admit that she _had_ used the pensieve. The less time they spent discussing Andromeda and her demise, the better.

"Because, Antonin, I don't _know_ which memories I'm confused about. What am I supposed to do? Spend every moment I'm awake down here looking at every single memory of my life and compare it with what I thought I already knew? Hardly a good use of my time."

He couldn't argue with her reasoning. She'd considered using the pensieve to try to uncover any gaps in her memory or any potential false memories, but where would she even begin? For all she knew, _every_ moment of her life before the one she was standing in was a false memory either warped by her damaged brain or planted in her mind by some unknown nefarious schemer. It was possible for someone to go mad if they spent too much time mulling their past in a pensieve. She was afraid to risk it.

Deciding not to push the issue any further, her husband pointed his wand at his temple. Concentrating on his recollection of that horrible day ten years earlier, he pulled silvery strings of memory out of his mind. Once they were swirling in the liquid of the pensieve, he gestured to her to take a look. Suddenly even more nervous to learn the truth, Hermione hesitated. Only after he gripped her hand in support did she dip her head into the memory.

It was easy to distinguish an altered memory from a true memory. That had been a valuable lesson she had to learn early on in her career as an interrogator. As the scene of their bedroom came into view, Hermione knew without a doubt that Antonin was showing her the truth. There was no haze clouding the scene as it had when she first watched her memory of Andromeda's murder thanks to the potions blocking her recollections. There also didn't exist the choppy breaks that a trained eye could see in a manufactured memory. Whatever she was about to witness was _exactly_ what Antonin saw that day.

She didn't remember how the argument started in their bedroom. Likely it was something ridiculous that made very little sense when it was all over. At her first glimpse of herself in her husband's memory, Hermione felt ashamed. Even at a distance across the room she could see her eyes were glazed and her movements sluggish thanks to the potions she sipped to help her get through the stress of her days. Maybe she wasn't taking as many a day back then as she did when she killed the horrid cow, but it was still embarrassing. She screamed at Antonin like a madwoman, throwing any object within hand's reach at him as he tried to get her to calm down.

It was almost a relief when Memory-Hermione stormed out of the bedroom to the stairs. She couldn't ignore the crazed look in her eyes, the _deranged_ look. Was this how she really acted? At the top of the stairs, she turned to yell one more time at Memory-Antonin. He was trying his hardest to get her to calm down, but she would not listen.

"Hermione, darling, _please_ stay home. You're upset. It's not a good idea to…"

" _Fuck_ you, Antonin. Go find your whore and leave me alone."

Knowing what was about to happen, Hermione wanted to close her eyes. She knew she couldn't. Memory-Antonin rushed to his wife, the same fear and rage in his expression that always existed when she insulted Andromeda. She had the audacity to laugh at his anger. In that moment of inattention, her foot slipped. Her husband screamed her name as she fell forward, grabbing the back of her robes in his hands. It wasn't enough of a grip to keep her from falling. The sound of fabric ripping out of his hands was almost as loud as the thump of her body hitting the stairs. Antonin screamed her name again, running down the stairs after her. She lay on the floor unmoving.

It was as terrible as she remembered it, even if the details weren't exactly the same. Antonin pulled her out of the memory. They'd seen enough. Afraid to look him in the eye, Hermione stared at the swirling in the pensieve.

"You didn't push me?"

"Of course I didn't." She heard the crack in his voice. It gave her the courage to look up to see his watery eyes. He was horrified by the very accusation. "I tried to catch you, but I failed. It's all my fault. If I'd just been a little faster you would've been okay and our daughter would be…"

His voice broke completely at the mention of the child she miscarried in the accident. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he couldn't speak. She felt her own eyes burn.

"Why do I remember you pushing me?"

He couldn't give her a definite answer. Once he was able to compose himself enough to speak again, he reminded her that it was a confusing time.

"What else do you think you remember?"

There wasn't much, but she told him what memories stood out in her mind. She came to in St. Mungo's, unsure why she was there at first. Rodolphus was sitting next to the bed waiting for her to wake up. They were close friends and frequent partners on missions during that time period. She also thought maybe Alecto was there, but she couldn't be certain. The details were hard to remember. There had been so many potions. Not just the ones she knew she unsuccessfully hid from her husband. The Healers made her drink several too. It was all so overwhelming.

"What is wrong with me, Antonin?"

He didn't have an answer. Pulling her into his arms, all of the fighting and dramatic tension that existed between them since the argument they had hours earlier dissipated.

"I don't know, my darling, but we're going to find out."


	173. June 21st

_Author's Note: Guest Bertha - No, I haven't seen it. Should I?_

* * *

June 21st

After learning the truth of what actually happened the day she tumbled down the stairs, Hermione was emotionally exhausted. Distraught by the clear evidence that she couldn't trust what she saw within her own mind, she's begged her husband more than once to tell her what was wrong. Antonin held her in his arms, whispering promises that they would do whatever was necessary to get the answers they needed. She wanted to believe that he was right, wanted to believe that it was possible.

She initially wanted to refuse the potion her husband offered her when they climbed the stairs back up to their bedroom. Somehow it seemed like cheating to allow the liquid magic to calm her thoughts and help her sleep. He was insistent. Besides being unable to sleep before they viewed his memory in the pensieve, their late-night adventure downstairs took a lot out of her both physically and emotionally. Her body and her mind needed to rest. How could she expect to get any better if she didn't give herself time to heal?

For one of the first times in their entire marriage, Hermione truly began to believe that Antonin had only concerns for her well-being. He wasn't trying to control her or keep her tethered to him out of fear that she would run off again or seek to overpower him. One look in his worried and fearful eyes put those thoughts out of her mind. Clearly she wasn't thinking correctly. Likely hadn't been for years. It would make sense that she had nothing to be afraid of when it came to Antonin. Hadn't he tried to prove for years how much he loved her?  
When her tired eyes opened on Thursday morning, she was half-tempted to just close them again and burrow back under the covers. She knew that the potion she drank was one of the ones that kept her asleep for well over a day. Her husband only gave her those when she was terribly upset. The others, like the one Augustus slipped into her tea, were milder and the effects didn't last nearly as long. Knowing that she couldn't hide away in bed for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short it turned out to be, she stretched her entire body and rose to prepare for the day.

Breakfast was waiting for her downstairs when she was ready. Antonin sat at the table with the morning edition of the regime's propaganda rag waiting for her to join him. As was common throughout the entire length of their marriage and the years before when they were only friends, the meal was quiet. There was a great deal that needed to be said, but she wasn't sure that she really had the energy. Finally deciding that just as she couldn't hide in her bed, she couldn't hide from the truth, she put her fork down and looked into Antonin's dark brown eyes.

"How do you think we should start figuring out what is wrong with my memory?"

He didn't waste a moment folding the Daily Prophet and laying it down on the table.

"We need to find someone we can trust who is an expert on memory charms."

"Who removed the charms on my parents? Did I do it?"

"No, you tried and I tried, but neither of us were successful. A mistake was made when the charms were first cast. It wasn't your fault. You were simply inexperienced."

She sighed. Though he was kind to suggest she wasn't at fault, the fact that she was inexperienced was _exactly_ why a mistake was made. She was to blame for it all. If it had been left to her after the end of the war to restore their memories, her parents would still be wandering around Australia blissfully ignorant of the fact they had a daughter thousands of kilometers away.

"Rod helped us. He was very generous to come back to Australia with us on our second trip. I wish I knew where he was or even if he was still alive. I would feel much better having someone I know I could trust looking around in your brain."

Hermione wasn't sure why she didn't immediately tell him that Rodolphus was alive and she knew where to find him. When her mouth started to form the words, she stopped herself. The last time she saw the animagus, they hadn't exactly been on the best of terms. Was it possible that he would use the opportunity to hurt her instead of help her if they asked for his expertise? She didn't want to risk it.

"I'd feel more comfortable if it was a neutral stranger, honestly. Not just someone that we don't know, but someone who isn't involved with the regime at all."

Antonin considered her words for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. Sometimes it was safer to go with someone they had no emotional or professional ties with.

"It might take me some time to find someone from a neutral country that could help us, but I'll start looking. Maybe my contacts in MACUSA could point me in the right direction. I'll also check with Alain. My little brother knows a lot of wizards in Africa that might be able to help."

She left for work a few minutes later feeling more confident than she had for a long time. The Dark Lord had been unable to find allies in most of the African continent despite years of trying. Alain Dolohov was the only one of her brothers-in-law that she had much use for. She suspected the Dark Lord's failure in gaining a foothold in Africa was exactly the reason why he chose to make his home there. He was a bit selfish, never wanting to get involved in anything that could put him at any risk. Still, she thought he had enough begrudging respect for his eldest brother to help.

Nothing exciting waited for her at the Ministry. Even after missing a full day, she hadn't really missed anything. When Rabastan came waltzing in around ten, he gave her a wide berth. Annoyed at first, it was only when he explained that Antonin dropped in the day before to tell him that she was out sick with a stomach bug that she relaxed. She'd wondered if she was going to have to make up some lie to explain her reason for being gone. Rabastan was even kind enough to ask how she was feeling.

"It was nothing contagious, I hope? I can't really afford to get ill right now."

The day passed quickly to her relief. They were getting closer to creating a plan to bring Theodore Nott and his new in-laws in, but they had to be very careful. If they didn't close up any potential loopholes in their warrants, they might have to release them prematurely. It wouldn't help their cause any to make a public enemy out of someone with as much influence as Theodore. The man might have been grotesque, but for a reason few seemed to understand, there were those who would follow him in the coming power struggle.

Hermione was nervous to enter Number Twelve at the end of the day. She missed a day as she stayed asleep in bed. While it was _theoretically_ safe to be left alone for a day or so, she didn't like to risk it. The end was so close! If she managed to ruin the potion after working on it for so long, she wasn't sure that she would have the opportunity to get the ingredients again. Nor was she certain she'd have the patience.

To her relief, the polyjuice potion was still happily bubbling away on the kitchen table. Whether or not the master of the decrepit house was responsible for dropping in to check on it, she was unsure. She hadn't seen Draco since the wedding reception and hadn't spoken to him since the day William Wood dropped by. Because of the specific wards he set up on his house, if he wanted to drop in while she was there to finally speak to her, he would. She was beginning not to care one way or the other.

Two full weeks and a couple days passed since the potion was started. Hermione was growing impatient. Maybe it would've been better to come up with a plan that didn't hinge quite so heavily on the substance. Of course, when she tried to come up with a backup plan, none of them were nearly good enough. She would just have to trust that the polyjuice potion would turn out all right.

After being there only a few minutes, she heard the sound of footsteps descending the creaky staircase. Her instincts weren't warning her that she was in danger, but just to be safe, she held out her wand prepared to do battle if it wasn't the person she expected. When she saw the familiar blond hair, she relaxed and put her wand back on the table.

"I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you again."

She didn't even look him in the eye when she spoke. It was easier to stare at the cauldron.

"You weren't here yesterday. I was concerned."

The urge to scoff at his statement was strong. Somehow sensing that she wasn't in the mood for the activities they usually engaged in when they were alone, Draco kept a respectable distance away. He leaned against the table, watching every move she made.

"Yes, well, I'm fine. Didn't seem necessary to come every day."

It wasn't the truth, but she wasn't sure she could trust him. Every moment she was away from him, she dissected their previous interactions. Draco wasn't the sort of man to do anything without a purpose. What his purpose was with _her_ was still unclear. She suspected that he was simply using her for her ability to get Aberforth released… and maybe because she did that thing with her tongue that he seemed to enjoy. His close relationship with the Resistance was cause for concern. If he trusted her enemies enough to give them lessons on the secret magic he used to keep himself alive, she could be in danger. There seemed no reason to waste any more time.

"Why does William Wood know how to track like you?"

Draco sighed. She could tell by the sudden droop in his shoulders that he didn't want to have that conversation.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Hermione, but there was a time when the Resistance wasn't that trusting of me."

She rolled her eyes, not caring that he saw. There was no reason to be patronizing. Of course that wasn't surprising. No doubt there were still those who didn't full trust his commitment. Just like there were still Death Eaters who didn't trust hers after twenty years of relatively loyal service.

"I taught Will how to track as a way to prove myself. He knows my biggest secret. If that ever got out to anyone on our side, there wouldn't be a need to keep me around. It's his collateral, his _leash_. I can't betray the Resistance without him betraying me. Plenty on our side would love to know how I do what I do. The Snatchers could be vastly improved with that knowledge."

"It wouldn't take much to improve them."

A chuckle was her reward for the pathetic attempt at a joke. Satisfied that her potion was brewing as it should, she knew she needed to leave. If she stayed any longer, she was in danger of doing something she might regret.

"I didn't _want_ to teach him. Will controls me with that secret. I have to comply."

"Only as long as he is still alive."

Her ominous words hung in the air as she climbed the stairs to make her exit.


	174. June 22nd

June 22nd

Hermione was ready for the week to end. It was funny to her how much she'd changed in her time away from her old life. Just as she'd done when she was a student at Hogwarts, with a time turner and without, she often worked herself longer hours than was healthy. She once found joy and fulfillment in her career. Even on the days that ended with her covered in the fluids of another human being, she loved what she did. It made her feel powerful in a world where power was limited and usually out of reach.

By the middle of Friday afternoon, she was tired of pretending she was interested in working. She and Rabastan had already come up with a plan to arrest Theodore on the day he returned from his honeymoon the next week. Rabastan could hardly talk about the wretched man's honeymoon without laughing. They both hoped that the potion he slipped in his drink would keep him unable to perform his husbandly duties until the new couple was back on familiar soil. It was the least they could do for the poor girl forced to marry him.

"His house-elf says he will be back home next Friday. We can put in an order for some of the more competent Snatchers to arrest him early Saturday morning. It's always more fun to catch them sleeping."

"How were you able to get his house-elf to give you any information?"

Rabastan's dramatic sigh quickly got on Hermione's nerves. He could be infuriatingly patronizing when she asked him questions.

"You would think that after almost thirty years in the wizarding world, you might have had an opportunity to discover that house-elves are terrible gossips."

"We don't have a house-elf in our home, Rabastan. You know that."

"Ahh, yes, of course. The Dolohovs have always been so disgustingly _progressive_ , haven't you?"

It was an old argument. She refused to be pulled into another discussion where she would be forced to give her reasons yet again for not allowing a house-elf in her home. Antonin respected her wishes. That was all that mattered. They'd been able to get along just fine without an enslaved creature, whether happy or disgruntled about said enslavement, serving them. Rabastan was a pampered overgrown brat that had yet to learn how to be self-sufficient.

"Yes, well, I had my house-elf Tippy visit the Nott Estate days ago. She has a cousin or a brother or an uncle, doesn't really matter, who is bound to the Notts. All it took was a couple of bottles of Rosmerta's best butterbeer and Theodore's elf was happy to share all he knew."

"Hardly seems fair to use…"

The sharp pain in her left arm came as a complete surprise. Hissing at the sensation she hadn't felt in a long time, Hermione forgot what she was going to say next. One glance at Rabastan's wide eyes proved that she was the only one of the two being summoned. When she touched the sleeve covering her Dark Mark, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. No doubt he wanted to know why _she_ was being summoned and he wasn't. Making her excuses, she rushed out of the office to the nearest Apparition point.

Based on what she'd learned from her husband since her return, he was the only one issuing the summonses those days. Few knew he had the capability. It was thought best that he keep that as secretive as possible. None of their enemies needed to know how far gone their master truly was. Convinced that it was just Antonin seeking to get her immediate attention, Hermione didn't feel any less worried about the random summons. What was so important that he couldn't just send her an owl or wait until she got home? The end of the day was near. She would've been home soon. Such a dramatic gesture wasn't necessary.

Outside of the protective wards of the Ministry, Hermione touched the tip of her wand to her Dark Mark. Moments later her feet touched down just outside of the gates of Hogwarts grounds. Her anxious husband stood waiting. When she arrived, he reached out to grab her arms. Something was clearly troubling him

"He wants to see you."

No further explanation was needed. She knew exactly who her husband meant by 'he'. Delaying the inevitable would do nothing but make their master angry. Hermione had plenty of experience witnessing the Dark Lord get upset and had no desire to see it again. A large part of her believed Antonin when he said that he would kill Lord Voldemort before he followed through with an order to hurt her again. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the open gates.

There was a bustle of activity all over the grounds. Final exams were over. All of the excited students were preparing themselves for a nice, long summer holiday. In less than a week they would all be returning home. Hermione tried to ignore the dread she felt knowing Oliver would be back in their house in mere days. What would it be like to live with her son again? Would she be able to handle it? She didn't want him to know how confused his mother actually was. Their one visit had been pleasant, but only because they weren't together long enough for him to ask her _why_ she tried to kill his father on his birthday. That was a conversation she would've given anything to never have to have.

"Do you know _why_ he wants to see me?"

"Not a clue. He sent one of the house-elves to find me about an hour ago. We were talking and he asked about you. I told him that you were back from your traveling. He demanded to see you immediately."

To keep the secret of her defection from their master, Antonin spun an elaborate lie about her traveling. The Dark Lord's mind had become so rotten and diseased that he couldn't always remember what he was told. Even repeating the same lie over and over again worked at times. Fearing that he might have already been told that she was back in Hogsmeade, Antonin didn't want to risk lying. While he knew that no other Death Eaters had access to their master, he wasn't sure what the house-elves who served him were telling him. Being honest was really the only option at that point. With Oliver still within the castle walls, they couldn't risk him being used to punish his parents.

The Dark Lord kept his private quarters down in the dungeons, several long corridors away from the students and classrooms. Similar to the Slytherin common room, his main living space had windows that looked out onto the Black Lake. When Hermione used to come to make her weekly reports about the progress of her department, she hated the chill that was always present in the air. It felt dank and dismal.

Once they were down the main dungeon corridor, the students that were happily wandering through the castle disappeared completely. There were very strict rules about where they were allowed to roam in the lowest parts of the castle. No one, not even the children of the most loyal and honored Death Eaters, wanted to be anywhere near the private rooms that belonged to the leader of their government.

They didn't speak again until they stood outside the familiar door. Hermione could feel her heart beating rapidly against her chest. What if he was strong enough to use Legilimency on her and he could tell that she was lying about her whereabouts the previous year? Or worse, what if he could see _what_ she'd been doing? Occlumency was a skill she'd learned, naturally, but it didn't come easily. She feared that lack of practice would be her downfall. Before she reached for the doorknob to the room she despised, Antonin gently grabbed her arm. She could see the fear present in his eyes too. They both would need to take a moment to calm themselves before they entered or they'd be at risk of exposing their secrets.

"You will find him much altered since the last time you were here. He tires easily, so this shouldn't take long. Try not to let your disgust show on your face. He doesn't… he doesn't like that."

Antonin pressed his lips against hers, lingering longer than she expected. It was bizarre seeing him so worried. He might have offered her an encouraging smile, but it didn't help. She was prepared for the worst.

It was so much worse than she could have ever imagined. The night Antonin complained about the smell, she thought he'd been overdramatic. He'd always been the sort of person to enter their home when the rubbish bin was fuller than it should've been to complain that the entire house reeked. Every tiny smell seemed to set him off. When she was pregnant with Oliver, her sensitivity to smells wasn't nearly as strong as his. But, the moment she stepped into the room where the Dark Lord was quite literally rotting away, she knew there had been no exaggeration on her husband's part. She could feel the sandwich she'd quickly devoured in the Ministry canteen begin to swirl around her stomach.

The Dolohovs dropped to their knees in front of the long sofa their master was draped across. Fearing to look him in the eye, Hermione didn't dare lift her gaze to take in how truly altered the wizard she once was proud to serve had become. Knowing that she had to keep playing the game if she wished to stay alive, she called forth all of her reserves of strength.

"My Lord, it is a pleasure to see you looking so well."

His harsh laughter always felt painful to her ears. She didn't understand how something so otherworldly could come out of his mouth. _How_ his broken body was still able to make sounds didn't matter. She just wanted it to stop.

"You've been away a long time."

"Yes, my Lord, and I have learned a great deal."

"I look forward to hearing a full account of your travels when there is more time to speak later."

"Yes, my Lord. I would be honored."

"Why do you not look at me?"

Lifting her gaze to meet his was harder than she expected. Thanks to his brutal ritual in the graveyard that held his Muggle father's remains, he'd been given a body that was far from human-looking. Years of the Dark magic required to keep the shell operating when it should have been dust had taken their toll. He was the monster of every child's nightmare. Staring into the deep red slits that he possessed for eyes made her dizzy and fearful. When his cracked lips smiled, she could see the blood coating the inside of his mouth. Sores were weeping and seeping over every part of his bare skin she could see. There were certain to be more she couldn't. _Nothing_ Antonin told her about his appearance was a lie. He was more grotesque than even she could've imagined.

"Every day I'm growing stronger. Soon I will be able to walk out of this room again and when I do, I must be certain that my most loyal followers are still loyal only to me."

"Yes, my Lord. My life and my magic are yours."

Satisfied with the pledge she'd given him countless times over the years, the Dark Lord dismissed them both from his presence only moments later. Despite his claim that he was getting stronger, all evidence pointed to the contrary. His mind was well and truly gone. Antonin repeated her words and took her hand in his. She was grateful for the additional support. Her legs rarely moved faster than they did in the moments she rushed to her escape.

Antonin was only just able to close the door behind them before her sandwich made its reappearance on the stone floor.


	175. June 23rd

June 23rd

Another sleepless night plagued the Dolohovs. Following their short meeting with the Dark Lord, they returned to their home in Hogsmeade without speaking. Only inside the safety of their own walls did they discuss what happened. Each of them gladly drank a full glass of fire whiskey. More followed.

Hermione desperately hoped that she would never be called in front of their master again. It used to be bad enough when he had enough strength to keep up the glamours that held his true condition in secret from his followers. Without the glamours, she knew that she would likely have nightmares about his countenance for the rest of her life. Even long after he was dead she would never forget the smell of his rotting corpse.

When they were both calmer, Antonin kissed his wife and made his excuses to leave. She didn't ask him for details of his plans. It was possible that he wanted nothing more than to just be alone for a few hours. There was fear etched into his face that she'd never seen before. Something was bothering him that he wasn't willing to speak to her about just yet. She never felt more unnerved than when she knew her husband was afraid. Somehow that seemed unnatural, _wrong_.

She used his absence to return to London to check on her potion. Draco did not drop by while she was there. Whether she was disappointed or not was still unclear. Their conversation from the day before left her with more questions than answers. It was a common problem in her life that she was beginning to accept with resignation. At least being alone gave her the opportunity to dissect her meeting with the Dark Lord and try to calm her still racing heart.

Her husband didn't return from his mysterious mission until sometime after midnight. Hermione was already in bed and half-asleep. It had taken several more glasses of fire whiskey when she got back from London to relax her enough that she thought sleep _might_ be a possibility. She didn't make it obvious that she was still awake as Antonin tiptoed around their bedroom. Though he was quiet on his feet, she heard every movement. Even when he slipped into the bathroom to take a long shower, her ears remained perked up listening to everything he did. One didn't spend so many years sleeping next to a person and sharing their lives without learning how to pay attention to their odd moods.

Even when they were both finally in bed, she didn't make it obvious that she was awake. Something was troubling her husband. As much as she wanted to know what it was, she was nervous. Once she learned what it was, she couldn't go back to being ignorant. What if he was finally going to be honest with her about everything she missed and didn't know about? Would she even _want_ to have that much knowledge? It could make her life even more difficult than it already was.

She must have been able to doze at some point in the night. Whatever sleep she was able to get was far from restful, but there had to have been some. The slight shaking of the mattress jarred her fully awake. Worried at first that something was wrong, Hermione rolled over to stare at Antonin's side of the bed. He was staring at the ceiling, his thoughts miles away. Unable to explain why exactly she remained concerned for him, she found herself moving slowly across the space between them. When he realized she was awake and moving towards him, Antonin lifted his arm to give her the chance to snuggle up to his side. She rested her head on his chest, hearing the pounding of his heart.

"I didn't believe you when you told me how bad he was."

Antonin sighed, tightening his arm around his wife's back. With a kiss to the top of her head, he relaxed the smallest amount.

"I'd hoped that you wouldn't have to see him in that condition. I'm still not sure why he wanted you there in the first place."

"Because he wanted to see for himself that I was really there. He uses me to control you, Antonin. He always has. I'm your weakness."

Hermione didn't mean to be so blunt. The words simply trickled off her tongue. But, she was startled to discover that once they were said, she didn't mind. Neither, it seemed, did Antonin. His arm squeezed her body and he kissed the top of her head once more.

"Yes, you are."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. It was enough that they were touching and gathering strength from the other. Not for the first time in her life, Hermione wished that she'd been able to fall in love with her husband the way he had fallen for her. Their lives together would've been so much easier. Or, perhaps, it would've been more difficult considering the tasks they were often charged with completing. Not that it mattered. They would never know which was true.

"I don't understand how the Dark Lord is still alive."

"Neither do I. We don't have to worry long about him. It'll happen soon. I just hope that we can be ready for what's coming. It won't be easy."

Few times in their marriage had Antonin been truly vulnerable with her. Admitting that she was indeed his weakness was no small moment. One did not reveal their weaknesses unless they wished to have them used against them. She could use his admission to her advantage if she so desired. Rabastan was already seeking out what he could do to use it to his. Remembering a recent moment where he showed himself vulnerable again, Hermione blurted out a question she'd been holding on to for weeks.

"You said you helped him with the dark magic he was using. What did you do exactly?"

She could feel every muscle in her husband's body tense at the inquiry. When he made his confession that night she was refilling his glass over and over again, he'd almost been in tears. His dark brown eyes were misty and his complexion took on an unnatural pallor. Perhaps he didn't remember being so blunt. It would explain his discomfort. He didn't immediately answer. Just as she believed that she'd crossed a line that he would follow her across, he spoke.

"You were right that he used to drink a potion made from unicorn blood. When Macnair _disappeared_ , he no longer had access to the blood. Not everyone is capable, or willing, to hunt them like Walden. He was always a sick bastard. Something else had to be found instead."

Antonin's fingertips idly brushed the bare skin of her arm as he offered the beginning of his long answer. She found it distracting, but not enough to force him to stop. Maybe he needed the comfort of human touch to be honest with her about his actions. She'd certainly endured worse in the hopes of obtaining some information in the past.

"Someone offered him a suggestion for something else he could try. I didn't know who at the time, but I've since learned that it was Theodore Nott who told him of the power that could be _leeched_ from…" He swallowed, the sound loud in their ears because of the silence of the room. "… children."

It shouldn't have surprised Hermione that their master would sink to disturbing levels to ensure his immortality. This was a monster that tried to kill a baby in his crib. But, no matter the fact that she _should've_ expected the worst, she was still horrified. The arm she had draped across Antonin's chest tensed and her hand tightened its grip on his side.

"Theodore said that young witches were the most valuable for the spells. It was preferable that they were used before their tenth birthday. After that, they apparently get too close to puberty to be nearly as effective. Wizards can be used if no witches are available, but the magic is more powerful with girls. He wished to surpass me in the Dark Lord's eyes and favor by offering up his three granddaughters for the privilege of sustaining his life."

"Fucking bastard."

"Theo, as you can imagine, proved to be a hindrance in his plan. Lucky for Theodore that his son was killed in the explosion."

" _Not_ lucky at all. Rabastan and I are having him arrested next week. We believe he's responsible for the Leaky Cauldron. All leads keep coming right back to him."

Her husband let out a relieved exhale. She knew that she could trust him to keep her secrets. Even if they weren't on the best of terms, Antonin hated Nott enough to not stand in the way of his arrest. Likely he even hoped that she would make him suffer in his interrogation. Hermione had every intention of doing as he wished.

"Good. Then Theo's girls should be safe."

"I'd love to see him try to take Millicent's girls away from her. She's not someone who needs to be underestimated."

"No, she's not. You're absolutely right, but I still feel more at peace knowing that they won't be harmed. I've been spending months trying to figure out what I could do to keep them safe without it being obvious what I was doing."

Antonin truly was a surprising man. There was a great deal about her own husband that Hermione hadn't taken the time to discover in the years they were married. Had he always been like that and she just didn't notice? Or was that a change in him that only occurred recently?

"You still haven't answered my question. What did you do, Antonin?"

She could hear his heart rate increase. It pounded loudly in her ear.

"I was summoned to the castle just a few weeks after you left. The Dark Lord had taken a turn. He was weak, unable to use a glamour or even walk. Theodore was there looking very proud of himself. Said it was the perfect night to put his theories into practice. The Dark Lord was pleased. I didn't know what they were talking about, but because he wasn't strong enough to hide his true condition, he didn't want anyone but the two of us there to attend him. Didn't want anyone to see how weak he'd become.

"Theodore excused himself from the room for a few minutes. When he came back, he was levitating two little girls in front of him. They were silenced, but they were crying and screaming. I don't know who they were, who their parents were. Maybe it's best that I don't."

Every word he spoke grew more difficult to utter. He'd never made it a secret that he desired little else in his life than to have a daughter. As much as he loved and adored their son, he didn't feel like their family was complete. To know that the tiny girls were ripped from their families and about to be sacrificed in some horrible way to ensure his master continued existing in his rotting body had to have been unbearable.

"We had to… Hermione, I can't bear to say it."

"Shh, it's all right."

He seemed to relax slightly under her attempt at comfort. She ran her hand up and down his chest, hoping that she was helping. A swift peck on his flesh encouraged him to continue.

"We had to cut their hearts from their chests while they were still breathing. I wanted to refuse, but that would've meant my death, Ollie's death, and yours too whenever you were found. The girls would still be dead no matter what I did."

"You protected your son."

"And at what cost? Theodore thought it was funny that the little witch he gave me had your hair. Laughed and said, 'Doesn't she look just like… just like what _your_ daughter might look like?'"

The tears that he was trying so hard to keep under control came rushing out in a torrent that took both of their breaths away. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen him cry about anything. Not truly. And certainly not in great big sobs. Even the day he revealed to her what really happened when she fell down the stairs, he'd been able to compose himself somewhat. All she could do was sit up and hold her husband in her arms while he relived what was likely the worst moment of his entire life.

"I'll never forgive myself. He was right. She _did_. I'm so ashamed."

As Hermione continued to comfort her distraught husband, she came to the conclusion that no matter what happened in the future when Lord Voldemort finally died, she couldn't let Antonin rise up in his place. Becoming the Dark Lord would break him. _Destroy_ him.


	176. June 24th

June 24th

Hermione was desperate to get out of their house. Even for just a few hours, she needed to catch her breath and escape from the tension and stress that the unanticipated meeting with the Dark Lord brought crashing to her home days earlier. Unwilling to go to the Ministry of Magic on a Sunday even out of desperation, she left Antonin a note telling him where she'd gone. When he woke up, he hopefully wouldn't worry too much about her.

After she was finally able to get him to calm down early Saturday morning, she turned the tables on him. Pushing a familiar vial of potion in his hands, she was insistent that he drink. At first he tried to argue with her that it was unnecessary, but she would not be deterred. What was the purpose of having an entire drawer full of potions designed to calm and clear the mind of an emotionally distraught person if they weren't consumed by those that needed them? Only when she promised him that he would be free from all thoughts or nightmares for many hours did he finally drink.

It was strange to be the nurturing, comforting one in their relationship after so many years of it being the other way around. She almost didn't know what to do. Once he was asleep thanks to the potion, she was able to relax. Or at least _try_ to relax. The knowledge he shared with her in the middle of the night was disturbing to say the least. She spent most of Saturday replaying their discussion over and over again in her mind.

Some of the odd behavior he exhibited the night they went out for dinner in Diagon Alley made sense. Despite what he was trying to show to the contrary, Antonin didn't want to be the Dark Lord's replacement. Never would he come right out and admit so though. That would be dangerous. Maybe he used to have real ambitions about ascending to the throne, but somewhere along the line, he'd changed his mind. If being forced to kill the little girl with hair like his wife's was his turning point, she wouldn't be surprised. Everyone had a limit of what they could bear. Evidently, her husband finally reached his.

Continuing to act as if he wanted to become the next Dark Lord was a tricky move. She knew that he couldn't just sit back and watch their world descend into chaos. Time and time again he'd made it clear that his priority was to his family. He would never want his wife and son to be caught up in a dangerous situation. He had to do what was necessary to ensure that the wrong person didn't gather enough support to take over. Someone like Theodore Nott wouldn't hesitate to murder all of his rivals the first chance he got. There would be no peace if that wizard got his way.

With everything that was on his mind and his conscience, it was no wonder Antonin was as exhausted as he was. The longer she remained in Hogsmeade, the more physical changes she noticed in her husband. His hair was turning silver. Even more lines were appearing on his skin. She could only imagine what his blood pressure was like. Stress was slowly killing him just as effectively as a deranged rival. Watching him sleep under the influence of the potion helped calm Hermione's nerves as well. He seemed so peaceful. Years melted from his features when he was relaxed.

An entire day passed without incident. Antonin continued to sleep. No one dropped by unexpectedly. He would be all right if she left him alone for a few hours. Just to be safe, knowing that he was in such a vulnerable state, Hermione strengthened the security wards on their home. Nott might be out of the country on his dismal honeymoon, but there were sure to be many still around who were on his side.

Diagon Alley was busy with excitement. The last weekend before the school year ended at Hogwarts, many parents were out enjoying the last bit of freedom they had before their children returned home. Some were anxious to buy presents for their students. Others were getting a head start on purchasing the reading materials assigned over the summer. Hermione might not have a lot of use personally for Headmaster Temeritus Mulciber, but he ran a tight ship. Under his supervision, test scores were the highest they'd been in a century. While not nearly as brutal as under Severus Snape, discipline was firm and effective.

Like they had more times than she really wanted to admit, Hermione's steps took her to the end of the Alley where a popular secondhand shop sat. The Junk Shop used to be an interesting place to explore when she was in Hogwarts. One never knew what they might find in the dusty corners and shelves. A lot of the merchandise certainly lived up to the name of the store, but sometimes, if one was diligent in looking, real treasures could be found.

She stared up at the sign in desperate need of painting. It had been years since she crossed the threshold into the establishment owned by her husband's mistress. Due to her family's visible loyalty to the losing side, Andromeda had been fortunate to be able to retain _any_ of her properties. Likely Antonin was responsible for her being able to keep the one store. Wherever she once lived with her family was long since sold. The horrible woman and her grandson lived in the tiny flat above the shop since the war ended.

What had become of the space in the three years since she was responsible for murdering the proprietress? Allowing her curiosity to get the better of her good sense, Hermione pushed open the door. A tiny bell announced her arrival. She looked around the space to see if anything changed. It hadn't. Everything looked exactly as it did once upon a time when she was a young teenager wandering the aisles with her two best friends.

"Is there something I can help you find, Madam?"

She hadn't heard that voice in twenty years. Not since the final battle. Her heart clenched and she spun on her heels. Despite knowing that it wasn't who she was thinking of, she knew she had to get a good look at its owner.

Even if she hadn't known she was standing in his grandmother's shop, Hermione would've recognized Teddy Lupin anywhere. It was impossible to remember how many years passed since the last time she saw him. Andromeda was highly protective of her grandson, rarely letting him out of her sight when he wasn't studying at Hogwarts.

He looked like the perfect combination of his parents. Tall and lanky like his father, he had the kind eyes that belonged to his mother. Not to mention the light blue hair. Seeing the young man standing in front of her brought up an influx of emotion in her that she struggled to conceal. What was wrong with her?

 _They would be ashamed of who you became._

She pushed aside the voice in the back of her mind. It wouldn't do to appear weak in front of the wizard. Based on the narrowing of his eyes, he knew exactly who she was. Likely his opinion on her, regardless of the fact that he didn't know for certain that she was responsible for killing his only living family member, wasn't very good. Most people hated her for less reason than he had.

"I am merely browsing."

"All right."

Teddy walked away from her, but didn't stray too far. She assumed that he would be glad to see her leave. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of running her off, Hermione began her perusal of the once familiar shelves. Everywhere she walked, she felt his eyes. He would keep his silent distance for the moment. She knew without needing to speak to him that he found her intimidating. Most people did.

Ten minutes passed with no other customers entering the shop. None of the merchandise interested Hermione in the slightest, but she wasn't in a rush to leave. Something kept her drawn to the place. When Teddy chose to adjust the items on a shelf in the exact aisle she was standing in as a terrible cover for watching her actions, she turned to face him.

"Your father was one of the best teachers I ever had."

Startled by her statement, he dropped the tarnished silver frame he was holding. It went to the floor with a crash that made Hermione smile.

"And your mother could trip over air if she wasn't careful, but no one ever made me laugh so much or so hard."

The young wizard hastily repaired the broken glass with a spell before placing it carefully back on the shelf. No longer even pretending to not be paying attention to her, Teddy turned to face the woman he probably had grown up being told to despise. Not that Hermione could exactly blame his grandmother. There was a lot about her she didn't care much for herself.

"I think about them a lot. They were both exceedingly kind to me during a time when I wasn't very welcome."

She had no idea what her purpose for talking about Remus and Tonks was. Usually, when thoughts of them crossed her mind, she tried to shut them down immediately. It was also what she did when she remembered Harry and all of the other Order members who died fighting in the last war. She found surviving in their new world too difficult with the constant stab of guilt that thinking of them inevitably brought.

"I wish I'd known them."

One of the cruelest parts of the war was how history was determined to repeat itself. Just like his godfather, Teddy was doomed to spend his life never knowing the parents who loved him. At least he had a grandmother who adored the very ground he walked upon. That was more than poor Harry had.

"They were wonderful people and I will always be sad that they're dead."

Hermione couldn't spend another moment inside the store. Why she felt the need to enter in the first place was a complete mystery. There was nothing to find inside except for a sad, young man who didn't deserve what cruelties life sent his way. And she was responsible for taking the last family member he had away.

She rushed out into the Alley, not caring one bit that she likely seemed rattled and unstable to Teddy Lupin. Spinning on the spot, she Disapparated to a different part of London. Hopefully, checking on her potion would keep her mind off of topics better left undisturbed.


	177. June 25th

_Author's Note: There appears to be some confusion. Hermione _**always** _cloaks her magic when she goes to/from Number Twelve and when she is inside the house. I don't feel that it's necessary to repeat something that she always does due to fear of repetitiveness, redundancy, and because I'm strict with my word counts each chapter. (Though clearly not **as** strict as of late.) Unless it is specifically noted in the text that she was so upset or distracted that she didn't cloak her magic, she did. I just find repeating that over and over again boring, and as I've had so many lovely people tell me how boring and nonsensical this story already is, I try not to repeat myself. I'm sorry for the confusion! :)_

* * *

June 25th

The infamous and feared Intelligence Division within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was abuzz with activity Monday morning. Even Rabastan managed to make it into the office earlier than his usual ten o'clock. Hermione knew that they were closing in on the day when they would finally bring in Theodore Nott for his interrogation. Despite not wishing to resume her former activities down in Level Eleven, even she couldn't deny the fact that she was looking forward to standing over his bound and terrified form in a locked side room. Just the thought of the interrogations she used to perform multiple times a week made her hands tremble and her stomach churn, but not, oddly, where Nott was concerned.

After Antonin's emotional confession over the weekend, her hatred for the wretched Nott was even worse. In twenty years, Hermione had never had much use for the elder Nott. He was a relic of a past era where the Pureblood elitists ruled the magical world with a iron hand. Never had another family taken as much pride in being a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A collection of Pureblood families that could trace the purity of their bloodlines for dozens of generations, Theodore's relative was the famous Cantankerous Nott who devoted most of his miserable life extolling the virtues of blood purity and compiling an in-depth analysis and history for each of the families. Theodore was an example of everything that was wrong with the worst of the Purebloods.

Blood purity laws had been relaxed somewhat under the rule of the Dark Lord. Very few alive knew the details of their master's lineage, but he was pragmatic enough to not allow the worst of the blood supremacists to rid their world of those they deemed of lesser value as long as they still had their uses. Hermione supposed she was grateful for the opportunity to flourish under his reign. If someone like Theodore Nott was able to take the mantle of leadership, there would be no place for her and others like her beyond a prison cell or a grave. She could only imagine the wretched ideas he and his ilk had in mind for Muggle-borns.

Once, when the fire whiskey was flowing during a celebration of some victory over the Resistance or another one of the splinter rebellion groups that propped up over the years following Harry's death, Theodore Nott engaged the highest ranking _Mudblood_ in a conversation that made Hermione's skin crawl. It was before she was ordered to marry Antonin and during the years Augustus thought he was doing her a favor by breaking off their relationship. Much about those years passed by in a drunken blur, but she would never forget that particular night of debauchery.

Held in the lavish Lestrange Manor, she'd been looking around the room trying to decide whose bed she was going to tumble into that night. Many of the revelers were already descending into the sexual antics that would've once upon a time made the witch blush. She learned quickly in the ranks of the Death Eaters that a great deal of power could be wielded using the _talents_ afforded her as a woman. Prudes had no place amongst those that bathed in blood and viscera. Antonin, standing on the edge of the room, caught her eye. He'd been drinking, but not yet to excess. The way his deep brown eyes latched on to hers and held her gaze left little room for misinterpretation. Her husband had a way of making her feel like she was the only one in the entire room, even long before they were married. Curiosity of what she might discover if she allowed herself to finally let the wizard take her to bed encouraged her first step in his direction.

"Lovely party, is it not, Miss Granger?"

She fought the urge to groan when Theodore caught her arm. Antonin's glower from across the room would've killed the odious man if looks alone had that power. Knowing that she couldn't afford to create a powerful enemy like Nott, Hermione smiled brightly, resisting again the urge to tell him to bugger off. He wasn't in the habit of approaching her for any reason. Ordinarily, she was so far beneath his notice to almost be considered invisible. She didn't mind. She _loathed_ him and the others of the Old Guard who could still remember the early days of the Dark Lord's rise to power.

"Yes, it's quite amusing."

"There was a time when _rubbish_ like you would be the evening's entertainment."

Disgusted, Hermione wrenched her arm out of his grip. The fury evident on her features only made the horrible man laugh. Lowering his voice, he spoke so she alone in the entire world could make out his words.

"Perhaps one day soon our world will return to the way it once was. I would very much like to make an example out of you."

Even seventeen years after that party, Hermione had never told anyone what Theodore Nott told her. It unnerved her so that she didn't want to give the slightest bit of credence to his words. But, there was no denying that if given the opportunity to take over as the new Dark Lord, he would use his power to wreak havoc on a number of people's lives… her's included. She would become less than a slave and her end would be drawn out. Nott wasn't going to give her the sweet escape of death until he'd thoroughly and completely broken her. So there were many reasons why she was willing to push aside the disgust that usually came with the thought of returning to her old occupation.

The plan was to have him arrested in the early morning hours following his return from his honeymoon. Hermione wasn't sure how she was going to remain patient enough to wait the rest of the week for that day to arrive. Neither, it seemed, was Rabastan. She knew that Nott's request to marry his eldest daughter rankled him, but she thought his response was a bit extreme. Was he really just upset that the horrible man had the nerve to believe that his sixteen year old daughter would make him a good wife or was there something more? Rarely had she seen her Co-Head so animated when it came to the idea of an arrest and subsequent interrogation. She found him amusing, if not a little disconcerting. Any time she didn't understand the man's motivations, she was nervous. He was very dangerous.

Just before she had to make the decision where to spend her lunch hour, a knock at the door surprised both of the office's occupants. Expecting it to simply be her worthless assistant she hadn't even bothered to get rid of yet, Hermione glanced up from the file she was reviewing. Alecto Carrow stood in the doorway smiling. In the time since she'd been back to Hogsmeade and the Ministry, the women hadn't seen each other once. For reasons that were obvious to anyone who knew how much their families loathed each other, she hadn't been invited to Theodore's wedding reception. No doubt Alecto had been inconsolable at the thought of missing out on that wretched event.

"Allie, what are you doing here?"

"I was in the Ministry today. Hoped we could have lunch."

Hermione crossed the room to greet the older witch with a warm hug. It really had been quite selfish of her to not make the effort to at least drop in on her friend in the past several weeks. She'd been kind to her when she was on the run especially when she put herself in danger to do so. Antonin could've easily held it against her if he'd known.

"Of course. That sounds lovely."

Once they both rolled their eyes at an obnoxious remark from Rabastan about offering to make it a _threesome_ inside the restaurant and then in a lovely inn he knew about for dessert, the two women headed for the lifts. Not wishing to spend another meal at the canteen, Hermione suggested a tea room in Diagon Alley. Thanks to the fireplaces in the Atrium connected to the Floo network, they were able to arrive at their intended location in just a few minutes. Though no one would ever explicitly admit so, the Marks on their arms ensured that they were given a table the moment they entered the front door.

They were halfway through their salads and in the middle of some innocuous story about Alecto's latest frustrations with her job at the Daily Prophet when the entire tone of the conversation shifted. Either Alecto was trying to ease them into the real reason they were meeting or she'd been nervous.

"I was _shocked_ to hear that you were back home. How did Antonin finally catch you?"

Hermione sipped at her glass of water, desperate for anything to keep her mouth occupied just another moment longer. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before she had to answer the uncomfortable questions. Avoiding Alecto forever wasn't going to be an option.

"Actually, I went home on my own."

The widening of her blue-green eyes proved that that was a surprise to Alecto.

"I had no idea. Very interesting."

" _How_ is that interesting?"

"No need to get defensive, Hermione. I just meant that I'm surprised. When we saw each other last, you were determined to stay as far away from your husband as possible. Has something changed?"

She didn't know how to answer the question convincingly. It wasn't as if she could admit that the only reason she even considered returning to her husband was because she felt an obligation to free Aberforth Dumbledore from the prison she didn't mean to put him in. That was a dangerous admission that she couldn't afford to make. As close as they'd gotten over the years as some of the only female Death Eaters in the Inner Circle, Hermione felt certain that she couldn't actually trust Alecto with that secret. In fact, the longer they were around each other, the more she began to wonder if she could trust her at all.

"No, nothing changed, Allie. Nothing except I was tired of running."

"And you missed your family?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Alecto's scoff of a laugh indicated that it was. Over the years, they'd shared a lot of secrets. She knew more about Hermione's marriage than almost anyone else. And, she was also well aware of the hag in Knockturn Alley. Alecto had been the one to give her the address in the first place.

"It does seem like rather suspicious timing, love. Everything is so up in the air right now. We all know that it's about to get rather _chaotic_ in the days to come. Your sudden return does seem to indicate that you've made your public decision of where your loyalties lie."

If the woman's purpose was to try to wrangle out of Hermione the truth of who she would follow when the Dark Lord succumbed to his illness, she wasn't being very subtle about that fact. Hermione wasn't even sure what her decision was herself. Even if she did, she learned a long time ago that it was best to keep her own counsel in those matters.

"I'm sure I don't have the first clue what you mean, Allie."

That was her own not-so-subtle indication that she was done talking about that topic. The rest of the meal passed in an odd, stilted conversation so unlike how they usually conversed. Hermione was thankful when the check was paid and they were rising to their feet.

"Let's do this again very soon."

Alecto pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. Lasting only a few moments, when they broke apart, the older witch rushed out of the restaurant claiming to be in a bit of a rush. Hermione picked off a coarse, white hair that clung to the front of her robes where Alecto's clothes rubbed hers. Maybe she got a cat in the months since they'd seen each other last. It didn't matter. She was just glad the meal was over.


	178. June 26th

June 26th

Hermione could practically smell the end of her mission in sight and it was welcome. The longer she remained living in her former life, the more she feared that she wouldn't be able to leave again. Every day her world grew just a little more complicated. Antonin certainly wasn't helping. His care and concern for her was only making her stay more difficult. She thought it strange that she almost longed for the days when they fought over every little tiny thing in their lives instead of the cool peace that existed between them.

As she stood over the bubbling cauldron placed on the kitchen table of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, she felt calm. Even as she sometimes dreaded the return of the home's master, she knew that for at least a few minutes each day she could be assured that checking on her cauldron would help to settle her nerves. The polyjuice potion was her ticket out of there. Once she had Aberforth safely out of the Ministry, she would leave too. Not just the job she loathed, but the entire life that she built next to her husband.

When everything grew too stressful and she began to fear that she would never be successful, she would remind herself to take a deep breath. As she exhaled, she would imagine the first place she would go the moment she had the freedom to disappear. Her time in Cardiff gave her the idea of stowing away on a cargo ship headed for international waters. She didn't much care what its final destination was. Finding a quiet corner to shield herself in from the unsuspecting Muggles was the best first step she could imagine. Antonin and his associates would scour the country's transportation services, checking for unauthorized portkeys, and magical residue left behind by her wand. She didn't think he would consider the ships. They weren't nearly as fast and efficient as other methods of escape.

Every day she practiced cloaking her magic with her untraceable wand. It would be a bit of wrench to have to give up the wand she'd been using for the better part of her adult life, but in the end, it was _just_ a wand after all. Her freedom meant just a little bit more. She wanted to prepare herself for the day when she would have to resort entirely to the cloaked magic. Of course, there was always a hope that when the Dark Lord died, the new regime that took over would do away with the Trace entirely. If her husband no longer had access to the Ministry's method of monitoring magic, she wouldn't even need to hide what she was doing from anyone other than Muggles.

The sound of footsteps on the creaking stairs dragged her out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen Draco in almost a week. Not since they had their tense conversation in the very same room about why he taught William Wood his secret how to track so effectively. It was also one of the only times that they were alone together since she ran out of his flat on Oliver's birthday that they didn't so much as even touch. Their conversation that day didn't last more than just a few minutes, but that never stopped him before.

Neither of them were in a rush to speak this visit. Hermione kept her attention focused on the potion. Draco leaned up against the table in much the same manner he had when they were alone in the kitchen the last time. She could feel his eyes on her, watching every move she made. It was as unnerving as much of their relationship, or whatever it was that existed between them, had been since they first renewed their acquaintance.

"What did you mean the other day when you said that Wood only controls me as long as he is alive?"

She would've thought that her meaning was obvious, but perhaps their experiences serving the Dark Lord all of those years had been remarkably different. Draco did have a tendency to stay on the sidelines away from the action as much as physically possible. His first real mission as a Death Eater was to murder Albus Dumbledore, a mission he failed dismally. If it hadn't been for Severus Snape, there was simply no way to tell how the rest of the war would've gone. Maybe the Order of the Phoenix could've rallied. It was a long shot, practically impossible. Still, there were enough stubborn Gryffindors in the organization to keep the fight going at least a little bit longer.

Draco's failure at murder when he was a teenager might have been the beginning of a career where he wasn't trusted to get his hands dirty like the rest of them. Important missions couldn't be entrusted to someone that had a weak stomach and the inability to utter the killing curse. His skills as a tracker were very likely the only thing keeping him alive. She thought it unlikely that he hadn't been forced to kill for their master. But, perhaps unlike her, his thoughts didn't go straight to murder when it came to a pesky enemy.

"Exactly what I said, Draco. You are only under Wood's control as long as he is alive. If he's no longer alive, you're no longer under his control."

Setting the stirring rod down on the table next to the cauldron, Hermione turned to look at the wizard. He was thinner than he had been. Dark circles were clear under his exhausted eyes. His pale skin was an unhealthy pallor that made him appear to be sick. Maybe he was. If he was still keeping up the punishing tracking schedule he kept as a way to avoid the rest of the Inner Circle and their dying master, she wouldn't be surprised. He probably hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks, _months_ even.

"You look terrible."

Instead of being offended, his lips split into an amused grin. She found the expression to be catching. When Draco chuckled, she fought the urge and lost. With the tension that existed between them broken somewhat, each of them relaxed, though not entirely. It was dangerous to let one's guard down in front of a potential enemy. And despite the number of times they'd called the other's name out while they were naked in bed, they were still potentially enemies. Hermione allowed herself to forget that fact briefly while she lived in his flat. That had been a dangerous move, one she wouldn't repeat.

Draco moved away from the edge of the table, walking slowly towards her end. The temperature in the room seemed to rise and she didn't think it had anything to do with her close proximity to an open flame. How was it that even though she didn't trust the man, she found herself eager to see what would happen when they were alone? She didn't know what he was up to, what his plans for helping her were. Experience taught her to be wary of someone who offered assistance for seemingly no reason. There would always be a moment when they would finally name their price.

"If you figured out a way to kill Wood, your secret would be safe."

She thought that her words earlier were enough of an explanation, but the closer he got to her, the more nervous she became. It was all ridiculous. They'd been together many times in the past since that first night with the fire whiskey. While she was living in his flat, they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. What was so different now?

"I've missed you."

His fingertips lightly brushed her forearm. Goosebumps prickled up on the skin he touched. Seeming to sense that he was making her nervous, Draco grinned, and moved even closer. Her brain began to muddle, just as it always did when he was near. She could rarely think clearly when he was near enough that she could smell the scent of his expensive cologne. Reminiscent of the times that she grew confused about her surroundings or her memories, she felt fuzzyheaded in his close proximity. Was she under a spell? Or was it something much less sinister?

"Somehow I doubt that."

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure I can believe _anything_ you tell me, Draco."

It was honest, if not kind. She didn't really have time to worry whether or not she hurt his feelings. They were both adults. If she did, he could get over it. There was truth in what she said. She _couldn't_ believe everything that he said. Not when he was being so secretive about what his motivations were or his end goal. She wanted at least some sign that he wasn't about to curse her in the back.

"I hardly think that's fair."

"Why not? You've never once explained to me what you want from me."

They lived in a society where no one did anything based solely on the goodness within their hearts. She knew that she was cracked, her brain certainly not what it once was. That didn't mean she was foolish enough to believe a lie. Undeterred by her admission, Draco closed the distance between their two bodies, effectively pinning her against the table. There was no escape unless she wanted to resort to more drastic measures. His hands found her hips. Squeezing them, but not enough to hurt, he leaned down to brush his mouth just outside the shell of her ear.

"Maybe all I want from you is you."

She would be a fool to trust his pretty words. That was a mistake she'd made time and time again in her past. Trusting a man who had desire on his mind was dangerous. Rarely did it work out in her favor. Hermione closed her eyes, willing her racing heart to slow down.

"I think you're just using me, but I'm not sure for what yet."

He didn't immediately deny what she said. Either he didn't want to lie to her or he wasn't even listening. Based on the way his eyes were staring at her lips, she suspected the latter. He chose to cover them with his before saying another word. Hermione discovered she didn't really mind. It was a conversation that eventually they were going to have to have. The sneaking around couldn't go on forever. But, for the moment, she was going to enjoy it while she could.


	179. June 27th

June 27th

Antonin knew his wife was up to something. Even though he didn't say a word when Hermione returned home the previous afternoon from a longer visit to Number Twelve than she expected, she could tell just by the way he stared at her for the rest of the evening that he was trying to figure it out. A suspicious man by nature, he was often right when his instincts warned him that something was amiss. She hoped that he wouldn't pick another fight like he did when he learned she'd gone to Cornwall. While she couldn't exactly blame him for feeling jealous after learning that she spent time alone with her ex-lover, she didn't want to be dragged into another never-ending row.

They were settling into a comfortable routine. It was almost _nice_. At least it would be if she wasn't afraid that any moment he was going to flip the switch and once again become the violent, dangerous husband she remembered from her unreliable memories. He never could give her a very satisfactory explanation as to why she could 'remember' moments that supposedly never happened. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Or possibly, it was all just one more lie and deception. She didn't know who to trust.

It was always possible that _she_ was the one who couldn't be trusted. Perhaps she was blocking memories intentionally to protect herself from remembering all of the wretched acts she'd committed in the past. Uncovering her blocked and forgotten memory of the day she murdered Andromeda Tonks opened up the very real possibility that maybe _she_ was the one to blame. She used to drink her potions like they were water. Not anything at all like the strawberry flavored ones that Antonin made her drink to calm her down when she was overwrought and confused, the ones she preferred were much more like Muggle heroin or possibly methamphetamines. She really didn't know much about the differences in the illegal Muggle drugs. Rabastan once forced a Muggle drug dealer to give them his product, but she couldn't really remember much of that time. It was all one drug-induced blur.

If her husband suspected she was still carrying on an affair with Augustus, he didn't come right out to demand the truth. That was one of the good aspects of their marriage. They might not like what the other was up to outside the walls of their family home, but they would never confront each other. Not unless there was cause for concern about their safety or the safety of their son. She did, however, worry that Antonin would confront Augustus. Her husband knew her ex well enough to tell when he was lying. It would be a problem if Augustus admitted there was nothing going on between them again. She couldn't afford for him to find out about Draco.

She never could get Draco to admit the day before whether or not he was using her. Once he kissed her, he had an effective way of changing the subject. They especially had little to talk about when they moved upstairs to another one of the decaying moldy bedrooms. She never missed his luxurious flat more than when she was kneeling on the floor drawing the most delightful moans out of Draco using only her mouth and something furry ran across her legs. Praying it was only a mouse, she struggled to finish what she started.

It was time to get even more serious about her plan to help Aberforth escape. She was feeling stifled in her current situation. Polyjuice potion was only one part of the ridiculous, convoluted plan she'd cooked up in the hopes that Rabastan wouldn't catch on to what she was doing. Being the subject of her own interrogation might have been exactly what she deserved, but she hoped it wouldn't get that far. He was too smart and perceptive for his own good. Any sort of simple plan would likely have already been uncovered.

She said her goodbyes to her husband before stepping into the kitchen's fireplace. What he did all day while she was at the Ministry was a mystery to his wife. Truthfully, she didn't want to know how he spent his time. The less she knew, the better. As much as their relationship was improved since before she went away, she couldn't afford to get too involved in his life. Not if she wanted to run again.

Once again no one was in her office when she arrived. She was thankful that morning that no one in her division seemed to understand the importance of punctuality and actually showing up to work. When she sat down at her desk, she removed an expensive box of Honeyduke's Finest chocolates. It had been sitting in her desk drawer for over a week while she waited for the right moment to begin the next step of the process. Out of her pocket, she pulled out the vial of potent love potion she purchased from the hag in Knockturn Alley weeks earlier.

The day she first had lunch with Angelina in the Ministry canteen, she thought of the pranks that the Weasley twins always got up to in Hogwarts. When she allowed herself a moment to consider the brothers, she couldn't help but smile. Even when they drove her absolutely mental, she loved both of them very much. One maybe even a little bit more than the other, but she couldn't allow herself to go down that depressing line of thinking. When they began their successful business, she'd been impressed and also appalled. Love potions were inappropriate enough on their own. To sneak them into innocuous-looking cauldron cakes they smuggled into the castle? _Reprehensible_. They were fortunate they weren't arrested for that while they were both still alive. Maybe if the war wasn't taking up everyone's attention, they might have.

Even if she thought the cauldron cakes were disgusting, she couldn't deny it was an ingenious idea. Nor could she ignore the irony that Ron was now married and seemingly very much in love with the witch who gave them to Harry in the first place. Romilda Weasley had always been a nasty piece of work, but Hermione supposed there was someone out there for everyone. Besides, it wasn't as if she was the greatest of human beings herself. No doubt there were plenty of people out there willing to congratulate Ron on dodging the Avada that was his former best friend. Most assumed they would eventually end up together. Both of them were glad they'd all been wrong.

Unstopping the vial of love potion, Hermione dropped in the blood she'd collected from Aberforth during her secret visit to Level Eleven. Once it was well combined with the potion, she used an instrument a lot like a Muggle syringe to fill each of the chocolates with some of the adulterated potion. Her plan was to keep drugging her intended victim until the day they were ready to complete the next and final step of the plan. All warnings from the old hag to keep the dosage low to prevent insanity were ignored. She didn't care. The remainder of the Aberforth-spiked love potion went into the secret compartment of her desk where she hid her other potions. She would need to keep spiking chocolates or her victim's tea if she wanted it to be effective. The only person who knew the compartment existed was Rabastan and he wasn't likely to notice one vial was different from the others if he chose to take a peek inside.

Rachel was just arriving at her desk when Hermione exited the office. The two women didn't have much use for each other under the best of circumstances. When the assistant started to speak to her boss, no doubt to simply say 'good morning' and check if Hermione needed anything from her, her boss glared. It was amusing to intimidate the dreadful girl. She fought off a grin. Giving her no explanation as to where she as headed, she left the girl alone.

The first lift that opened was empty to Hermione's relief. She really wasn't in the mood to make inane chitchat with people she hated and cared nothing about. Not for the first time since her return she lamented the fact that she had to be somewhat social to keep her cover up. It was much easier when she was on the run and didn't have to talk to anyone at all. She missed those days. No one was present in the corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries. Her path to the staircase that led to the courtrooms and the dusty file room on Level Ten was unimpeded.

Dolores Umbridge was just settling in for the day when Hermione entered her file room. It still made her laugh to think about the dreadful woman cooped up in the most dismal part of the entire Ministry for the rest of her life. Though she was still of the opinion that death would've been the best option, she was satisfied that at least Umbridge was miserable and unable to cause much havoc in her current position.

"Good morning, Madam Dolohov. Can I help you?"

To be safe, Hermione checked the woman to be certain that her Imperius Curse was still active. It wouldn't do her plans any good to discover that her victim had been able to best the curse when she wasn't around. Satisfied that she still under the influence, she placed the box of chocolates on top of her desk. Umbridge's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Of course it was something of a shock to get a box of chocolates. Something told Hermione that she'd never been given one before. She got the impression that Umbridge's love life had been painfully dull. It was _almost_ enough to make her feel sorry for the wretch.

"This is a thank you for all of your help lately, Dolores. It has been invaluable."

She pushed the box closer to the toad-faced woman, encouraging her to take the lid. When she didn't immediately open them, Hermione commanded that she eat. With the glassy look across her eyes that was further proof she was under her control, Umbridge opened the package and immediately popped a chocolate in her mouth. Hermione turned to leave the office once she was certain that she'd followed her order. Knowing the woman's dietary preferences and seeming inability to lose weight over the years, it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that she would polish off the rest of the decadent sweets when she was alone.

"Madam Dolohov, before you leave, I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

Hermione stopped moving towards the door to turn her full focus on Umbridge.

"I know this is highly irregular, but would it be possible for you to grant me the ability to visit one of the prisoners downstairs?"

" _Which_ prisoner? And why?"

Umbridge bursting into loud, obnoxious tears brought a smile to Hermione's face. She had no idea it would be so satisfying to watch her fall apart. Nor did she realize that the potion would begin to work immediately. She was tempted to reward the hag who sold it to her if she didn't have to return to the scene of her old crime.

"I'm completely lost without my Abbie, Madam Dolohov! I love him so much. I wish there was some way that I could get him out of those cells. He shouldn't be in them!"

Though it pained her to do so, Hermione placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. Almost instantly she ceased her sobs.

"I promise very soon you will get your chance, Dolores."

Hermione spent the rest of the day fighting to keep a grin off of her face.


	180. June 28th

June 28th

Hermione could feel someone watching her from the shadows. While she couldn't be certain that whomever it was meant her any harm, rarely had she experienced a similar situation when they _didn't_. She had always been very careful when she made her trips to the crumbling Black family home on Grimmauld Place. Cloaking her magic so that her husband wasn't aware of where she went was just the first step. Never did she approach the house directly without concern for her surroundings. Not paying attention to the immediate area was how one got captured or killed. Rodolphus Lestrange was a valued trainer in being stealthy when she was a young, willing recruit.

From the moment her feet touched down on the rundown London street where the house was located, she'd felt ill at ease. Intuition was a valuable tool that not everyone was smart enough to utilize. Too often it was simply dismissed as being a silly 'woman thing'. She learned how vital it was to trust her gut. More than a few times she'd been able to extricate herself from a sticky situation to live another day just by trusting her instincts. It was unnerving to feel eyes on her that she couldn't see.

The possible culprits were nobody she really wanted to consider. Draco was ruled out as a possibility. What would he have to gain from sitting outside watching the area surrounding his property? He'd already set up wards to tell him any time someone entered or exited. Based on the pleasurable encounters they'd been able to share more than a couple of times in the past month as she brewed the polyjuice potion, she knew that he wasn't shy about waltzing through the front door. No, if it was the owner, he wouldn't bother waiting outside.

Unfortunately, the most logical choice would have to be the worst possible one. William Wood already knew that the house existed. He'd stepped inside its walls and seen it with his own eyes. His desire to track her down to force her to pay for murdering his younger brother was consuming. He wouldn't rest until he exacted his revenge. She would almost despise the man if she didn't recognize a fellow crazy person suffering in their grief. If the roles were reversed, she would want him dead too. With the sickening knowledge that he was in possession of Draco's tracking spell secrets, it wasn't farfetched to imagine that he was the one keeping a close eye on her as she approached the house.

Leading Wood, or anyone with nefarious intentions right to the front door of the home she was brewing an illegal potion in was foolish. With the end of her plan in sight, she couldn't afford any complications. Even if it meant leaving the potion alone for a couple of days, hoping and praying nothing happened to it, she would. A temporary setback was infinitely preferable to arrest or murder. Glad that she was no longer so arrogant about her position in the regime that she didn't worry about her safety, Hermione remained in the neglected garden several houses down from Number Twelve considering her next move. The wrong decision would be disastrous. She couldn't blow her cover or Draco's for that matter.

The possibility that she was simply being paranoid was considered. Maybe it was only her guilty conscience making her imagine dangerous people that weren't even really there. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she imagined something that turned out to be untrue. Her memories were unreliable. Perhaps her instincts were as well? But, somehow, at least in that particular moment, she didn't think so. More reminders of her training with Rodolphus came to the forefront of her mind.

 _"_ _If you don't feel perfectly at ease in a situation, Hermione, pay attention."_

She wondered if there was a way to enter the house from the back. With as large as structure as it was, there _must_ be some door she could force open. Orion Black was notoriously paranoid. Even his son didn't know all of his secrets. His children were encouraged to stay as far away from the other children in the area as possible. Filthy Muggles were not good enough for members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He would've done all that he could to discourage his children from sneaking out of back doors.

Hermione slipped away from the garden she was hiding in, careful to not make any noise. Keeping to the darkened corners whenever possible, she began moving away from the house. She would have to double back, but her hope was to get whomever was on her trail off of it first. It didn't take long until she was _certain_ without any doubts at all that she was being followed. And it was definitely someone with extensive experience in being stealthy. Not knowing Wood's talents or his exact function within the Resistance, she couldn't be sure that he wasn't competent enough to follow her so well. She didn't think it was him though. He'd never kept his intention to murder her when he had a chance to himself. If Wood was following her, he would have already tried to attack her. _Failed_ , no doubt, but still tried.

When it became clear that she was in no danger of eluding her shadow, Hermione changed tactics. She spun around in place to head back towards her true destination. The change in direction could force the stalker to cross her path. Clearly anticipating such a move, she didn't see them. It was frustrating to know that she was at their mercy. Sure, she could leave the area with a simple spell, but she had a purpose for being there in the first place. She didn't like it when people got in her way.

The closer she got to Number Twelve, she noticed a narrow alley running behind the line of homes. She didn't think there would be an entrance to the house, but it wouldn't hurt to try. At the very least, she could hopefully trap her pursuer long enough to figure out who it was. Once she knew who it was, she could find out _why_.

Stepping into an confined space with no promise of an escape was never a perfect option. A lot could go wrong. The trap she set could easily trap _her_ instead. She'd had plenty of experiences in her past where she was only _just_ able to get out of a situation alive. The feeling used to excite her. No longer. Only a few steps into the alley and she felt a sudden rush of air. Her body was slammed up against a wall, pinned in place by a much larger frame. Unable to see who it was that had her cheek and her stomach pressed into the bricks, she quickly got the impression that this wasn't Draco planning another surprise like back in the woods around Hogsmeade.

"Did you really think I would fall for a trap? _Tsk tsk_. You underestimate me, Hermione."

Few people were left alive in their world that addressed her by her first name. Even fewer that would care whether or not she could breathe in the position she was in. Her assailant stepped back far enough that she was still pinned, but no longer crushed. He'd already saved her life several times before. Why would he allow his past efforts to be in vain?

"Maybe I've finally gotten you right where I want you. I used to fancy you when I was younger. What girl doesn't dream of a handsome auror pushing her up against a wall in a dark alley?"

" _Former_ auror. If I let you go, will you promise not to run or hex me in the eyes?"

"And risk damaging that pretty face? I wouldn't dream of it."

" _Hermione_ …"

"All right. I promise."

Kingsley Shacklebolt released his grip on the witch, but even without touching her, Hermione knew that she wouldn't be fast enough to get away. Whatever he'd been doing in the past twenty years when he wasn't saving a foolish woman from the ravages of potion-withdrawal, it was evident that he'd kept his skills developed as a dark wizard catcher honed. She'd grown lazy. Even if she didn't consider the year on the run, she'd allowed her position in the Ministry to make her soft.

"What do you want, Kingsley?"

"I saw you enter the old Headquarters two days ago and then again yesterday. Thought you might be back today, so I waited."

"Why?"

A shrug of his shoulders and a hint of a grin was the only answer he was prepared to give. Hermione couldn't understand what he had to gain for seeking her out. It wasn't as if they were friends or even allies. She would always appreciate the assistance he provided her when she was first on the run, but that didn't suddenly make them friends. He grew serious.

"Have you been taking any illegal potions since you left my flat?"

What business was that of his? She started to grow defensive, but thought twice. Maybe she did owe him the truth after he took her in.

"No illegal potions. I've only taken the ones my husband gives me."

"And can you trust him not to give you something harmful?"

"Yes, the ones he gives me are to calm me down when I get confused."

The moment she uttered the words, she wished she hadn't. She didn't know if she could trust the wizard with the knowledge that she wasn't as strong mentally as she should've been. But, considering this was also the man who bathed her when she was covered in her own vomit with more tenderness than she knew he possessed, maybe that wasn't exactly breaking news to him. She rushed to say something to change the subject.

"What are you doing here, Kingsley? Aren't you more content hiding out there amongst the Muggles?"

"There are rumblings even amongst the Muggles that the world is about to get interesting again."

Even in the time that she spent in his flat over a year earlier, she never considered that he might be interested in getting involved with their world again. He'd somehow managed to etch out an existence with the Muggles that he seemed to enjoy. She found him to be a mystery, one that she wasn't even sure she wanted to solve.

"Are you part of the Resistance?"

His lips split into a wide smile. It really was unfair how handsome he was. She wasn't lying when she said she used to fancy him when she was a teenager. Fighting the Death Eaters with him on top of a thestral didn't help matters.

"I fight for only one man." He pointed to his own chest with his thumb. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. Who do _you_ fight for, Hermione?"

She couldn't answer that question. Once she wouldn't hesitate to say the Dark Lord. He was her master and the only reason she was alive. That was no longer the case. Even saying that she fought for her family wasn't true. Before she could give him a proper answer, Kingsley leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"I'll be seeing you again soon. Try to be more careful when you're sneaking into supposedly abandoned houses."

Kingsley Disapparated from the alley moments later. When she approached the house again, she took his advice to heart. She really couldn't be too careful. Who knew who else might be out there watching?


	181. June 29th

June 29th

Friday was an exciting day at the Ministry. Even if most of the souls who worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were ignorant of the importance of the day, they could feel the excitement seeping out of the Intelligence Division. Rabastan could hardly sit still all day. Though it would normally annoy Hermione to no end that he couldn't keep his attention focused on a single task for long, she couldn't fault him for being happy. It wasn't every day that they were given the opportunity to arrest a high-ranking member of the Inner Circle.

In even the recent past, they would have been expected to go straight to the Dark Lord with their suspicions that one of their own was guilty of a terrible crime. Betrayal and sabotage were nothing new in their ranks. Part of ensuring that one was even able to stay in the highest echelon of Lord Voldemort's elite followers was being ever ready to utilize harsh tactics over each other. Curses in the back was not an uncommon phenomenon. But, in his healthier days when he was able to take a more hands-on approach to leadership, their master would have to give them permission to arrest Theodore Nott. It truly was a sign that the world was changing that neither of the Co-Heads even _considered_ taking their concerns up with the wizard they were sworn to follow.

Theodore Nott Senior was once a highly respected Death Eater. His glory days, however, were long behind him. Why he thought that he would be a viable replacement to their leader was confusing. No one trusted him. Not even his own son wanted anything to do with him. The Dark Lord only kept him around because of a sense of nostalgia. Apparently the decaying of his body also robbed him of his memories of the other wizard's frequent failures. He stepped up after Macnair mysteriously disappeared years earlier to aid their master in whatever was required to keep his rotting shell functioning. That used to count for something. No longer.

The arrest wasn't going to happen until either the late hours of the night or the wee hours of the morning. Experience taught them that the best way to capture a particularly difficult subject was to barge into their home when they were fast asleep. The disorientation that most of them felt when first waking up was usually enough of an advantage to those serving the warrants. So was catching the subject in a particular passionate encounter. Naked suspects rarely ran. Nott might have been nearing the century mark, but he was not someone they should easily discount. His repertoire of deadly curses was impressive.

Knowing that she wasn't going to be able to get any additional work done while they waited thanks to Rabastan's almost giddy mood, Hermione made her excuses to leave early for the day. Her Co-Head didn't mind. He would probably be doing the same soon anyway. They were likely to have long hours ahead of them. Best to get some rest when they could.

She didn't feel the same eyes watching her when she arrived on Grimmauld Place. A survey of the area didn't turn up any suspicious characters, but thanks to her unexpected visit with Kingsley the day before, she was feeling uncharacteristically paranoid. She took her time entering the house, waiting only until she was positive no one was watching her. It was a good thing that there were only a few more days left before the polyjuice potion was ready. She was growing weary of her daily visits.

Once she was satisfied that the potion was still progressing nicely and when it was evident that Draco wouldn't be making a visit, she cloaked her magic to Apparate to the woods surrounding her village. A short stroll through nature helped to calm her nerves. Never in her life did she ever consider herself a big fan of the outdoors, but she couldn't deny how much peace could be found in the wild. By the time she made it to her front door, she was in a much better mood.

Antonin was still home when she entered. Surprised to see her home so early, he smiled. An unexpected ache in Hermione's chest made her temporarily forget to breathe. How much simpler would their lives have been over the years if she could've loved her husband at least _half_ as much as he loved her? It was a common regret she'd had over thirteen years of marriage. Likely she'd feel the same way until the day she died. In an odd burst of affection that would probably leave Antonin confused, she crossed the room to kiss him in greeting. Usually, _he_ was the one who initiated any sort of physical affection.

The kiss didn't last long. Hardly even a proper press of her lips against his, the gesture was huge. Startled at first by his wife's move, Antonin didn't respond until the moment she broke the kiss to pull away. Reasserting their usual roles, her husband pulled her into his arms to claim her mouth with his. Their actions didn't escalate to anything beyond a few minutes of heated kissing, but it was just enough to thoroughly bewilder Hermione's senses. She knew she had to get out of his web before she was well and truly caught. He was a complication her already complicated life didn't need right then.

"We will be arresting Theodore either late tonight or early tomorrow morning."

Realizing he was being dismissed, Antonin didn't even bother to hide the hurt feelings written all over his face. He composed himself quickly, the moment of vulnerability gone. Hermione pretended not to notice the effect she had on him. It was much easier to ignore than to acknowledge. They broke apart to move to the sofa. At least she was prepared to offer him a conversation. That was more than she did in the past.

"That's good news. What are his charges exactly?"

Hermione waved her hand in a dismissive manner. The details didn't interest her in the slightest. All that mattered was Nott would soon be down on Level Eleven and no one had any intentions of letting him leave.

"Rabastan took care of all of that."

"And you're not concerned that it might all be some scheme on Rabastan's part? They've been seen meeting in private."

She wasn't sure what compelled her to keep speaking. Some topics were better left undiscussed, but she didn't like the idea of Antonin not knowing what she did. It seemed unfair. In a competition that was _literally_ life and death, she didn't want him ignorant. Maybe some of what she knew could help save his life. Just because she didn't love him didn't mean she wanted him to die.

"Rabastan _hates_ Theodore. They're not working together at all. He's been anxious to arrest him."

"Then why would they have met in private?"

"Theodore wanted to marry Rabastan's eldest daughter."

Antonin's eyes narrowed at the explanation. It wasn't a secret that Nott was so disgusting, but it was still bothersome. She knew without asking that her husband was every bit as horrified by the cruel ninety-something year old man asking to marry Rabastan's sixteen year old daughter as she was.

"When I asked Rabastan who he was working with, he was vehement that Theodore was _not_ one of them."

Her statement piqued his interest.

"Did he say who he was working with?"

"No one you would be surprised about. He did, however…" She stopped herself, unsure if she should continue. Being completely honest might not serve her best interests in this case. "He asked me if I would be interested."

"Of course he did."

His sigh was one of frustration laced with sadness. Clearly he wasn't surprised that his enemies were trying to recruit his wife as an ally against him. Marriages, complicated enough with everyone else, were doubly so within the ranks of the Death Eaters. There was a very valid reason why so few Death Eater marriages lasted. Relationships were weaknesses, rarely strengths.

"Can I trust a hope that you turned him down?"

"I never answered him."

It was the truth. She saw no reason to lie. There was once a time when she wouldn't have hesitated to rise up against her husband with others. Just as there was a time when she wouldn't have dreamed of betraying him. And if she continued to be perfectly honest with him, she might even admit that she hadn't completely ruled out the possibility that she would work against him in his quest to become the next Dark Lord. If he was successful, she could never run. She would be stuck where she was for the rest of her life. At least Rabastan offered a promise that she and her son wouldn't be harmed. They could leave the country and never look back.

"Tell me honestly, Antonin. Do you really want to be the Dark Lord?"

There was a high probability that he had never been asked that question so bluntly by anyone. After years of serving as Lord Voldemort's right hand, it was naturally assumed that he would be the successor in the bizarre chance that their master died. Publicly, they were all of the opinion that he was immortal. Privately was another matter entirely. His shoulders fell with his deep sigh.

"No, I don't. Not in the slightest, but I have no choice."

"You don't?"

" _No_ , I don't. I don't trust anyone else to be in charge. Everyone else in a position to do so is too untrustworthy or unpredictable. We would be in danger, _our_ family especially."

She knew he was right. All potential enemies would have to be eradicated by whomever was successful in ascending to the head of the regime in the wake of the Dark Lord's death. Antonin was the strongest candidate and therefore, the most likely to be trouble. He would be eliminated. To be safe, his family would probably be eliminated too. Revenge killings were so tiresome after all.

"Then why don't we pack up and just leave? Leave what's not necessary, take Ollie, and run?"

His sad smile knocked years off of his face. Some of the strain she'd seen on it since she returned disappeared. He looked more like the man she knew from her early days of living in the attic. The fingers on Antonin's right hand carded through her curls. She leaned her head into his touch. It was always soothing when he touched her hair. No one else had ever been so gentle, always careful not to snag a curl.

"If I thought for even a moment that that was what you really wanted to do, my love, I would. But, you and I both know that I've never been what you wanted."

How was she supposed to respond to something so heart-wrenching? Especially considering the fact that it was true. Hermione did the only thing she knew to do to distract him. She closed the distance between their bodies, kissing him with every ounce of sadness and regret that she had coursing through her body.


	182. June 30th

June 30th

A frantic tapping at the window of their bedroom woke both of the Dolohovs up from a sound sleep. It was unusual to receive post before the sun was up. Concerned that there was a problem or some sort of emergency, Antonin leapt up from the bed. Padding across the room completely naked thanks to their unexpected, but pleasurable late night activities, he opened the window to accept the delivery from the impatient owl. The creature flew off into the darkness before he could even offer it an affectionate ruffle of its feathers or a treat.

"It's for you."

Hermione sat up in bed, anxious to know what the contents of the letter her husband was carrying over to her contained. The moment he held out the missive, she snatched it from his hand. News that came when the sun wasn't up was rarely good. It only took her a moment to decipher the hurried scrawl. With a bright smile on her face, she threw the covers off of her body.

"The Snatchers were able to arrest the Notts without any issue. I'm needed at the Ministry."

"But Ollie is coming home today. Surely this can wait until after you come with me to pick our son up in London."

It never made much sense to her that even the residents of Hogsmeade were expected to escort their children to and from King's Cross stations in London. She thought it was a waste of time when the students who lived in the village could easily walk to the castle themselves. The argument was always made that riding aboard the Hogwarts Express was a rite of passage for all young witches and wizards. It would be unfair to deny some of the students the privilege simply because of where their parents chose to live. Regardless, she didn't see why she needed to be there to pick Oliver up with Antonin. He was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. After all, he was by himself when he took him there at the beginning of the school year.

"I'm sorry, but Ollie will just have to understand. I will see him at home."

They both knew there was no use continuing to argue. She would go to the Ministry no matter what Antonin might say. She _always_ went to the Ministry. It was one of the main reasons why their marriage could get a bit rocky at times. Well, that and the fact that neither one of them seemed to honor the vow of 'forsaking all others'. Antonin didn't even bother to say another word. With a huff and a dramatic punch to his pillow to fluff it back up, he returned to bed. It was a shame that after such a pleasant afternoon and then again in the late hours of the night, that they should have a row. Hermione made certain to at least attempt to soothe his upset temper by kissing him goodbye.

There wasn't time to worry about the hurt feelings of either her husband or her son. If she wanted to keep her cover from being blown, she had to continue to act just like she always did when she was working. Ignoring a request from Rabastan to assist him in the office following the arrest of a high-profile suspect that was likely to create quite the scandal when the news got out was just not done. It would only be further proof that she wasn't actually back at the Ministry to do her job. She couldn't afford anyone to look too closely at her activities. Not at least until she freed Aberforth.

Rabastan was entirely too cheerful for being at the office before the sun was even up. He stood outside their office dressed just as haphazardly as his Co-Head. No other members of their Division were there yet. Surprised that he wasn't inside their office waiting for her arrival, she noticed the door was closed.

"Is Nott in there?'

He laughed.

"Oh no. He's already downstairs. All of the cells are full so I had him taken directly to one of the side rooms. He knows we're serious by now. I thought it would be amusing to have him sit there for a couple of days torturing himself with fears of what we're going to do to him."

The violent churning in her stomach began at the thought that she would have to go downstairs with him to interrogate Nott at some point. She'd hoped, perhaps naïvely, to be able to make it through her temporary return to the Ministry without getting any additional blood on her hands. There was a tremendous fear that she wouldn't be able to make it through another interrogation. Something in her changed when she was last in a side room. She couldn't let Rabastan, or anyone else for that matter, see her weakness.

"Mrs. Nott is inside. I thought having her wait in our office would be kinder than finding a room downstairs for her."

"You're not suggesting that _she_ will be taken down to a room, are you? Because I will _not_ do that to a practical child, Rabastan. She didn't ask to be married to that cretin."

Hermione was prepared to curse the wizard if he so much as hinted that he wanted to harm the poor girl. She might have been technically of age, but she couldn't be held responsible for what happened. There was no way that she was an accomplice to the Leaky Cauldron explosion. Before she could get going on an impressive rant, Rabastan placed both of his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.

"Of course we're not taking her downstairs. But, we would be foolish to not at least speak to her though." He pulled a small vial of a familiar clear liquid out of his pocket. "She might have heard something interesting on her honeymoon."

" _I_ will be the one to speak to her. You're likely to just terrify her even further or make some inappropriate remark."

He grew very serious and his grin disappeared.

"She's practically the same age as my daughter, Hermione. I wouldn't be cruel. As far as I'm concerned, she's an innocent in all of this."

"Still, I will speak to her. _Alone_ , at first. There might be some questions that she wouldn't wish to answer in front of a man."

He didn't argue, even though it was a known fact that a drinker of Veritaserum would be compelled to answer any question they were asked, regardless of whether or not they were shy around grown men. With a promise that she would use a Quick Quotes quill as they always did during interviews, Hermione pushed open the door.

Unfortunately, her reputation was well-known even to teenaged witches just out of Hogwarts. The moment the brand new Mrs. Nott saw who was walking into the room, she burst into tears. Based on her red eyes and the streaks down her cheeks, this wasn't the first round. Knowing that words had little effect on someone that distraught, Hermione busied her hands with brewing a pot of tea. She didn't say anything to the girl - _Rosalind_ , she believed her name was. It was best to allow her to get all of her emotion out while she could.

When the soothing chamomile tea was ready, Hermione carried the small tea tray over to Rabastan's desk. She sat in his chair while Mrs. Nott stared at her with big, wide eyes from a chair on the other side. A smile from the notorious interrogator Madam Dolohov was hardly going to be much of a comfort to the terrified girl, so Hermione simply poured them each a cup of tea. She held the vial of Veritaserum up for her victim's inspection.

"Rosalind? Is that right?"

She nodded twice, afraid to open her mouth. Good thing that the potion she was about to consume would make it easier to speak. Hermione didn't relish doing this the old-fashioned way. Like she said earlier, it wasn't her fault she married Theodore Nott.

"Rosalind, I'm going to put a few drops of this in your tea. Do you recognize what it is?" She nodded. "Good. I know this all must be very scary for you, but none of us want to hurt you. I just want to ask you some questions and then later Mr. Lestrange is going to come in and ask some more. It's very important that you tell us the truth, so the Veritaserum is going to help you."

Few interviews were conducted with the truth-telling potion. Not only was the potion expensive and time-consuming to brew, it was less fun. If a person knew to expect a cup of tea with a potion in it, they would be less likely to be deterred from the very activities the regime was trying to prevent in the first place. Fear was a powerful motivator. Only in the cases, like poor Rosalind's, where the person was innocent did they even consider the more humane option.

Even though she might have wished to, Rosalind didn't hesitate to drink the offered cup of tea. Hermione was glad. It was so tiresome to have to stun a person and force the hot liquid down their throats. Any time they were able to remain civil was preferable. She waited until the teacup was empty and the girl's pretty green eyes took on the glassy appearance of one under the influence of the potion.

"What is your name?"

"Rosalind Mariah Plunkett Nott."

Hermione wasn't sure if Nott was an improvement over the unfortunate Plunkett, but didn't give it much more than a passing thought. She had a number of questions to ask before either one of them could hope to go home. It was entirely possible that she would need to drink more than a cup or two of tea laced with the potion.

"Who is your husband?"

"Theodore Nott Senior."

"When did you marry Mr. Nott?"

"June 16th."

Even under the potion's effects, Rosalind grimaced at the reminder of her wedding. What a horrible night that must have been. It had been miserable enough for Hermione and she didn't have to worry about facing the indignity of Nott's wrinkled, age-spot riddled hands on her bare flesh. Remembering the potion that Rabastan claimed to slip into Nott's wine during his wedding reception, she paused the spell activating the Quick Quotes quill recording their session to ask a couple of questions _off_ the record. The answers would come in handy later when she was downstairs dealing with the poor girl's disgusting husband.

"Was your marriage consummated on your wedding night?"

"No. He tried, but he was unable. Said that it was because he drank too much wine."

"Was your marriage consummated on your honeymoon?"

"No. He wasn't able to then either. He got very angry about it too. Said that it was my fault. Maybe if I was prettier he wouldn't have any problems. He slapped me a few times when he got angry, but that's all he was able to do."

The desire to strangle the wretched man with her bare hands was strong. He was just _nasty_. There was no other word that would more accurately describe him. His young wife was certainly pretty enough, and given a few more years to fully come into her adulthood, she had the promise to be quite beautiful. He was a small man who thrived on belittling others. It was honestly no real shock to learn that Theo's mother killed herself after ten years of marriage. Hermione couldn't blame her if that was the life she had to look forward to.

"Rosalind, how would you like to become a very rich widow?"

A smile was her answer. Once she promised that she would do what she could to make sure she had her wish, Hermione reactivated the Quick Quotes quill and resumed the _official_ interview.


	183. July 1st

July 1st

Hermione's day at the Ministry was every bit as interminable as she expected it to be. It had been a long time since she had to keep such grueling hours. Out of practice, all that kept her from giving up early was the knowledge that that was exactly the kind of weakness Rabastan was expecting her to display. He was always searching for reasons to get the upper hand and she refused to allow him the satisfaction.

The interview with Rosalind Nott lasted many, _many_ hours. Once she got over her initial shyness and shame, she was extremely cooperative. A few times she continued speaking even after the Veritaserum wore off. To be safe and to ensure that they could trust what she said, they always had her repeat what she said again under the influence of the potion. Each time she told the truth. She was easily one of the most cooperative witnesses they'd ever had. Sneaky too. Despite clearly being terrified of her new husband, she'd had many opportunities to snoop through the manor to listen at keyholes or uncover hidden nooks and other hiding places while she was left alone during the planning of her wedding. Neither her parents nor her betrothed thought that she would be able to provide anything useful to the conversation so she was left out entirely. She promised to be helpful in the inevitable investigation that would take place in her new home. There were a few cupboards she thought they would find interesting.

With her head practically swimming with information and plans for their next steps, Hermione considering skipping a visit to Number Twelve. Surely the potion would be all right for one day. She had another long day looming ahead of her in just a few short hours. In the end she decided she was too close to the end to be reckless. A quick visit, uninterrupted by any unwanted guests, was all she needed to settle her nerves. The potion was still in perfect condition.

Just after midnight she unlocked her front door, more ready for bed than she'd been in ages. It was unsettling to leave when the sun was down and come home in the dark. Climbing the stairs was an effort for her tired body. How much worse would it be when she had to participate in the more _thorough_ investigation of Theodore Nott? Careful to be quiet, she stepped over the creaky stair.

The door to the bedroom she shared with Antonin was still open to her surprise. Neither of them liked to sleep without the door closed. Beyond the fact that open doors made detecting an intruder intent on doing harm in the middle of the night more difficult, Antonin had an almost irrational fear of fire. One article in an outdated issue of _Witch Weekly_ left in the waiting room of the Healer who delivered Oliver taught him about all of the horrors that could happen in a fast-moving house fire where the bedroom doors were open. With a roll of her eyes behind his back, she made the promise to always close the doors.

She felt the exhausted muscles in her face morph into a smile when she saw the scene that waited for her within. Oliver, evidently waiting up for his mother to return home, was fast asleep in the middle of their bed. Antonin lay asleep next to him. Her son really was too old to be sleeping in bed with his parents, but she couldn't help but think how sweet it was, how reminiscent of the days when he was much smaller seeking out the protection of his parents when he'd had a bad dream. Little did he know at the time that his parents were _actual_ monsters and the stars of other peoples' nightmares.

It was tempting to climb in bed with them just as she was. Only the icky feeling that clung to her skin each time she left the Ministry of Magic prevented her from doing just that. Carefully placed silencing spells around the bathroom as she washed the invisible slime off of her body that came with her career kept her men asleep. When her shower was finished and she was dressed in her pajamas, she wondered if she would have enough energy to even make it to her bed.

Once the spells were removed, Hermione opened the door slowly to the bedroom. No movement on the bed proved her efforts were not in vain. To put her husband's mind at ease when he woke up in the morning, she pulled the door leading out to the corridor closed. She still found it amusing that a man who was perpetually cold thanks to well over a decade in Azkaban could be so afraid of dying in a fire. In her warped mind, she would think that would be how he'd _want_ to go. At least then he wouldn't be cold. But, she supposed irrational fears were just that - irrational. She had more than enough of her own to worry about someone else's.

Padding softly on her feet across the thick rug, she pulled the edge of the covers on her side of the bed up. Oliver had been a heavy sleeper since he was a baby. It was a trait that neither of his parents shared to their amusement. Of course, it wasn't difficult for an innocent child with no regrets or worries on their mind to find peace. Their son slept soundly with the knowledge that his parents would always take care of him. She was able to slide in next to him without him even stirring.

Even though she was exhausted, Hermione couldn't make herself look away from the sweet face of the child she never wanted. He was looking more and more like his father, a fact that should've encouraged him. There was a lot about Antonin that wasn't pretty, but his face wasn't one of them. Looking at her son always helped to give her a sense of what the young, innocent Antonin Dolohov was like before the cruelties of reality irrevocably changed him. Her husband claimed he could see a great deal of his mother in Oliver too. Perhaps he felt the same way looking at their child. He was a visual reminder of the innocents his parents would never be again.

A lock of his thick, wavy hair fell over Oliver's eye. Though it wasn't bothering him as he continued to sleep, Hermione reached out to carefully brush it away from his face. She felt a stirring within her chest that she couldn't quite describe. Something akin to pride, perhaps. She wasn't sure. But she did know that after an entire day and most of the night interviewing another practical child who was thrust into the cruel harshness of their world, she longed to protect him as long as she could. He was the same age she was when she aided her best friend in his mission to keep the Philosopher's Stone out of the hands of the dark wizard she would later pledge her life too. So young and so very innocent, she couldn't have known how difficult the path she would later travel would become. If he was every bit the Gryffindor that she imagined him to be, Oliver would soon find himself in his own noble quest to fight for what was right in a world that was wrong.

There was no question in her mind whether or not she would aid Rabastan and his mysterious faction once the Dark Lord died. Even the thought of knowingly and deliberately creating a situation where her son could become a victim of their violence simply because he was the son of an enemy stoked a fire in her blood. Yes, Rabastan might have claimed that he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her son, but she didn't trust him. Not as far as she could throw him without magic. The man was slimy and unpredictable. She was better off trusting the fate of her son to a venomous viper.

It felt bizarre to feel so protective of her child when she rarely felt much of anything at all for him over the twelve years of his life. She wasn't a good mum. That was a fact that no one would ever convince her of otherwise. Oliver would've been better off being born to just about any other woman in the entire world. Or simply not born at all. But, now that he was her responsibility, she felt the desire to keep him safe and away from the same horrors of war she experienced as a child so strongly it was almost choking.

She gently kissed his forehead, not even caring if he woke up in that moment. No doubt if he did he would find her behavior unsettling. Rarely was she affectionate. Staring into his serene sleeping face, she almost missed the shifting of the bed on the other side of her son. Antonin reached over Oliver's still form to brush a tear on Hermione's face away with his fingertips. Their eyes met in the semi-darkness. She knew what her answer would be if Rabastan asked her again to join his side. Maybe it would be harder to run away with Antonin as the Dark Lord, but at least she could be secure in the fact that their son had the best chance of remaining safe with his father in power.

"I'm going to tell Rabastan no."

Not even the whisper interrupted their son's sleep. She envied him the ability to be so confident and secure in his own safety. It had been years since she last felt the same way. Antonin's fingertips traced the outline of her jaw.

"Don't tell him no. Not yet. He might tell you more if he thinks there's even a chance you might agree."

She couldn't argue with her husband's logic. Rabastan was tenacious. When he wanted something, he set his mind to it and wouldn't be deterred. It was highly possible that he would say too much as he tried to persuade her to join his side.

"All right. I won't tell him no. Not yet."

The thought of being a spy again brought her no peace of mind, but she supposed that was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not in those uncertain times. With the agreement settled, she closed her eyes to try to find her own rest. She didn't bother with setting an alarm. Her body would wake when it was ready, not a moment before.


	184. July 2nd

July 2nd

All owls were ignored on Sunday. Once she was awoken by the tapping of another post owl on her bedroom window before the sun was even up, she shooed the bird and cast a bird-banishing charm around the entire house. It would only be temporary. When she was ready to face the world again, she would. Besides, she already knew they were all from Rabastan demanding that she come back into the Ministry to conduct their planned interrogation of Theodore Nott. If she allowed herself to enter Level Eleven without being fully prepared for what was expected of her within its walls, she would become useless. She had to be in her best form and that wasn't going to happen on three hours of sleep. Her Co-Head would get the hint that she wasn't coming in when his owls returned with their messages unopened. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he'd get started without her.

She spent a pleasant day with her husband and son inside their home. Antonin made certain that Oliver stayed quiet while his mother slept. It was a routine he'd grown used to when he was younger. Even without taking one of the _safe_ , apparently non-habit forming potions that Antonin kept in stock in their bathroom, Hermione was able to rest until well after noon. Only the smell of the roast chicken cooking downstairs in the kitchen woke her up. Thanks to the long interview with Mrs. Nott, she'd forgotten to eat. The small family shared a lovely meal.

Monday morning she knew that she couldn't ignore her responsibilities any longer. Rabastan was going to be even angrier if she stayed away for another day. Despite rather compelling protests from her son that she stay home, she kissed his forehead and stepped into the fireplace. It was unusual to find her Co-Head already seated at his desk when she arrived. Usually he was the sort to stumble in mid-morning without a care that most of the rest of the world had already been hard at work for hours.

"How generous of you to finally show yourself, _pet_. I was beginning to fear that you'd run away from your husband again."

Hermione refused to allow the horrible man to bait her into an argument. It was evident that the events of the previous few days were wearing his patience thin. Dark circles under his eyes proved that he hadn't had a good night's sleep since the arrest. She was tempted to laugh at his foul mood.

"No, I just didn't see the need to come into work yesterday."

His scowl after her response made her temptation to laugh in his face even stronger. Did the man not understand how amusing he could be when he was being petulant and childish? Probably not. He was a prideful man who didn't appreciate when others around him disrespected him. Some had even been killed because of his prickly moods.

"Were you hoping that I would go ahead and interrogate Theodore without you in the room? So you wouldn't have to get your hands dirty again?"

Almost as quickly as his scowl appeared on his face, it was replaced with a knowing grin. She wasn't going to answer his question honestly. Not out loud. Of course she hoped that he would be so anxious to get the worst part of their job over without her if she continued to ignore his summonses to the Ministry. As much as she hated Nott and would've liked nothing more than to see him choke on his own blood, she could feel the subtle tremors throughout her body simply imagining what she was going to be called on to do.

"I have no loyalty to nor love for Theodore, Rabastan. I'll gladly dance upon his grave."

"Then you won't have any problems accompanying me downstairs then?"

"I'll _have_ to accompany you. I still haven't been granted access to Level Eleven. Remember?"

He smirked. She longed to scratch it off his face with her fingernails. How much longer was she going to be forced to keep up this charade? Her patience was almost non-existent at that point.

"Of course I remember. That's not something I'm likely to forget either."

Hermione shrugged off her outer-robes and laid them across the back of her chair. There would be no need for them down in the bowels of the building. She checked that her hair was still pulled tightly against her head. It wouldn't do any good for the prisoner to have anything he could potentially grab on to in the midst of the horrors they were about to inflict upon him. She learned her lesson in the early days of her career. A fistful of hair ripped from her head wasn't an experience she was keen to repeat.

"I'm ready whenever you are, Rabastan."

"I was ready _yesterday_."

She placed her hands on her hips. Lifting a single eyebrow, she waited for him to begin the tirade she was almost certain would be coming. Perhaps he knew what she was waiting for and didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being correct. With a deep sigh of annoyance, he stomped out of the office. She followed close behind.

It was imperative that she get her nerves completely under control before they entered Level Eleven. Any show of weakness could get her put in the room right next door to Nott's. _That_ was the number one worst-case scenario she was trying to avoid. Even with years of inflicting sadistic torture on countless souls, Hermione wasn't sure that she would be able to withstand it herself. Of course she understood the hypocrisy in that fact. It was best that she just tried to ignore it full stop.

By the time the lift doors opened on the restricted level, she could feel some of the power she used to exude as the fearsome Madam Dolohov return. As much as she loathed the trite saying "fake it until you make it", she could see some of the value. Maybe if she just _pretended_ she was confident and unafraid of what was to happen next, she might be able to convince herself of it too. There had been plenty of opportunities for practice over the years after all.

Theodore Nott was in a poor state. Seeing the elderly wizard strapped into a chair covered in his own bodily fluids helped to take some of the fear from Hermione's heart. He was nothing but a sad, little, old man. No one had been down there in the room to release him from his bounds since he was arrested. There had been no food or water provided to him either. Perhaps that was one reason why he seemed so afraid when the door was opened. One didn't need to feed or water their captives if there was no plan to keep them alive long. It was possible that he was still the same proud man when he was dragged into the space by the Snatchers days earlier. Time alone in the dark room with nothing but his thoughts for company removed his arrogance. She could almost pity the terrified man if she didn't hate him so much.

"I _demand_ to speak to the Dark Lord! This is an outrage!"

Some of his former bravado came out moments after he had his first chance to compose himself. The only acknowledgment Hermione offered to his statement was a balled up fist straight to his nose. A satisfying crack could be heard that forced a yell of pain out of the man. Rabastan smirked and nodded his head at his cohort. If a simple blow to his face would make the man scream, their job was going to be much easier than they expected. Clearly living so close to the Dark Lord's shadow for all of those years made the man soft, _weak_. He wouldn't last long and before he succumbed to the pain that they were going to inflict on his ancient body, he would sing.

"You may be unaware, Theodore, but there have been some changes to our standard operating procedures as of late." Rabastan closed the door behind them, locking it with a spell that only one of the captors would be able to release. "We no longer seek permission before we do as we wish."

"But the Dark Lord still lives!"

"For _now_. We all know that that won't be the case for much longer."

It gave Hermione chills to watch Rabastan in his element. Others in their society might have lived in a state of fear that she would one day stand across from them while they were strapped into a similar chair. In _her_ nightmares, Rabastan stood over her, taunting her with the knowledge that she wasn't going to enjoy a single moment. He was a Master at his craft. It wasn't difficult for her to admire his brutal tactics. Somehow he was able to make it into something on an art. Once she desired to be more like him. In that moment, however, she longed to run out of the room and never turn back. Only the reminder of seeing Aberforth's face staring out from his cell minutes earlier when they entered gave her the courage to endure what must be endured.

As he always did, Rabastan began the process of interrogation slowly. He enjoyed seeing those who once had such conceit and self-importance crumble under the least bit of pressure. There was a time when they used to place bets before an interrogation. The wager was never large and sometimes it was the exchange of _favors_ instead of money. They would try to determine before they ever entered a room whether or not their chosen victim was going to fold quickly or endure the indignities for the sake of their pride and often misplaced loyalties. Most didn't last long. There was only so much pain a person could withstand. Usually, when they had all of the answers they needed and felt they could no longer serve any purpose, they would dispatch of them.

Nott was kept alive much longer than most of their _guests_. Just as she suspected, it didn't take long before he was begging them to stop the pain. He gave up all of the names of his allies within the first hour. None of them were surprising. Comprised mostly of lower members just outside the Inner Circle, it wouldn't take much effort to eradicate the worst and turn the most useful to their side… whichever side that might turn out to be. It was evident that he was hoping that the Dark Lord would remain alive much longer. In his mind, he was protected if their master stayed alive. Perhaps that was why he was willing to sacrifice his own granddaughters for the cause of saving his own arse. Hermione took a great deal of pleasure in slicing into his chest over and over again when he admitted that he'd been planning to offer them to the Dark Lord. Even Rabastan was disgusted. No doubt he was thinking of his own two daughters who could have easily been a victim to the man's depravity if they were just a little younger.

Hermione wasn't surprised that she was able to slip back into the blood and guts so easily. No, she _expected_ to find it easy. That was the reason she knew she couldn't keep doing it. Nott was a wretched, horrible excuse for a human being that deserved to die a long, lingering painful death, but she knew that this would have to be her last venture into the locked side rooms. She couldn't become the monster she used to be again. It would consume her until there was nothing left.

In the end, she knew his body was about to give out. Rabastan had been pouring blood replenishing potions down his throat and other healing potions to keep the man's body alive for more torture. When it was clear that they needed to stop, Hermione took great pleasure in standing over the wizard's bleeding form. She gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Remember all of those years ago when you told me that you wished to make an example of me when the world returned to what it once was? To make me the _entertainment_?"

Nott wouldn't answer, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd made her afraid that night. She _hated_ that feeling. Too much of her life had been spent in fear.

"I'm going to sleep peacefully tonight knowing that that'll never happen, that I got rid of a disgusting coward like you."

She released her hold on him, wiping the palm of her hand on the outside of her robes. A simple flick of her wrist opened his neck. Blood spurted out, covering much of the area. Rabastan held up a shield charm to keep the fluid off of his clothes. Hermione didn't care. With the warmth of Nott's blood still on her skin, she turned and exited the room.


	185. July 3rd

July 3rd

The polyjuice potion was ready. It was perfect. As Hermione stared at the completed potion still bubbling away in the cauldron, she felt an enormous sense of relief. The end was just within her grasp. She would have to find a perfect time to use it, of course, but she could almost _taste_ her freedom. Once Aberforth was gone, she would leave too. Maybe not right away. It wouldn't do to seem too eager about it. But soon. Very, _very_ soon.

And it wouldn't come a moment too quickly. Following the interrogation of Theodore Nott the day before, she knew that she wasn't capable of remaining any longer at the Ministry. She stepped out of the side room, sticky with the drying blood of the man she just murdered, and hated what she had become. She was grateful for cleansing spells and a fresh change of clothes in her office upstairs. Knowing that she had a drawer full of potions just waiting for her to swallow tantalized her almost beyond her endurance. She'd opened the compartment, stared at the vials, wishing that she wasn't so weak.

It would've been too easy to ignore the promises she made to her husband, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to herself. Just a tiny vial wouldn't _really_ hurt. They weren't dangerous unless she used them in large quantities. Like three or four. _That's_ when she needed to worry. Her hand closed over one. She swirled the liquid around the closed vial dreaming of the moments of bliss she would experience when it made its way down her belly. The hand that held the wand that ended Theodore Nott's life hadn't stopped trembling since the act was completed. One dose of the potion would end the tremors. Unstopping the vial, the pungent aroma of the addictive potion assaulted her nose. She could practically taste the cinnamon on her tongue, feel the calming of her muscles.

In the end, she upended the vial until its contents splashed onto the expensive rug underneath her desk. She repeated the same action with every single vial left in the secret drawer until a puddle of her temptation soaked through the fibers. A spell shattered every empty vial into minuscule pieces of glass she was then able to vanish with another flick of her wrist. The stain, however, remained. She wanted to _see_ the evidence that at least that day she was stronger than the pull of the poison.

She went into the Ministry the day after the interrogation acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. The bloody torture of the man she'd loathed since that horrible party seventeen years earlier didn't upset her as it probably should have. No, she was pleased that the world was free from the influence of that man. His young widow would never have to worry about him hurting her again. Thanks to the man's large estate that she was entitled to at least half of thanks to there being no will due to his expectation that he would soon have a son to become his sole heir, Rosalind wouldn't have to worry much about anything for the rest of her life. Even less when her wretched parents were dispatched.

Rabastan didn't once taunt or torment her throughout the day about her performance in Level Eleven. If anything, she'd impressed him with her ability to return back to the very place she'd been before she ran away. Not once in the room did he have to scold her or order her about like she was unsure or unwilling to do what was necessary. All he'd done was ask her what she meant by the last words she spoke to Nott before she slit his throat. He'd been disgusted to hear what the wizard told her even if he didn't try to lie that there was truth in what he said. He knew all too well that that was _exactly_ what would become of her in a world where men like Nott were in charge. The mere fact that Rabastan was still wanting her to be on his side when the Dark Lord fell proved that he'd at least come to have a new appreciation for her over the years they'd known each other. She was more than just a filthy Mudblood useful for nothing more than fucking and killing. There was a compliment in there somewhere if she could stomach it long enough to search.

Hermione left the Ministry in the early afternoon before anyone else. No one tried to stop her, not even her Co-Head. He merely told her that there was no rush to _interview_ the Plunketts. They weren't going anywhere and he preferred to let them sit longer in their terror. Apparently after speaking with his daughter Julia, he discovered the upsetting truth that Rosalind was only a year older than his daughter. They'd both been in Slytherin House together. _Friends_ , even. It bothered him all the more that they'd sold their daughter in marriage to someone so horrible.

No one came to visit her at Number Twelve. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see Draco or not. The filth of the previous day's activities still clung to her skin no matter how long the shower she took when she got home was. Perhaps it would never fully go away. As much as she wanted the parents of the poor girl to suffer, she wanted no part in any future interrogation. One more would break her. She wasn't entirely certain that the last one wouldn't do that anyway. Antonin understood when she admitted to him in the privacy of their bathroom that Nott would no longer be a problem for him that she needed some time before she could be touched again. It was an old habit, a routine that they'd gotten used to because they had to. Usually lasting no more than a day or two, she didn't like to be touched when she still felt so dirty. Draco might not understand. He hadn't been forced to kill like the Dolohovs had. Though she couldn't explain why exactly, she didn't want him to know what she was capable of. Not really.

She removed the potion from the heat once she was certain that there was nothing left to do to it. By her estimation, it was perfect, but she wasn't about to be foolish enough to test it on herself. That was what Dolores Umbridge was for. What was the purpose of having the bitch under the Imperius Curse if not to be her test subject? Bottling the polyjuice potion into a large bottle made it all seem real. Her plan had been going well so far. There was still hope that she would be successful. The pessimist in her refused to believe that there would be no complications or hiccups to the plan. Arrogance could be a person's downfall.

With all evidence that there had ever been an illegal potion brewed in the basement kitchen gone, Hermione exited the front door of the house she truly hoped she would never have to step foot in again. It held too many memories for her. Some good, but mostly the sort that she wanted to push to the back of her mind and forget. The potion in her pocket represented the hope that she could have a future worth living for. It had been too long since she'd had that.

Only moments after stepping outside she felt eyes on her again. Just like days earlier, she didn't feel any hostility or fear from the knowledge that she was being watched. Likely it was just Kingsley Shacklebolt returning to surveil the former Headquarters. What the man's true purpose was still baffled Hermione. Why would he disappear for twenty years, make a life for himself in amongst the Muggles, and still return just as it appeared that the violence would begin again? She was sure that that would be enough of an incentive to stay away.

Whatever his reasons for watching her were, she didn't care. He hadn't proven to be a roadblock yet. It was possible that he would slip out of her life just as swiftly as he'd slipped in. Knowing that he was following her even after walking away from Grimmauld Place, she directed her steps to an overgrown garden she'd seen before during her walks through the neighborhood. They would have some privacy to speak.

"You're acting very suspicious, Hermione. I don't like it."

She bit her tongue before she blurted out to Kingsley just how little she cared about his opinion. It would never do to insult a dangerous man when she was alone. Considering she was carrying enough polyjuice potion in her pocket to ensure that she had a very short life sentence in Azkaban before her execution, she thought it best that they try to bring as little attention to themselves as possible. Magic would bring Ministry officials to the area and she couldn't afford to have her actions scrutinized.

"Are you using again?"

"What are you… my bloody sponsor?"

Confusion was written all over his face. Hermione rolled her eyes. Just how assimilated to the Muggle world had he become? Clearly not enough. She waved her hand dismissively.

"It's a Muggle thing."

Kingsley still possessed the impressive reflexes that were required for a man who once chased dark wizards for a living. His hand was in the pocket of her robes before she could stop him. A curse was ready on her lips when he pulled the potion she was risking her life to carry out. Reaching for it to grab it out of his hands, the wizard used his height to his advantage to keep it out of her grasp.

"I thought you said you weren't taking any potions the other day. Was that a lie?"

"It's not what you think."

"That's always what a guilty person says."

He pulled the cork out of the top of the bottle to take a deep sniff of the contents. Hermione couldn't help but laugh when the aroma of the potion almost made the wizard gag. Polyjuice potion didn't just _taste_ disgusting. Knowing exactly what he was holding and wanting _nothing_ do with it, he put the cork back in and pushed it back into her hands. She didn't waste a moment hiding it back in her robes.

"What do you need that for?"

Old habits were hard to break. Once upon a time she trusted Kingsley with her life. He represented integrity and strength to the sixteen year old girl she once was. Feeling like she could trust him, she was honest.

"I'm trying to get Aberforth free from the cells in the Ministry."

"Dumbledore?"

"Because that's such a common name?"

His bright smile told her that she'd _hopefully_ done the right thing in confiding in him. She knew that Kingsley always had a good relationship with the former pub owner. There was a great deal of respect for each other.

"How can I help?"

She considered his words carefully. Her plan was already set in motion. Very little of it could be altered.

"I need you to create a distraction first thing tomorrow morning. Something big. Something that will get my husband to run after you."

He was practically rubbing his hands together in excitement.

"Not a problem. I've always hated your husband."

"You and a great number of others."

"There was an _incident_ at Hogwarts. We were both interested in the same girl."

Rolling her eyes, she hoped again that she'd made the right decision to trust him.


	186. July 4th

July 4th

Sleep was difficult for Hermione the night before she decided she was going to put the final steps of her plan in motion. So much could go terribly wrong that she knew her anxiety wasn't irrational. It was very possible, even _likely_ , that she would be arrested that day. She might not even see her home or her family again. If anyone so much as suspected what she was up to, she would be in deep trouble that even her husband's influence couldn't get her out of. One way or another, her entire life was about to change.

While she sat at the breakfast table the next morning sharing a silent meal with her small family, she worried that she'd put too much trust in Kingsley. What if he betrayed her? Or what if he just simply didn't do what she asked? She knew that she could still get the plan moving without his help, but it would be much easier with it. A frantic tapping at the kitchen window made her spill tea down the front of her robes. Antonin rose from the table to accept the message.

"I have to go. Something urgent has come up."

It was a mark of his true concern that he didn't kiss his wife or his son goodbye. He only did that when there was an emergency. Hermione bit back a smile as she watched her husband rush out of the back door. Whatever Kingsley was up to, it was working. She banished their dirty dishes to the sink.

"Ollie, go next door to Mafalda."

Her son was reluctant to leave, but he knew better than to argue with his mother. It wasn't the first time he was ordered to seek refuge at the Yaxleys' home and it wasn't likely to be the last either. Once she was satisfied that he was out the door and wouldn't be coming back in, Hermione rushed to the basement. Mere short minutes later she was back upstairs with Harry's invisibility cloak tucked into her pocket.

Another quiet day appeared to be on the agenda for the Intelligence Division. Hermione knew that it was crucial that she not act strangely in the slightest. Rabastan would notice if there was something off about his partner. In an effort to busy her hands and hopefully control her nerves, she pulled out the official report she began working on the day before detailing Nott's interrogation. Only someone who could detect her heart rate would know that anything was amiss.

Rabastan strolled into the office around half past eleven still looking exhausted. Based on the practically gooey expression Hermione had the displeasure of seeing plastered across Rachel's face, she thought she knew why the man was so tired. He didn't even attempt to hide his yawns.

"Should we start on the Plunketts this morning?"

"You don't look like you've had enough rest to be at your best, Rabastan. Maybe leave the idiot outside alone for a few days first?"

He smiled smugly, not even trying to deny the truth of her words. She was too used to his behaviors to be disgusted. Everything about the man was foul. Where he once used to charm her, he made her skin crawl.

"Want to wait until tomorrow then?"

"I think it's best. You should go home and _sleep_. You'll be useless otherwise."

She needed him out of the Ministry. He could easily become a complication.

"It'll give me time to finish up my report on Theodore."

"All right. I'll go. Let me just finish a few things first."

Despite his protestations, she knew that he wasn't genuinely upset that he was leaving. Many times over the years he liked to tell her that he enjoyed making his victims wait. It made the suffering that much worse. Half the fun for him was chucking a suspect in a cell down on Level Eleven and forgetting their existence for weeks at a time. He was in no rush to dispatch of the Plunketts. No doubt he wanted to prolong their fear, make them truly ready for the day he had them dragged to the side room.

Almost an hour passed before he announced he was leaving for the day. Hermione was worried that she was about to finally tip over the edge into complete insanity before he left. Or that she was going to have a stroke. When he left the office, she could've cried in relief. She waited at least half an hour after his exit to demand her assistant hold all of her messages and leave her alone until she was done with the report. She stepped behind the door to her office, covered her entire body with the invisibility cloak, and slid out of the small opening. Rachel didn't even notice that the door was closed from the outside instead of the inside. A non-verbal locking spell would hopefully keep her from wandering in to discover that the room was empty.

Because she was afraid of the possibility of being jostled by someone in a lift while she was invisible, Hermione chose to take the stairs all the way down to Level Ten. No one even met her on the stairs to her relief. There were enough paranoid people living in the post-Harry world that wouldn't have hesitated to send a stunner towards phantom footsteps. As usual, Umbridge was alone in her office. Few ever deigned to enter the corner of the Ministry that belonged to the disgraced witch. Every day since she took her the first box of chocolates laced with love potion she'd been sending her more. The warning the hag gave her about potential overdose was ignored. If Umbridge went completely insane thanks to the potion, she would be pleased.

"Come with me, Dolores."

Hermione didn't even bother to remove the invisibility cloak when she entered the office. It might have been considered odd for a witch to follow the orders of a disembodied voice, but the Imperius Curse was still very much active. Dolores followed without complaint. Once inside the broom cupboard, she sealed the door behind them. She didn't want to risk being caught through the secret entrance.

"We're going to free Aberforth, Dolores. I need your help."

"Oh yes! Thank you, Madam Dolohov. I've been so worried about my Abbie. He shouldn't be locked up at his age. It's too cold down there."

It took another order to get the woman to shut up about how much she was apparently in love with the wizard. They descended the hidden staircase swiftly. There was no time to waste. Hermione wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. She pushed the hidden panel in the wall open very slowly to check for any inhabitants _outside_ of the cells. Satisfied that they were alone but for the prisoners, Hermione crawled out of the panel.

"Stun all of the prisoners except for Aberforth. Do it _quickly_."

Umbridge didn't hesitate to complete her orders. Not for the first time Hermione thought about how remarkably pleasant she was under the curse. If she'd been aware that this was possible, she might have even been tempted to curse her years earlier. While Umbridge began the process of stunning each of the prisoners to prevent them from being witnesses to what was about to happen next, Hermione made her way to Aberforth's cell. She cloaked her magic to cast an untraceable unlocking spell on the door. Dumbledore didn't even flinch when his door was opened by an invisible hand. He must have been expecting her to return again at some point.

"We're here to help you, Dumbledore."

He started to say something in response to the corner of the cell where her voice was coming from, but stopped when Umbridge returned to give a report that all of the prisoners were stunned. Pleased that she didn't take more than a minute or two to complete her task, Hermione was almost tempted to praise her. The words caught on her tongue, however. This was _Umbridge_ after all.

"Dolores, take your clothes off."

The horror on Aberforth's face when the short witch began disrobing in his cell only steps away would forever be burned into Hermione's memory. She knew she would be able to call it up years from then to have another good laugh.

"I have _not_ been locked up in this cell for _that_ long, Hermione. I have no interest in this woman in the _slightest_."

He averted his eyes, clearly not concerned that he was no doubt hurting the feelings of the woman who believed she was in love with him. Hermione wasn't strong enough to keep from laughing. Nor could she ignore the perfect moment to tease the man.

"Me thinks you doth protest too much, Dumbledore."

"I can assure you…"

She cut him off before he could get going on a good rant. There wasn't time. Every second they wasted could bring someone else down to the Level who wouldn't let any of them leave. She slipped out of the invisibility cloak, hating how vulnerable and exposed she felt without it. After reaching over to rip some hairs from Umbridge's head, Hermione dropped them into one of the two flasks she carried in her pocket. Once that was completed, she repeated the same process with the second flask, but added Aberforth's hair he'd given her during her earlier visit.

"Take your clothes off, Dumbledore, and switch. She's staying down here and you're coming upstairs."

The logic in her plan made sense. She ordered Umbridge to drink the polyjuice potion first. When it was evident that there were no dangerous side effects, Aberforth drank from his own. No more than ten minutes could've passed from the time they entered his cell to when he was ready to exit fully transformed and dressed as Umbridge, but time seemed to pass so slowly. Hermione was terrified that at any moment they were going to be discovered.

"Umbridge, _stay_ in this cell. Keep drinking the potion every hour until it's gone. I'll get Aberforth somewhere safe and then come back for you later."

Hermione pulled the cloak back over her body. When she witnessed Umbridge sit down on the bed with the remaining polyjuice potion in her hand, she urged Aberforth out of the cell. The clang of the cell closing shut rang in her ears. They were making too much noise. The others prisoners would be coming back into consciousness soon. She grabbed Aberforth's wrist through the invisibility cloak to lead him towards the secret panel. Only when they were inside did either of them speak.

"You're not really going back there for her, are you?"

It was bizarre having a conversation with a person that looked like Umbridge while knowing that it wasn't her at all. She'd experienced it other times in her life, of course, but it never ceased being strange.

"Of course not. She's going to stay down there until she runs out of polyjuice potion. When she does, she'll be discovered and will take the blame for your escape. I'm hoping that you can have enough of a head start that you can get somewhere safe before that happens."

"But won't she tell the truth?"

"I've been feeding her love potions for days. _A lot_ of love potions. She won't be sane enough to tell the truth. And if for some reason, she can, I hope to be far away too."

The hidden door inside the broom cupboard was unlocked. She cautiously peered out. When no one appeared to be around, she stepped out. Aberforth followed, cursing the witch's clothes under his breath. Confident that there would be no witnesses, Hermione removed the invisibility cloak and stuffed it back into her pockets. She pressed Umbridge's stolen wand into Aberforth's hand. While she didn't _think_ any magic he performed under the influence of polyjuice potion would register as belonging to Aberforth Dumbledore instead of Dolores Umbridge, she wasn't completely sure. It would be a gamble. She didn't voice her concerns. He was intelligent enough to know that his first order of business once he was outside the walls of the Ministry was to get somewhere safe. Wands and magic could be worried about at that time.

They climbed the staircase to Level Nine in silence. Down the empty corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries, neither of them said a word. Inside the lift, they didn't speak. It was only when they were outside in the Atrium that Hermione began a loud and public dressing down of the hated file clerk. She gripped his arm, practically dragging his disguised form across the busy Atrium.

"I won't stand for this any longer, Umbridge! You have to be the _worst_ employee this Ministry has ever had. You never have the files I need when I need them. We'll see what Pius has to say about all of this. Maybe I'll finally get my wish and you'll be out of a job."

There were lots of eyes on them. She wasn't trying to be quiet. It was necessary that she be seen with the transformed witch. When it all was discovered that Umbridge was responsible for the escape, Hermione needed to have plausible deniability. Of course the ideal plan was to be halfway to South America by the time the subterfuge was uncovered.

"Stun me."

She whispered the words to Aberforth. His borrowed eyes widened in shock. When she repeated the single word, he still didn't move for his wand.

"Stun me and _run_. Make it look real."

Aberforth Dumbledore was not a wizard that should've ever been discounted. He was much more powerful than he was given credit for. His movements were so fast that Hermione saw only a red light coming straight for her before nothing but darkness.


	187. July 5th

July 5th

When she ordered Aberforth Dumbledore to stun her and make it look real, Hermione didn't expect to end up in an uncomfortable bed in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Apparently, there was just a _hint_ of hostility towards her that the elder wizard still felt. She couldn't blame him for being so aggressive when given the perfect opportunity. After all, a stunner was exactly how the entire mess began months earlier. What he had to endure living in one of those tiny cells in Level Eleven for so long couldn't have been easy. Maybe it was cathartic for him to use more force than was absolutely necessary.

No one would release her from the hospital until the Healers were certain that she had nothing more serious wrong with her than yet another concussion. Nor would they let her go without her husband being there to pick her up. Whatever sort of distraction Kingsley cooked up to get Antonin out of the house that morning must have been very good if it was after midnight and she still hadn't seen her husband. He would be tempted to put family over his duties, but in the end, she knew that he would have to neglect her a little while longer.

It was standard procedure to transport all injured Ministry officials to St. Mungo's for a thorough examination whenever there was an accident within the Ministry walls. Something about liabilities and fear that they could be sued by their employees. Truthfully, it was a ridiculous concern. What sort of idiot would try something so foolish against a government agency that was backed by the Dark Lord's regime? But despite her repeated assurances that there was nothing wrong with her when she was _Rennervated_ , she was taken against her will.

Corban Yaxley also insisted that she provide a full statement regarding her attack. She'd been happy to see the wizard walk through her hospital room shortly after the Healers decided that there weren't likely to be any lasting effects. It was her vain hope that he was there to take her back home himself. If Antonin was busy, he would've sent someone in his place that he trusted to care for his family. There was no one else alive that he trusted with his loved ones more than the Yaxleys.

The interview had been short. Or, rather Hermione _was_ the short one when she found out she wasn't about to be released. Corban needed to know the details of the incident from her perspective. Why would Dolores Umbridge attack her so brutally and publicly? She shrugged her shoulders.

"Umbridge's hated me since my fifth year. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The bitch just snapped."

Whether he believed her version of events wasn't clear. When he was performing his official job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he was quite serious. None of the hints of the warm, funny man he could be behind closed doors were evident. He was all business.

No one had been able to find Umbridge since the incident. The attack apparently happened so quickly that there wasn't time to catch her before she ran out the exit. It all sounded so chaotic. Many of the witnesses were afraid that there was some sort of Resistance attack. Thanks to Albert Runcorn's well-oiled propaganda machine, there was a large number of people within their society who lived in perpetual fear that violence was only ever seconds away. When the stunner struck Hermione and she went crashing to the marble floor, the screams and running began. The horrible woman in the ghastly pink robes was able to escape.

Corban's department had been checking for any trace of Umbridge's magic since they were able to calm the immediate area down enough to find out who it was that attacked the notorious Madam Dolohov. So far there hadn't been any pings on their magical radar indicating where she might have gone. The consensus in his department was that she was simply laying low for the time being. Eventually she would get sloppy and start using magic again. When she did, they would find her and make her answer for the attack.

Hermione wished she could get confirmation from someone with knowledge within the Resistance whether or not Aberforth was able to make it out safely. Yes, Umbridge hadn't been caught, but nothing was mentioned about an escaped inmate. In fact, she found it odd, yet strangely encouraging that no mention was made of an escape at all. Perhaps with Rabastan back at home there was no one who had any reason to go down to Level Eleven. Not even house-elves were used to deliver meals to the prisoners. Each cell was fitted with a magical version of a dumb waiter that brought the barest rations down to the prisoners from a higher level.

Only when Corban thanked her for the information she provided and made his excuses to leave her hospital room did she really begin to calm down. Maybe it was all successful. Her ridiculous plan that should've failed a dozen different times actually worked! But, she stopped herself before she celebrated. It wouldn't do to get cocky and arrogant. There was still an opportunity for so much to go very wrong. She knew that if Aberforth wasn't able to get to a Resistance stronghold, her part in his escape from the Ministry would be moot. She would still be held responsible. There would be no hope for a future free from looking over her shoulder.

Rarely had Hermione been so thankful to see Antonin. When her exhausted spouse entered the room at half past one, she threw the itchy hospital sheets off of her body and stood up from the bed. In a move that should've surprised no one at all, he tried to get her to lay back on the bed.

"Antonin, _stop_. There is nothing wrong with me. I want to go home."

"Your Healer said that you hit your head very hard."

"Yes, well, maybe if we're lucky the impact of the fall will fix whatever's been wrong with it."

She didn't want to be reminded of the fact that there could be a correlation between her memory issues and her past head injuries. Like a Muggle athlete, she could be experiencing the side effects of a violently lived life. One more blow to the head might make it all even worse. She'd been reluctant to allow the Healers in charge of her care to scan her brain for any noticeable damage. There was a knot in her stomach the entire time as they looked for any potential internal wounds. Why she was afraid she wasn't sure. Maybe because she knew it was easier to pretend there was nothing wrong than it was to _know_ there was.

"This is hardly the time for jokes, Hermione."

"I'm not joking. I want out of here."

Years of living with the stubborn witch taught Antonin that it was generally easy to give in to her wishes when he was able. Or when he cared to. Forcing a promise from her that she would remain seated until he returned, he left the room in search of an available Healer who could look her over one final time before releasing her.

It was close to three in the morning when they finally exited the fireplace in their kitchen. One of the longest days of her life, Hermione was convinced she would be able to sleep for days if allowed. Antonin helped her up the stairs regardless of the number of times she insisted that she was perfectly all right and not an invalid. Inside their bedroom he made her sit on the edge of the bed while he pulled her nightgown out of their wardrobe. To keep from growing even angrier at the way he insisted on treating her, she asked a question she suspected she already knew the answer to.

"Where were you all day?"

"Chasing Kingsley Shacklebolt across Glasgow, if you believe it. The man's been in hiding for almost twenty years and he suddenly pops back up today. I thought he was dead."

"Did you catch him?"

His scowl was the only answer she needed. She was glad that Kingsley was able to distract her husband _and_ get away safely. It might have been difficult to forgive herself if he'd been hurt in the process of doing her a favor. Not impossible, but difficult. Antonin handed her a nightgown.

"Do you need any help?"

"I bumped my head, Antonin. I didn't forget how to dress myself."

Her answer came out harsher than she intended. She was exhausted and irritable. Antonin didn't take her anger to heart. He'd been on the receiving end of it plenty of times in the past. When she was dressed and ready to slip under the covers, he handed her one of the blasted vials of potions the Healer insisted she take for the pain. It was tempting to throw it back at him. Hadn't she already been subjected to enough potions? But, she knew that was an argument she would never win. She covered the bottle with her hand and held it to her lips. Satisfied that she was doing as she was told, Antonin excused himself to enter the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, Hermione put a stopper in the still-full vial and slid it between the mattress and the headboard. She knew that she would be asleep within moments if she swallowed it and there was something very important that she needed to do first.

Pretending to be asleep when every cell in her body was screaming at her to give in to her exhaustion for real was no easy task. She listened to her husband return to the bedroom and climb into the bed next to her. Likely almost as tired as she, it didn't take him more than a minute or two to fall asleep. She listened to the sound of his slow, rhythmic breathing.

Only when she was certain that he was asleep did she carefully step out of bed. Tiptoeing across the floor, she reached into the pocket of the robes she'd flung across the back of a chair. If Antonin discovered she'd stolen the invisibility cloak, she was going to have to come up with a believable lie. His breathing was still steady. She twisted the doorknob to make her escape. A squeak of the mattress springs stopped her in her tracks.

"When you're finished putting the cloak back where you took it this morning, take your potion. You have a concussion."

Antonin offered no other words before he rolled over and fell back asleep.


	188. July 6th

July 6th

Antonin all but threatened to tie her to the bed Friday when she declared that she was going into the Ministry that morning. One day of rest wasn't enough for him. She needed more. While Hermione couldn't argue that staying in bed for yet another day sounded amazing, she wanted to see firsthand what was happening in the Ministry following the _incident_ on Wednesday.

"You have a bad bump on your head, Hermione. You should be in bed. Rabastan will understand."

"I have work to do, Antonin. _You_ were the one who told me that I should do what I could to get more information out of him. With Nott out of the picture, he's the one we need to be focusing on."

There was only a little truth to what she was saying. Yes, she believed that they needed to keep a close watch on Rabastan, but she didn't actually want to return to the scene of her crime because of the future Dark Lord's ascension battle. She wanted to see what was happening down in Level Eleven. Surely someone knew by then that there was an escaped prisoner? If she didn't make it seem as if she was at least interested in what was happening, it might come back to bite her. Guilty people ran. She didn't want to run just yet. Not until she knew whether or not she'd been successful in returning Aberforth to the Resistance. She was still vulnerable otherwise.

To his credit, Antonin didn't continue the argument. She knew just by looking at him that he didn't like the idea of her going back to work, but he wasn't going to press her any further. He had to have known she was worried about something. There had been no further mention of the invisibility cloak. She returned it to the basement and then drank her potion. Sleep was a welcome escape for the row she knew would be waiting for her when she woke up. Only it wasn't. She knew better than to think he'd forgotten about it. No, he would bring it up later when it suited him. In an effort to pacify him, she kissed him goodbye. Her lips lingered against his for a few seconds longer than they usually did. At least for the moment, he was calmer.

Nothing exciting was happening in the Ministry when she arrived. Hermione found it odd that it felt just like another normal day. No one had escaped from the cells in Level Eleven for _years_. Surely it was a big deal. Wouldn't there be more frightened weaklings whispering about the dangers they were all in again because the feared Resistance leader was back outside? It was unnerving that everything seemed so normal.

Even in her office it was more of the same. New files and reports waited for her on top of her desk. None of them said anything about Dumbledore. If she hadn't been aware of her own crimes, she would've imagined that it was just another ordinary day. Maybe it was for everyone else. It was unsettling to sit around waiting to find out if she'd been uncovered as a traitor. How could spies do that for years? She would never understand. If the Resistance ever asked her again to become a spy, she would gladly and vehemently tell them to go fuck themselves. She had no desire to live a lie. Her two months back in Hogsmeade and then in the Ministry were difficult enough. Every moment that she passed she kept expecting someone to call her out for the fraud she was. It was no way to live.

Rabastan entered the office a little earlier than usual at half past nine. Based on the surprised expression he had when he saw her scribbling away at the report she never finished, he likely expected that he would need to work longer to make up for her absence. No doubt her year-long _sabbatical_ forced him to do more work than he had in years.

"Good morning, pet. I would've thought you'd still be at home in bed with Antonin obnoxiously hovering over you while she slept."

"Don't tell me that you're sorry to see me back here. Anxious to force me out of the office _again_?"

It was no secret to anyone that he would've rather her been anywhere, including six feet in the ground, than at the desk across the room from his. He'd never quite gotten over the insult from the Dark Lord that he wasn't capable of running the division by himself. Though never one to deny that Hermione possessed a number of admirable talents in their line of work, he was of the opinion that she would've been better served working under him. If presented with the opportunity to get rid of her, he would. That was half the reason she was suspicious of his suggestion that she team up with him against her husband. Rabastan played the long game. There was _always_ more to his actions and words than he let on.

"Of course not. You're entirely too suspicious. I was worried about you when I heard that you'd been attacked in the Atrium. It was such a shock!"

He would've had a wonderful career in the wizarding equivalent of Hollywood, if such a thing existed. She knew him too well to believe anything he said, but others in their society were more trusting. Women like Rachel had been giving him favors his entire life for nothing more than the promise of a kiss and a smile. Maybe he was some kind of variation of a veela or he had one in his ancestral line. His brother had many of the same talents and charms, except Rodolphus chose not to utilize them as often.

"Yes, well, I'm fine, Rabastan. Thank you for your concern."

"Why would Dolores attack you? I don't understand it at all."

Hermione _really_ didn't want to have a conversation about the wretched woman, but knew that it was unreasonable to expect no one else to ask her what happened. They were a society that thrived on gossip. Especially on slow days inside the Ministry her fellow officials lived for the sordid details and rumors about other people's lives. When it was revealed that she'd come back into the office, she was certain that there would be a long line of people who would discover some foolish reason or another to drop into their office for a chinwag. Considering how she was going to answer Rabastan's question, she shrugged her shoulders.

"She's never been well. Not for many years. Who knows why insane people do anything?"

His lips quirked into a feral grin that irked Hermione straight to her core. She could only imagine what was going on inside that foul brain of his and wished she'd chosen her words more carefully. Any hint of weakness and the wizard would point it out.

"Yes, you're absolutely right. One never can predict what an insane person will do next."

She was glad that he didn't immediately elaborate on his thoughts. If he brought up the fact that he knew better than a lot of people that she was well on her way to being completely crazy, she wasn't sure what her reaction would be. Having him as an open enemy was a scenario she wanted to avoid for as long as possible. Attacking him would make avoiding that disaster difficult.

Not wishing to continue the conversation any further, Hermione returned her full attention to her report. She hoped that she would be able to make her final escape in the coming days. Once she was no longer dizzy from her concussion and she was certain that Aberforth was safe, she would make her move. If she never had to see Rabastan Lestrange again for as long as she lived, she would be pleased. He was nothing but a complication she did _not_ need. Most of the souls in her life were complications. A life lived completely alone never sounded so appealing.

"You know, Hermione, there's something about the whole incident the other day that confuses me."

The fact that they were about to make it almost an hour before he brought up her attack again should've been impressive. He was well-suited to his job of rooting out all of the potential information available. Like a dog with a bone, he wasn't going to give up until his curiosity was sated.

"Yes? What is that?"

"Funny thing, really. Naturally it was a surprise to all of us to learn that you were attacked right here in our own Ministry. Who knew that a delightful person like Dolores had such hate and power within her dumpy, little body?"

Rabastan rose from his desk, no longer able to sit still. Crossing the room to her desk, he settled himself down on the edge. It was a habit of his over the years that he was never able to break. Hermione wanted to send an Avada straight to his face.

"What I find most confusing about this whole incident was that no one knew you'd ever left your office. Rachel didn't believe the news when she first heard it. She told the wizards from the DMLE that you were still locked in your office working."

All of the potions that she'd been forced to imbibe over the past two days by the damned Healers and her overprotective husband churned in her belly. She'd been so relieved to get Aberforth out of Level Eleven that she forgot an entire step of her plan. When they made it out, she was _supposed_ to have Aberforth remain in Umbridge's office long enough for her to sneak back upstairs to her own. She was going to slip into the office the same way she'd slipped out. Then she was going to tell Rachel that she was going to give the incompetent Umbridge bitch a piece of her mind. That way, she had an alibi for the entire time she was actually downstairs. How could she have allowed the adrenaline racing through her entire body get her off-course?

"They even checked your office. The door was still locked and yet, you weren't inside. How could that be?"

Hermione gathered her wits about her. Placing her most irritated expression on her face, she narrowed her eyes and glared.

"Rachel is an idiot. She wasn't paying attention when I left the office. Probably too busy daydreaming about you to even notice when I stepped out."

"Then why lock the door if you weren't in there?"

"I still had Theodore Nott's incident report laying on the desk. I didn't want just _anyone_ to waltz in here and read what he told us. That wouldn't be good, would it?"

He wasn't convinced. Not in the slightest. But, it was a tactic of his she'd seen him employ over the years to pretend like he was. Hoping off of the edge of the desk, he returned to his side of the office.

"I suppose you're right about Rachel. She does tend to daydream."

For the rest of the day, Hermione continued to be sick to her stomach. Never was she more thankful to go back to her home in Hogsmeade and the protection her husband could offer.


	189. July 7th

July 7th

There was no reason to argue with Hermione about the benefits of staying in bed Saturday morning. She could sense that her husband was pleased with her decision to take it easy and allow her body to finish healing. After her terrible day at the Ministry on Friday where she never knew if Rabastan was going to drag her down to her own private cell on Level Eleven or not, she was never more relieved than when she was able to crawl into the safety of her own bed. Knowing that Antonin was nearby and willing to fight to the death for her protection allowed her the peace of mind required to drink a potion to help her sleep.

When the sun was up and the potion's effects wore off, she still didn't want to get up. It hurt her pride to admit even to herself that she was terrified. She was afraid of what would happen next. All of her planning and preparations had been for nothing because she made one silly, _stupid_ mistake. Once upon a time her mind was well-ordered. How else could she have gotten to all of her lessons in her third year? Of course she was perpetually exhausted that year and never felt like she was ever doing her best work, but still, she was able to keep her grueling schedule in order.

There was no sense continuing to beat herself up for her mistake. It was done. Rabastan knew that _something_ was up. Even if he didn't know all of the details it wouldn't be long before Aberforth's escape was uncovered and all of the dots were connected. Maybe she should just forget about checking to be sure the Resistance leader was successful in getting back to his allies and just run. She knew where the invisibility cloak was. If she waited for Antonin to leave the house, she could steal it again. Assuming, of course, that he hadn't moved it since learning she knew of its existence in their basement. But, she'd been able to get by on her own for a year without it before. It was possible.

It was tempting to swallow one of the potions that sat in the drawer in the bathroom for her use. Years of her life had already been spent being entirely dependent on some kind of magical potion or another to get her through the treacherous days. What would be the harm in taking one more? She no longer believed that Antonin was going to hurt her or try to control her with the potions. Why she ever thought that in the first place was unclear. He'd been in love with her for almost twenty years since the first days of her training and reprogramming. Though he would never come right out and admit that was true, she knew. She'd _always_ known. That was why she took such pleasure in being cruel to him over the years, rubbing her lovers in his face when she knew how he felt. Some days she wished she could go back in time to make better decisions, be a better person. She'd been unfair to him for years.

Almost as if she summoned him to their room simply by thinking of him, Antonin quietly pushed the door open to their bedroom. He entered the room slowly, afraid that he was going to wake her up. When he saw that she was already awake and staring at him, he relaxed.

"Are you hungry?"

She only had enough energy to shake her head. He crossed the room to his side of the bed. Without asking for an invitation, Antonin climbed in behind her, wrapping his arms around her body. It felt wonderful to have his support at her back. She could feel a subtle lessening of the fear gripping her when he was around. Maybe it was manipulative to use his feelings for her own benefit, but she didn't care. Even though she was plotting to run away and leave the man forever, she couldn't deny that it just felt _nice_ to be in his arms when she was scared. She took a deep breath, relaxing.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. Just tired."

Antonin kissed the back of her head. Neither of them said anything for several minutes. It was pleasant to just enjoy the presence of the other. Over the years there had been so few times that she actually appreciated the calm she usually felt in her home. Whatever was wrong with her memories robbed her of that comfort. As much as it terrified her to learn that there was something messed up inside her brain, she was gradually coming to the realization that it was better to know than not to know.

Some days she wondered if there was ever a more contradictory person than Hermione Granger Dolohov. Surely it was further evidence of madness that she was always changing her mind. She was the bad stereotype of a woman who couldn't make a decision and stick with it, except in her case it was much more serious. She loathed her husband in one moment, took comfort from him in the next. Wished her son had never been born one day and then couldn't imagine her life without him another. She would want to run as far away from her home as she could and then she would want to stay there forever. One second she didn't want to know what was wrong with her, the next second it was all she could do to keep from seeking out every single specialist she knew. It was a wonder she hadn't blown up with all of the indecisiveness. Or that Antonin hadn't snapped and strangled her yet.

"Have you heard anything from your brother about a memory charms expert yet?"

She felt Antonin stiffen ever so slightly at her question. His reaction only lasted a moment. Loosening back up, he kissed her head again.

"Alain knows a wizard who could help. He owled me yesterday."

"Someone foreign?"

"Most definitely. But whether or not he is _neutral_ is what Alain is still trying to figure out."

Hermione gently rolled over so they were face to face. She was curious about the mysterious wizard. Her brother-in-law, her favorite of all of Antonin's brothers if there had been a contest, had been traveling the world since he left Hogwarts a couple of years after Antonin. Smart enough to not get involved with Lord Voldemort during the wars and after, he never spent more than a few years in any one place. Wizarding schools around the world often invited him to stay for a term or two to be a visiting professor. It always sounded like a fascinating life to Hermione. She enjoyed Alain's all-too-infrequent visits back to his home country.

"Who is it?"

"Babajide Akingbade. He's been teaching at Uagadou School of Magic since he was voted out of office."

International diplomacy had never been one of Hermione's interests. She knew enough to get by, of course, but usually when she heard others discuss what was happening outside of the borders of their country, she grew bored. Wasn't there enough to worry about right there? But, even she remembered the scandal involving the former Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. A graduate of the Ugandan school of wizardry, Akingbade was well-respected enough to be elected into the position left open following Albus Dumbledore's death. When he made a public speech declaring Lord Voldemort returned, the British Ministry of Magic didn't appreciate it. Thanks to their votes within the International Confederation of Wizards, he had the _dis_ honor of being the shortest serving Supreme Mugwump in history. He'd disappeared from the public eye for a few years before being offered a position within his former school, Uagadou.

"I thought he was banned from entering the country."

"He was. That's part of the problem. If he even agrees to meet with us after learning who we are, he's going to have to be smuggled into the country."

"How? Our borders are very secure. I should know."

Antonin sighed, but didn't respond any further to the reminder that she was once a fugitive. It was a sore subject. Maybe one day he would forgive her for running… just in time for her to run away again.

"Yes, it'll be difficult. But not impossible."

"Yes, but how?"

"A big enough distraction will need to be created to get the focus off of the borders for a short time. Just long enough for him to slip in. Smuggling him _out_ will be much easier."

She thought it all sounded like a terrible idea. The wizard might have been a memory charms expert, but he was also a vocal opponent of their master. If he learned that they were essentially the right-hand man and prized pet of the Dark Lord, he'd probably tell her brother-in-law to bugger off. Not that either of them would blame him. He would be in danger if he chose to help them.

"What kind of distraction?"

It would have to be enormous. Much bigger than whatever it was that Kingsley pulled off days earlier. She could only imagine what he had in mind. Instead of answering her question, Antonin simply kissed her lips and promised her that she didn't have to worry about it. As much as she usually hated being brushed off with a patronizing remark, in that instance, she didn't mind. At least he wasn't asking her to get involved in yet another mission that might get her killed. She had enough to worry about with Rabastan.

"Now… can we talk about _why_ you took the invisibility cloak the other day?"

Of course it was going to eventually come up. She knew it would.

"Can we also talk about _how_ you came to have it in your possession in the first place, Antonin?"

"Yes, we can. _After_ you tell me why you took it with you to the Ministry."

"I was trying to see if I could listen in on one of Rabastan's private conversations. Thought they might tell me something we would both be interested in hearing."

The lie easily dripped from her tongue. While it was certainly believable, she wasn't convinced that her husband agreed. He stared at her for a few moments. She grew worried. Maybe her ability to lie was something she lost somewhere on the run. No one appeared to believe any of the ones she told lately.

"All right." Antonin didn't push the issue any further. "As for where I got it? I stole it from the Dark Lord."

After twenty years of knowing the man, thirteen of them quite intimately, she shouldn't have been surprised by anything he said or did. _That_ , however, was a massive shock. He was playing with his life in his hands. If the Dark Lord discovered the theft, he wouldn't hesitate to kill him, right-hand or no.

" _Why_?"

"Seemed like it would come in handy. And it has."

"Antonin…"

"And honestly, I thought it would be something you would like to have. A reminder of your youth and your friend. So many of the stories you told me about your school years involved the cloak. I thought you would want it."

He kissed her cheek and brushed away the tears that began to fall. Maybe he was manipulating her, she wasn't sure. But, if he wasn't, his reason for stealing the invisibility cloak meant the world to her.


	190. July 8th

_Author's Note: It's been so quiet lately! I hope that everyone is enjoying the story... or at least not hating it _**too** _much. Thank you to the reviewers for giving me the necessary encouragement needed to complete this challenge._ _It's hard to keep going when it feels like I'm all alone._ _I'm sincere when I say I couldn't do it without you. Especially those lovely people who make the effort to review every day! You all are rockstars and I don't tell you often enough!_

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July 8th

Hermione felt more like herself when she woke up on Sunday morning. The potions that she'd been taking at the request of her Healers and the demand of her husband were finished. She didn't have to take another one unless her head started to hurt her again. And if it started hurting, she had no intention of actually telling Antonin. While she appreciated him taking care of her while she was stuck in bed, he was getting on her nerves. There was such a thing as too much nurturing. If she had to endure him entering the room one more time to stand over her just staring, she was going to snap… _again_. They'd been having such a pleasant time together, for the most part, since she returned home. She would hate to have to stab him again.

Some of her fear from the day before also dissipated after her conversation with Antonin. He had his faults, but at least she knew that he would defend her with his life. She believed him when he said that she and Oliver were the two most important things in his life. Family was not a word Antonin used lightly. Possibly because his own had been such a disappointment when he was young, he was determined that they would be the happy, perfect little family from the first day they were married. It was worth delaying her own escape for a short time.

She wouldn't be able to run until she was positive that Aberforth was truly successful in his escape. Getting him out of the Ministry was only the first step. There had been no news of him since he stunned her disguised as Umbridge. Only one person could tell her what she needed to know without blowing her cover. She wasn't positive that he would be willing to help her, but he was her only hope. The worst he could do was tell her 'no'… or turn her over to the Resistance for punishment.

Following another delicious lunch prepared by her husband that he insisted she eat too much of, Hermione rose from the table and announced that she had to run some errands in Diagon Alley. Oliver was excited, begging her to take him with her. That is, until she told him that her destination was Twilfitt and Tatting's. His lips curled into a disgusted scowl so reminiscent of his father that she laughed. Robes shops were not nearly as fun to shop in as Quidditch Supply stores.

"Are you sure you're up to going into London by yourself?"

"I'm just fine, Antonin. Stop. I can handle a few hours away from home."

"But they still haven't found the witch that attacked you."

She knew that if she allowed him to continue, he would give her over a dozen different reasons why she shouldn't leave the house. If she was honest with herself, she knew that he was correct. It _was_ dangerous to go out there, but she couldn't let a little bit of danger keep her from finding out if her mission was successful. Raising up on her tiptoes, she kissed Antonin, hoping that it would put him at ease.

"I will be perfectly safe in Diagon Alley in the middle of the afternoon."

"Ollie and I could come with you."

"You will both be bored to tears in seconds. No, stay here. I need new clothes. You keep insisting on fattening me up and nothing fits anymore."

Antonin playfully pinched her side where it was evident that she'd put on a little bit of weight since she returned to Hogsmeade. While she was nowhere near overweight and probably could stand to gain even more, there was more there than a few months earlier when she was practically starving. She swatted at his hand.

"See what I mean?"

"I like you this way. The only time you were more beautiful was when you were pregnant with Ollie."

"I was a disgusting whale."

"No, you _weren't_."

There was heat in his eyes at the memory of the months she was fat with his child growing inside her body. If he had his wish, she would've looked like that more often than not. Hermione pushed away the nagging reminders that she made it so that was a future that would never be possible. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer to kiss her with a little more feeling. She knew that if they were alone in that moment, he would be tempted to lay her on top of the table. And she would let him.

" _Gross_."

The sounds of their twelve year old son pretending to gag in the background ruined the mood. They broke apart, wide smiles on their faces. Antonin was close enough to reach over and ruffle his son's hair. It was a sweet moment, a moment that made the Dolohovs seem almost _normal_. Hermione pushed further thoughts away of how much she might have enjoyed a life in that home if it was always just like that.

She practically flew out the back door in her rush to get away from the emotions that threatened to overpower her. Potions made her too emotional, she'd decided. She wouldn't take any more no matter how much Antonin begged her or yelled. It was her own body, was it not? If another potion was offered, she just simply wouldn't take it. Either Antonin could respect her wishes or she would throw it in his face.

Part of her had hoped that she would never have to return to Number Twelve again. The decrepit house simply held too many memories. It was much easier to ignore the past when it was avoided, but she knew of no other way to safely get Draco's attention. Surveying the immediate area for signs she was being watched, Hermione waited a few minutes before she was confident there was no one around to see her enter. With no illegal potion brewing in the basement that she was in charge of, even if she _was_ spotted, she wouldn't exactly be convicted of any crime no matter how suspicious it looked. She was clever enough that she could even come up with a plausible excuse for being there. Nostalgia or some such rubbish. Maybe just plain curiosity. Regardless, she was still glad to find no one watching.

She didn't know how long she would have to wait for Draco to show up. Or even if he would. Maybe now that Aberforth was free he had no more use for her. The Resistance would never trust her enough to ask her to be a spy again. Draco might not even need her anymore. As she sat down on the staircase staring at the dusty front door, she tried to ignore the realization that she would be hurt if that was truly the case.

What her feelings were for Draco was still a bit of a confusion for her already muddled brain to figure out. His return to her life happened so quickly at the beginning of the year. She never could quite figure out his whole reason for showing up when he did. What happened in his flat should've never happened. Between the alcohol and the sadness she felt on the twentieth anniversary of the day her world imploded, she wasn't thinking clearly. They should have _never_ gone down that path. Especially considering the pesky fact that she didn't trust him at all.

Her wait didn't last long. Maybe only ten minutes passed before the front door opened to admit the owner. Draco's furrowed brow suggested he didn't expect to find her waiting for him on the stairs. It was possible that he didn't expect to ever see her inside that house again. Moments after entering he took a seat on the filthy staircase next to his guest.

"Did Aberforth make it back to the Resistance?"

"Is that why you're here?"

" _Tell_ me, Draco. I haven't heard anything."

He seemed almost disappointed that she was asking about the man he supposedly respected and owed his life to. Though she didn't know any of the details of that incident, she knew Draco had an immense amount of admiration for Dumbledore. It was evident every time he mentioned his name. Why would he be upset that she wanted to know if the man was all right?

"Yes, he made it back to Devon. Apparently he gave the village quite the shock when he arrived looking like Dolores Umbridge of all people."

His chuckle and the glint in his grey eyes suggested he was impressed by her actions. Out of fear that she couldn't really trust him and concern that he would talk her out of such a ridiculous and reckless plan, she hadn't given him _any_ details.

"Quite ingenious getting Umbridge mixed up in all of this. How did you get her to agree to help?"

"Combination of Imperius Curse and love potions. All of the responsibility _should've_ fallen to her. I'm still not even allowed to access Level Eleven on my own and I was _supposed_ to have an alibi."

It felt good to be able to open up about what had been bothering her for days. He might turn around to use the information against her later, but in that moment she felt calmer, like the world wasn't about to end.

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"I made a mistake. Rabastan already suspects I'm up to something. It won't take long before all of the pieces are put together and I'm caught."

He placed his arm around her shoulder offering what comfort he could. She appreciated that he didn't spout any trite words of encouragement that she didn't want to hear. She knew her situation was practically hopeless. All that was left for her to do was run.

"Am I off the Resistance's Hitlist now? I'd really appreciate not having to worry about them hunting me again when I leave."

"Are you sure it's necessary to run again?"

"What other options do I have, Draco? If I stay, Rabastan will pin Aberforth's escape on me. As much as I wish he was, he's not dumb. And he's always been looking for a way to get rid of me. Here's his chance."

Draco placed two fingers under her chin to force her to look in his eyes. Concerned that he would see how afraid she was, Hermione resisted at first. He wouldn't be deterred. When she stared into his grey eyes, all she could see looking back at her was concern and possibly fear. Was he really afraid that something might happen to her? Or was this only a manipulation? Did he have something else he needed from her?

The gentle press of his lips against hers quieted her anxieties for the moment. She could revisit them later. His kiss was slower, much more tender than the others they'd shared in that house. He behaved as if they had all of the time in the world and there was no rush.

"Come with me to my flat."

"No, Draco, I can't stay away long."

" _Please_. Just two hours."

She found his simple argument to be very persuasive. Shortly after he helped her to her feet, Draco led her outside to Apparate them both back to the privacy of his flat.


	191. July 9th

July 9th

Hiding from her fate was the act of a coward. Hermione woke up Monday morning with a renewed determination that Rabastan wasn't going to scare her away. Only guilty people ran from their crimes. If it was her destiny to be arrested, so be it. Maybe it was time she was made to pay for her crimes. One couldn't spend more than half their life committing atrocious acts of violence and get away with it. At least they shouldn't.

Whether or not her hours spent at Draco's flat the day before trying to forget everything that was happening outside of his bed was the reason she was more confident was unclear. Certainly it had been a very pleasant way to spend her afternoon. When she returned to Hogsmeade after a long, shared bath in his decadent tub, most of the stress and worry was gone from her shoulders. At least if she was going to finally be arrested, she had a pleasant afternoon to remember. Most of her victims over the years didn't have the same privilege.

She descended the staircase in her home for what could possibly be the very last time. Each step down brought up a memory, some bad, others quite good. Though she still couldn't be sure which ones she could trust to be real and which ones she couldn't, it was still a lovely reminder that there had been at least some measure of happiness within those walls. Her husband wasn't _always_ a monster and she _did_ love her son. Maybe not like other mums, but she did.

Just like most mornings in their past, Antonin had breakfast ready for the family. The wizard had his faults, certainly, but he could be surprisingly nurturing and domestic when it suited him. Imagining him taking over as the next Dark Lord was becoming harder. Now that she knew the true desires in his heart, she was worried. He would be better off taking their son and running away. If his claim about smuggling people out of the country was as easy as he made it seem, perhaps what remained of her tiny family could start a new life elsewhere. Antonin had three brothers in various location around the world. One of them might even be willing to help his older brother and nephew get back on their feet.

As she watched the man she was forced to marry thirteen years earlier move around their kitchen, she felt the tiniest shifting of her feelings towards him. He'd been far from a perfect husband, but she could never deny that he didn't try. Nor could she say he never loved her. She hoped that with his weakness gone and no longer able to consume his thoughts that he might be able to survive the coming power struggle.

Oliver watched her over his plate of eggs. She sometimes wished she could read her son's mind, but since he reminded her so much of herself at times, it was probably best that she couldn't. He was entirely too curious for his own good. Antonin would have to keep a close eye on him to keep him out of the same trouble his mum used to get in. Truthfully, it was something of a miracle that she survived her adolescence at all. There were many opportunities chasing Harry around where the outcome could've been vastly different.

She waited until the very last morsel was gone from her plate before she stood to her feet to leave. Usually, when her existence wasn't in question, she would rush through breakfast and get out of their house as quickly as she could. Spending too much time with her husband and son used to leave her feeling annoyed and frustrated. That morning, however, she didn't want to go. She wanted to make sure they would be all right without her. Sure, they survived a year without her when she was on the run, but this was different. During that year there was always the hope that she would return. Her death would be final. Were they prepared for that possibility?

If he was startled by his usually cold and distant mother's arms wrapping around his neck, Oliver didn't let on. He acted as if the tight squeeze she held him in for several long moments was perfectly normal behavior. Perhaps that was what he _wanted_ from her all along. She'd seen how Mafalda and even Hannah hugged him. Neither woman ever appeared to be in a hurry to let go. Even if it was the only embrace he'd ever get from her like that, Hermione didn't fail him in that instance.

Antonin watched the scene at the kitchen table with a stoic, impassive expression that told his wife more than he likely meant to. After so many years together, she could read him even when he was making it difficult. He was worried, _concerned_ that something was happening. It was possible that he was preparing himself for the very likely chance that she was about to run away from home again. In his mind, it was only a matter of time before she left. A man didn't track his wife's magic because he _trusted_ her.

Pushing aside the sinking in her gut that he was aware something was off, Hermione kissed him goodbye. Lingering longer than she normally did, but not enough to make their son uncomfortable, Antonin lifted a single eyebrow when she stepped back. He was still staring at her with the quizzical look when she disappeared into the fireplace. Did he have an inkling that that might be the last time she ever saw them? She hoped not.

If she hadn't been afraid that she was about to be dragged down to the lowest level of the Ministry, the morning in her office might have passed just as any other did. Rabastan, of course, was late arriving. Even when she didn't want to see his face she was annoyed by his complete disregard for punctuality. He always had a separate set of rules for his behavior and for the others who worked with and for him. Hermione always brushed it off as being an obnoxious Pureblood trait.

Her Co-Head never once gave any indication that there was something for her to fear. If he seemed surprised to see her sitting behind her desk when he arrived, he hid it well. He did, however, spend much of the morning stealing glances at her across the room and saying nothing. It was an odd habit of his, one usually indicative of a desire of his to push aside work and partake in the pleasures of the flesh instead. When that was the case, he would occasionally allow his eyes to linger long enough that they made eye contact. A playful smirk would tell her what he wanted. But, each time she glanced up in an effort to catch his gaze that morning, he looked back down. He wouldn't make reading his thoughts easy at all.

In Hermione's mind there was no reason to bring up the fact that the door was closed when she was attacked in the Atrium _unless_ Rabastan had plans to use the knowledge against her. He had never been the sort to sit on information that could be used to his benefit. If she was found to be responsible, or at least _possibly_ responsible for helping a prisoner to escape, she would no longer be standing in his way. It might have taken over a decade, but he'd be the one completely in charge.

By mid-morning Hermione was ready to bolt. Her earlier confidence that she could meet her fate with her head held high was waning. Rabastan had a bad habit of playing with his intended victims. He liked to make them wait until their own minds betrayed them. She struggled to even keep her mind on her work. Nothing that sat on her desk was of any importance to begin with, but when all she could think of was the wizard's cruelty, she could hardly even make the words of the parchment make any sense. Was it too late to run? She didn't have her beaded bag with her because she wasn't expecting an opportunity. Was that another foolish mistake in a long line of others she'd already made?

The abrupt entrance of her idiot assistant gave her mind something to focus on. She really wasn't sure why she hadn't gotten rid of the witch yet, especially considering it was painfully obvious that they'd resumed their inappropriate dalliance. Perhaps Gemma Lestrange was serious in her quest to have another baby. In the past when the urge struck her, he'd done his duty as her husband and then sought out the charms of other women to 'cleanse his palette'. He truly was disgusting.

"This urgent message just arrived for you, Rab… _Mr._ Lestrange."

His squinted his eyes, annoyance evident to everyone else in the room except for the bloody idiot. When she didn't immediately exit the office, he grew more frustrated. He wasn't a man who appreciated seeing his mistresses in the harsh light of day.

"Was there something else?"

Finally realizing that she was upsetting him, Rachel rushed from the room. With a dramatic sigh and roll of his eyes, Rabastan unsealed the delivered message.

"Damn!"

Even though she knew she would likely come to regret it, Hermione wanted to know what was in the missive. He wasn't usually one to show such emotion over a message. It must've been important.

"Bad news?"

They were the first words they exchanged all morning. Initially reluctant to share the news, he sighed a second time and gave in.

"One of the prisoners down in Level Eleven died of a heart attack in the night. The spells in his cell alerted the DMLE that there was no sign of life. They just went downstairs to confirm it."

Dying of natural causes brought on by the stress of arrest and imprisonment combined with the dread and fear of an upcoming interrogation wasn't that uncommon. With the cells full, it was even less of a surprise. That many people kept down there in a constant state of anxiety usually caused some deaths.

"Thanks to the Dark Lord _demanding_ we focus on the explosion and leave the Resistance alone until our investigation was complete, I wasn't even able to scratch the surface of what he could've told us."

He slammed his fist down on the top of his desk. All Hermione heard him say was 'Resistance'. To the best of her knowledge there was only _one_ prisoner down in Level Eleven with known connections to the Resistance. The wizard that she was responsible for getting captured and the one she helped escape days earlier.

"I'm afraid that your efforts to get Aberforth Dumbledore captured were in vain." He stood to his feet and kicked at the rubbish bin next to his desk. "We're not going to learn anything from him now."

Rabastan stormed out of the office like a petulant child. None of what he just said made the least bit of sense. Aberforth couldn't have died of a heart attack when he wasn't even in the Ministry! Assuming there was enough polyjuice potion for Dolores Umbridge to keep taking it for almost a week, which there wasn't, if _she_ died of a heart attack even under the influence of the polyjuice potion, her body would revert back to her usual form in death.

Someone was covering up the fact that Aberforth Dumbledore was no longer in Level Eleven. Covering up _and_ ensuring that Hermione's secret about forcing Umbridge to do her bidding didn't get out. Who would have the power to do that? Or even the desire?


	192. July 10th

July 10th

Unlike the morning days earlier when she stayed in bed because she was still healing from her latest in a long line of concussions, Hermione didn't have a good reason to remain underneath the covers in the bed she shared with her husband. She had no desire to go back into the Ministry again, possibly _ever_. Even though the crippling fear that she was headed towards a painful death from the morning before was no longer present, she still was reluctant to climb out of her sanctuary. She'd never been hurt before inside her bed… not unless she _asked_ for it in clear terms. When she wasn't having a rare adventurous encounter with her insatiable husband, she could hide from the world in their bedroom.

None of her questions from the day before had even begun to be answered. She didn't have the first clue who might have covered up for her down in Level Eleven. It would have to be someone with power and influence, someone who actually _knew_ what she'd been up to. Other than the man who escaped, the only person who knew what she'd done was Draco. His curious mind asked a number of questions about the details of the escape when they were alone in his flat's bathtub. She told him everything, down to where she got the idea for the love potion spiked chocolates. Evidently, satisfaction of the carnal kind loosened her lips every bit as much as alcohol loosened Antonin's. She would need to remember to be careful in the future.

But, Draco had no power in the Ministry. Even if he did, he would never risk publicly exposing his connection with her. As far as the majority of the world was concerned, they were simply old acquaintances from school who had no reason to ever speak. Certainly they'd never been able to hold a conversation in public for very long. No, she knew Draco had nothing to do with the cover-up.

She was exhausted with worry that everything was about to come crashing down on her head. It was unsettling to be in someone's debt and have no clue who that person was. Would she be expected to reciprocate in some manner? What if the price she had to pay for the expected assistance wasn't something she could afford?  
Antonin was worried when he came back out of the bathroom following his shower to find his wife still in bed with seemingly little motivation to change that fact. She was rarely one who desired having a lie-in and _never_ on a workday. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, and she knew she wasn't putting in a lot of effort that morning, he could always tell when something was weighing her down. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pushed a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

She almost missed the days when they used to never speak. Perhaps the tension made for an unhappy home at times, but at least he left her alone. She didn't know how to explain what was wrong with her. How was she supposed to tell him that she was nervous about returning to the Ministry because someone covered up her crime of aiding an inmate, a notorious Resistance leader no less, in escaping? Even she didn't know what Antonin's reaction to that would be. Thanks to whatever was wrong with her memories, her husband wasn't exactly the man she always thought he was.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

He didn't like her answer. Probably didn't even believe the words she spoke. He knew how stubborn and tight-lipped she could be when it suited her, so without another word of concern he stood up from the bed. Still dressed only in his towel wrapped around his waist, he walked out of their bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack.

She burrowed down further into her covers with him gone. Lying used to come second-nature to her before she ran away. And she still was able to keep _some_ secrets. Why then was she having so much trouble not blurting out to Antonin exactly what had her bothered and upset? She didn't think there was anything she could do to make her husband hate her. Well, except where it came to his children, but she pushed those thoughts away. Even if she killed the Dark Lord with her own hands right in front of him, he wouldn't turn her in. Especially not to someone as cruel as Rabastan. No, he would stop at nothing to make sure she wasn't implicated in a crime or arrested. Maybe that was why she was so eager to tell him what she did and why she was afraid. But, if she started that confession, she wouldn't be able to stop until she told him _everything_ about her connection with the Resistance. She already spent too much time that year believing that he'd harmed members of a family that took care of her when she needed help. Knowing that he hurt someone else would've been too much to bear. It was important that she not tell him anything.

Through the cracked door she heard their heavy front door open and close. Considering her husband left their bedroom dressed in nothing more than a wet towel, she didn't think he was the one leaving the house so early. When he entered the bedroom moments later, her suspicions were confirmed. The Dolohovs might have been an atypical family, even amongst the Death Eaters, but they weren't _that_ inappropriate.

"Where's Ollie?"

"I sent him to Thorfinn's for breakfast. Hannah will be happy to feed him and Thorfinn's always saying there should be more men in their house."

She knew that was the truth. Thorfinn longed for a son almost as strongly as Antonin longed for a daughter. The massive giant of a man was something like an uncle to their son. Always excited to spend time with him and usually get him into at least a _little_ bit of trouble. Both of his parents knew without question that either one of the Rowles would fight to the death to protect their son from harm just as they would protect their daughters.

"Do you need a potion?"

" _No_ , I'm fine."

Even if a potion sounded lovely, she was determined to stand by her decision that she would take no more.

"Are you going in today?"

"I _should_ , but I don't want to. Just leave me alone, Antonin."

Turning over onto her other side to stare at the middle of the otherwise empty bed, she hoped that would be enough of a clue to her husband that she was in no mood to discuss what it was that had her upset. Still clad in only his towel and not caring one bit that she didn't want him there, Antonin climbed onto the bed in his usual place. She sighed, feeling defeated that there was not a way that she was going to be able to get out of having at least some kind of conversation with him before he left her in peace. The man could be annoyingly tenacious.

As he stared at her waiting for her to let her guard down even for a single moment, Hermione thought about all of the times over the years they'd laid in bed together talking. Some of the best conversations of her entire life took place right where she was laying. They could talk for hours if they had the right topic… and they weren't distracted by more _primal_ acts of communication. She tried to push away the reminder that she'd been alone in bed with another man only days earlier. Once again she wished she could love him the way he loved her. How much happier would their lives have been?

"Now will you _please_ tell me what has you so upset?"

The pleading in his eyes proved that he was serious. She knew that he wouldn't give up until he got some sort of answer that satisfied him. He could be obnoxiously tenacious. It was yet another trait of theirs that they had in common. Perhaps the biggest reason why she struggled to fall in love with him the way he wished was because of their similarities. She didn't always care for how she was reflected back when she looked at him. It made ignoring what a horrible person she'd become over the past twenty years impossible to ignore. Sometimes she just wanted to forget that she wasn't the same girl she was when Harry was alive.

But, she also couldn't deny the fact that there was no one else alive that she felt more comfortable confiding in. When he was nothing more than just her teacher, years before they were ordered to wed, she considered Antonin one of her closest friends, if not her very _best_ friend. There used to be nothing they couldn't talk about. Not until she understood what his true feelings were for her and she learned how she could use them against him for her benefit. She didn't like all of the changes her personality went through since the end of the last war.

"I did something wrong, Antonin. Something that could get me in a great deal of trouble if anyone finds out."

"What did you do?"

"I can't tell you. You'll be in the same danger. _One_ of us needs to be all right if this goes terribly."

He didn't like being brushed off even if he could understand why she didn't want to tell him. A few times over the years they'd each been involved in various situations where they couldn't share the details of their problems with the other out of fear of them becoming implicated as well. Veritaserum and repeated bouts of the Cruciatus Curse were effective methods. To show that he wasn't upset with her, Antonin ran his fingertips along her chin. She closed her eyes at the feel of his touch.

"Rabastan is suspicious. He's been acting strangely around me the last several days… since I was attacked."

"This involves Umbridge?"

"I'm not telling you, Antonin. Stop asking. But, he's been suspicious. Yesterday I found out that _someone_ , and I haven't the faintest clue who it might be… someone with a great deal of influence in the Ministry covered for me. I may not be in trouble with Rabastan any longer, but I could be in trouble with whomever it was that fixed what I broke."

Antonin closed the distance between them on the bed to brush his lips against hers. His silent show of support was exactly what she needed to feel some of the weight that had been hanging around her neck to lessen. It was entirely possible that whomever it was that helped her had no nefarious agenda. Maybe, like Draco, they owed their lives to Aberforth and wanted him saved just as much. Or, perhaps less likely, they owed their lives to _her_ and were actually repaying her for a past favor. No matter which it was, or even if it was nothing like that at all, she didn't see the sense in continuing to worry. It was done. She had to live with the consequences.

"I will support you no matter what, Hermione. Doesn't matter what you did. You have my support."

"Thank you."

"But… you should never let someone like Rabastan scare you away. He feeds off of that power. You can't afford to let him know that he's upset you."

He was absolutely correct. She _hated_ giving Rabastan power and what was she doing by allowing him to get in her head? In her feeble effort to thank Antonin for his support, she kissed him back. It didn't take long before they were both thankful that he had the foresight to send their son to the neighbors'.


	193. July 11th

July 11th

A new morning brought a fresh perspective to Hermione. After a surprisingly pleasant morning and then an even more _interesting_ early afternoon alone with her husband, she felt that she had enough confidence to march back into the Ministry of Magic without fear. Rabastan was simply an overgrown child. She'd been able to manipulate him for years. Not just with sex, of course. There was much more to it than that. If one knew how to wind him up in just the right manner, they could control him. _That_ was a lesson she actually learned from his elder brother. Rodolphus was almost as helpful in guiding her through the treacherous waters of her life as a Death Eater as her husband.

She wouldn't let Rabastan intimidate her or let him feel like he could control _her_ any longer. Even before her irritating alarm went off, she was ready to get out of bed. But, her husband had other ideas. Before she could set her feet down on the ground to head to the bathroom, Antonin's arms snaked around her waist, keeping her stationary. He wasted no time seeking out the sensitive place on her shoulder that he loved to kiss. Every time he did it he was guaranteed to get both a sigh and a rash of encouraging goosebumps all over her flesh.

"What are you doing, Antonin?"

There was no accusation in her tone. No, she found his surprising actions to be amusing. He couldn't keep his hands to himself. Instead of offering her a verbal answer, he decided to _show_ her what he wanted with nothing more than nonverbal gestures and touches that had her panting for air. More passion existed in him that morning than she'd seen in a long time. Not even the night of their anniversary, passionate and moving as it was, could compare. As enjoyable as it quickly became, she couldn't deny the terrible feeling in the back of her mind that something was _off_. She was worried. Why did he feel like he was trying to put every bit of feeling and emotion into that one encounter? Was he trying to sear that memory into both of their minds? If so, he was succeeding.

"I don't think you have any idea how much I love you."

His words were spoken softly as they tried to catch their breath in the aftermath of an unexpectedly passionate and poignant bout of lovemaking. Hermione knew that her husband loved her, of course, but he was never one to be so open and honest about that fact. It just simply wasn't done in their social circle. Wizards, in general, were more serious than their Muggle counterparts, more likely to ignore their feelings. For Antonin to boldly tell her how he felt, something must have been dreadfully wrong. His hand moved through her curls one last time and his lips sought hers out again.

"I wish I'd been able to make you happy."

She didn't know what to say. It was all so raw, so out of character for the man. So, she said nothing. It was past time she started getting ready for work as it was. By the time she was downstairs and ready to leave, he was back to being the same overly serious man she'd always known. After a quick breakfast, he pulled her into his arms for another kiss. There was such sadness in his eyes that she almost couldn't breathe.

It was decided as she sat behind her desk later that morning attempting to decipher what her husband was up to that she couldn't stay there any longer. She'd completed her mission. Aberforth was safely ensconced in the Resistance's village in Devon resting and recovering from his ordeal. All signs seemed to indicate that he would be at full strength in no time. She was no longer an official target of the Resistance. All she had to worry about was a loose cannon like William Wood. And she knew she could handle him. Perhaps her lingering too long in Hogsmeade was giving her husband funny ideas about their future. Like the possibility that they _had_ one.

Taking a blank piece of parchment out of her desk, she began to make a list. She needed to organize her thoughts and plans. The last time she took off on the run she had to do so very quickly. There was a lot she neglected to do before she had to escape following her attack on her own husband. Money ran out almost immediately. Food was difficult to find. With no set plan of where she was going to go next, she almost failed dozens of times. This time would be different. Before she walked out of her front door forever, she would know _exactly_ where she was going and _exactly_ what she was doing.

Half of the parchment was filled with her frantic scribblings when Rabastan finally made the effort to come into the office. Not wishing to have the horrible man see what she was working on, Hermione carefully rolled up the parchment to slide it into the pocket of her robes. Moments after sitting down at his desk, Rabastan turned his attention on the other occupant of the room.

"I'm surprised to see you here today, pet. When you didn't come in yesterday, I assumed that we'd seen the last of you."

"Are you disappointed that I came back?"

He was, but he would never come right out and admit so. That wasn't how he chose to play his ridiculous game. No, he would plaster an insincere smile on his face simply to assure her that he longed for nothing more than to see her across the room every single day.

"Not at all. But, I will admit to being _curious_ where you were. You weren't ill again, I hope?"

Hermione snorted softly. He was such a liar. Maybe to others he was convincing, but she knew him too well. Two people couldn't work so closely together in such close quarters without learning more about each other than they desired.

"I actually spent the day in bed with my husband. Work hardly seemed as important as that. Haven't you done the same before with our idiot assistant or one of your other slags?"

Most men might have been offended by her words, but Rabastan wasn't most men. Instead of growing angry, his smile only became wider. He stood from his desk to cross the room to perch himself once again on the edge of hers. She hated how close he was. Since the day she fell victim to his manipulation after she tried to manipulate _him_ , she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Perhaps sensing that fact was the exact reason he chose to invade her personal space.

"So does that mean you've finally made your decision? That you're going to follow your husband?"

"No, I haven't made up my mind yet, but you can't deny that it's a good way to get him to trust _me_ , can you?"

It was partially the truth even if she hated herself just a bit for admitting it. Ignoring how Antonin always made her feel when they were together in the intimate manner that married couples were expected to be, she knew that she held a great deal of power over him too. If she made him feel like she loved him, he was more likely to believe that he had nothing to fear from her. Wasn't that mutually beneficial? Maybe it was a manipulation on her part, but it worked.

"You've always been most effective with that weapon between your legs."

She chose to ignore the anger bubbling up in her at his remark. If she'd been forced to use her body as a weapon in the past to keep herself alive, she was all right with that fact. The world was a cruel and scary place. Within the ranks of the Death Eaters, it was even more so. One had to get their hands dirty if they wanted to stay alive. She found something that worked. Anyone who would judge her for how she was able to survive twenty years in a society so dangerous could go fuck themselves. She wasn't ashamed. Deciding that she needed to turn the conversation to something a little less _salacious_ , she thought of a topic that he was always so eager to discuss.

"How is your little rebellion group? Now that Nott is no longer in competition, do you think you'll actually be successful?"

"Do you mean successful in overthrowing your husband? In showing him _exactly_ what the rest of us think of him?"

His hand slid up the outside of her arm. She hated the feel of his touch even through the fabric of her robes, but she didn't shrug him away. It wouldn't do to insult him right in the middle of him possibly admitting his faction's plans. Even if she was planning to run away, she didn't want to leave Antonin completely at their mercy. If she could tell him something that might save his life, she would. Perhaps she didn't love him like he always dreamed that she would. That didn't mean she didn't still respect him, didn't still _care_ whether he lived or died.

"You haven't told me much about your plans. Wouldn't you think I would need to know more if I was to be persuaded in joining?"

"You've already proven that you're very dangerous with too much information, pet. You have a nasty history of…"

A sharp pain ran up and down Hermione's left arm. Rabastan's hiss and the manner in which he grabbed his own left arm with his right proved that she wasn't alone. Light pain, at first, it gradually grew more intense until neither one of them could keep from crying out at the sensations. Worse than any summons they'd ever felt, she wasn't sure she would be able to withstand the pain without blacking out.

One of the dangers of being a Death Eater was the constant threat that eventually they were going to be placed under a punishing Cruciatus Curse. Before the Dark Lord began to weaken, he enjoyed casting it on his followers himself. He loved the screaming and the begging for mercy. It always made him feel more powerful. In twenty years, Hermione lost count the number of times she writhed under the spell. Bellatrix might have been the first to cast it on her, but she was far from the last. Even _that_ wasn't comparable to the pain coursing not just through her arm any longer.

Accompanying the sharp, indescribable pain was a churning in her stomach that she couldn't explain. When she was pregnant with Oliver she experienced a terrible case of morning sickness that seemed unable to tell time. Every moment she was awake she was nauseous… and it didn't miraculously stop at the beginning of her second trimester like everyone assured her it would. The griping in her guts was even worse than she could describe or had ever experienced before.

Almost as soon as the sickening feel of nausea began, she was expelling dark, viscous gunk out of her mouth. Coating the already stained rug under her desk, she feared that she would never be able to make it stop. Retching sounds from her Co-Head proved that she wasn't alone in whatever unexplained phenomena was happening within her body. Maybe it should've made her feel more comforted knowing she wasn't alone, but it didn't.

The vomiting and the pain stopped in the same moment. Bodies weak from the indescribable experience, Rabastan and Hermione both collapsed to the ground, not even caring if they landed in a puddle of their own blackness. Several minutes passed before either one of them was able to say a word. In a rare show of gentlemanly manners, Rabastan helped her up to a seated position. Each of them stared at the other with terrified, wide-eyed expressions unsure what they'd just experienced. He reached for her left arm, pushing up the sleeve of her robes. When he saw that the Dark Mark that once marred her skin was nowhere to be found, he repeated the same to his own arm. Smiling brightly, he dropped his arm.

"I think he's… I think he's _finally_ dead."

Only sheer determination gave Hermione enough strength to stand to her feet. Ignoring the calls from Rabastan and everyone else she passed, she rushed to the Atrium's fireplaces. She needed to find Antonin immediately.


	194. July 12th

July 12th

Hermione waited for hours for Antonin to come home. As much as she might have been expecting the moment when their master finally died to come, especially after seeing him in the flesh weeks earlier, she wasn't prepared for it to _actually_ happen. Planning and assuming what she was going to do in the event was one thing. Reality often was another. In those first few moments after the pain ended, she thought of nothing else but running back home to her family. Maybe she'd made her choice, decided that Antonin was the only one she would follow. She tried not to dwell too much on the significance of what her first instinct was.

Only _minutes_ passed from the time she ran out of her office until she was standing in her kitchen. Screaming out for her wizards, she didn't waste a moment sealing the fireplace. It was imperative that the Floo connection be severed. If the next several hours or days did not go well in their favor, they didn't need to have an access for the outside world to come inside their sanctuary. Part of her wished that they bought the cottage in the countryside years earlier. At the time, they were concerned about being too isolated from the rest of their society, of Oliver not having friends close by to play with. She hated that they stayed in the middle of the village. Defending their home from enemies would be that much harder.

Oliver rushed into the kitchen shortly after his mother called out for him. Completely unaware that his entire world was about to change, he was bothered when he realized what she was doing. There had always been a family plan put in place for emergencies as long as he was aware. Each member of their small family had their parts to play, their responsibilities to perform. Not wasting any time demanding his mother tell him what was wrong, he ran out the back door calling his cat's name. Despite the fact that it only had three legs, his cat had a bad habit of roaming too far from their house. Hermione finished closing off the fireplace connection and moved to strengthening the wards around the entire house.

"Papa isn't home yet."

Her son ran into the backdoor with his cat in his arms. There was fear evident on his face even if it was also clear that he was trying to be brave and hide it. If she wasn't afraid that at any moment an angry mob of people was going to come storming into their home, she might have stopped to smile a moment at the Gryffindor her son became.

"He'll be able to get through when he gets home. We've practiced this before."

"What's happened, Mummy?"

At twelve years old it was easy to forget that he was moving into that awkward time of life when he wasn't a man, but he wasn't exactly a child either. He was perceptive and far more observant than either of his parents would've liked. Hermione lowered her wand, pausing the magic to look at him fully. Her heart clenched at the realization that he was at the same age she was when she first helped Harry fight against the Dark Lord. Was history determined to keep repeating itself over and over again until they learned their lessons? Children had no business being dragged into war!

She wrapped her arms around her son, holding him tightly against her chest. Oliver deserved better than what fate had given him for parents. She could feel the courage in her child begin to waver. What should she tell him? The truth was far too frightening. But, didn't he deserve to know how much danger he was potentially in? If the Dolohovs were eradicated from their world, he would be caught in the maelstrom of violence too. An accident of birth put him in danger.

"We'll talk about it when your father gets home, but for now, we need to make sure the house is secure."

For hours, her son didn't leave her side. She was glad for the company as they waited for Antonin to come back. Neither of them said it out loud, but both of them feared that they would be waiting forever. No one was invincible. No one was immortal. That included their husband and father. They had to prepare themselves for the very real possibility that it was just the two of them left. She had to make plans. Remaining in the country wouldn't be an option. Rabastan made that clear. Maybe she would take Oliver to Africa. His uncle was there and she knew it was safe. Or they could go to Australia. Her parents might even follow them once they found out their only child and grandchild couldn't come back to the country. Hermione knew that she would have to make up her mind quickly if Antonin was dead.

Long after midnight, they were still alone. Oliver fell asleep in his parents' bed while his mother sat against the headboard considering her choices. Would they have any allies? Or just enemies? She was under no delusions that the Resistance would ever be willing to take her in again. Not even if she brought her son with her. They would never trust her again. And honestly, she couldn't blame them. The Hermione who fought for the Greater Good and for the Light side and for what was good and fair no longer lived. She died twenty years earlier in a dark, dusty broom cupboard. All that remained was a witch who wouldn't allow herself to be made a victim again. Even if she had to kill every single person who crossed her path, she would if it meant that she would get to safety.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs broke Hermione out of her thoughts. Careful not to jostle the bed too much to wake Oliver up, she got up to prepare for the next few moments. Unless her husband gave away the secret of the wards they used to protect their home, only one person would be standing at the bottom of the staircase. She was surprised at the intensity of the relief she felt to see Antonin unharmed and whole. Her feet descended the stairs faster than they'd ever done so before. Her husband was ready to catch her when she threw herself into his waiting arms. Holding him tight, she understood his strange behavior that morning. He had been saying _goodbye_. Whatever happened that day, he didn't expect to come home from.

"Papa!"

Hermione didn't have an opportunity to ask him any questions before their son joined them downstairs. In a similar move to the one she made, Oliver launched himself at his father. Antonin hugged him so tightly that his feet dangled off of the ground. Soft sobs were muffled by the heavy fabric of Antonin's robes. Feeling suddenly emotional and fearing she might burst, Hermione busied her hands and her mind with reapplying the wards her husband had to pull down to enter. When he set Oliver back down on his feet, Antonin kissed the top of his head and playfully ruffled his hair. Tears streaked down their son's face.

"Ollie, take Sam and go upstairs to your room. I promise _no one_ is coming through these doors."

Their son seemed reluctant to follow his father's orders, but he knew better than to argue. With another hug from his father and a kiss from his mother, he called to his cat. Up the stairs they went while his parents watched in silence. Hermione knew that whatever Antonin was going to tell her wouldn't be said until the door to Oliver's room was shut and silencing spells placed around them. At the sound of the door shutting, he did just as she suspected. Only when they were encased in a silent bubble did they speak.

"Antonin, _what_ happened?"

He pressed his lips hard against hers.

"I killed him."

"You… you what?"

"I killed the Dark Lord."

For weeks she'd been preparing herself for the moment when he came home to announce that Lord Voldemort's rotting body finally gave out. It was only ever going to be a matter of time. Based on the seeping sores covering his flesh when she was forced to meet him face to face, she knew that he was practically dead. _Never_ did she expect those five simple words to come out of her husband's mouth.

"What?"

She didn't trust her ears and needed him to repeat himself. A hint of a smirk formed on his lips.

"Remember how I told you that Ollie could finish him off with a tickling charm? Apparently a pillow over his face worked just as well."

The truth was hard to believe. The supposedly immortal Dark Lord was killed in perhaps the most ignominious way possible. It was how elderly Muggles were murdered by vengeful grandchildren or inept burglars… _not_ how the most powerful Dark wizard in history was supposed to be taken down. It was almost funny. She could feel a nervous chuckle bubbling up inside her. Hardly an appropriate reaction to the news that her master was dead, she tried to stifle it.

" _Why_? The Dark Lord was already dying."

"We needed a big enough distraction to get the attention off of you after whatever it was you did that you won't tell me. And we needed a distraction to get Babajide Akingbade smuggled into the country."

Her husband _killed_ the Dark Lord for _her_. Not just because she was in trouble, but also because he needed to get the memory charms expert from Uganda across the border. If she ever needed proof that he loved her as much as he claimed, _that_ was it. She also couldn't deny the brilliance of the plan. Those in charge of watching the borders were almost all Marked. Even those that weren't could hardly be blamed for getting distracted by their supervisors writhing in pain and vomiting a foul, disgusting substance for several minutes. It was just enough time for an unauthorized border crossing.

"Alain is back and he brought his friend with him. I've got them tucked away in a safe house. No one will think to look for them there. Akingbade said that he's willing to help you with your memories."

Hermione could see the light at the end of the tunnel. As much as it terrified her to know what she was missing, to know what she had blocked in her mind, she was excited.

"What happens next?"

He pressed his lips against hers again. Softer than before, he didn't break the kiss until they were both short of breath and needing air.

"First, you are going to join me in a long, hot shower and then I'm taking you to bed where we're going to celebrate the beginning of the rest of our lives. The monster is dead."


	195. July 13th

July 13th

Two days after the Dark Lord's death Hermione still was in something of a daze. Her world changed so rapidly that she was having trouble keeping up. There was so much uncertainty swirling around her that she could hardly focus on what was important. Even though she hadn't stepped foot outside of her warded home in Hogsmeade, she knew that chaos reigned. Should she take advantage of everyone being so consumed with the aftermath of the potential fall of the regime in power to run? Maybe no one would miss her at first. Antonin might even be too concerned with everything else to even worry about what happened to his wife.

The only thought that kept her from packing up everything she owned in her beaded bag and running was the reminder that there was a memory charms expert waiting in a safe house somewhere with their borders. He was there solely at Antonin's request to view _her_ mind. She was desperate to know what was wrong with her, what caused the blocks in her memory. Maybe then she might even find out what made her so confused at times. She couldn't go the rest of her life wondering what was wrong with her. She had to _know_. Staying was the only option. At least for the immediate future, she wouldn't leave.

After making good on his promises to celebrate with his wife in bed following the death of the monster that had complete control of their lives for so long, Antonin only slept for a few hours. The morning after Voldemort was smothered with a pillow by his supposedly most loyal follower, her husband left the house again. Despite being exhausted, he wouldn't listen to his wife's pleas that he get more rest before rushing out into the fray. He knew that he would have to make some decisions very quickly. Without a clear leader, their world was about to get _interesting_.

He spent another day outside of their house doing only he knew what until after midnight again. No matter how many times she asked, Antonin wouldn't tell Hermione what he'd been doing. She was frustrated that he was keeping her at home protecting their son, but refusing to tell her anything else. Never in their history had he kept her in the complete darkness of what was happening. That was the only proof she needed to know that they were all still very much in danger. He wasn't the clear successor any longer. Hoping to keep his family protected, he assumed that keeping them ignorant was the best manner. Hermione wanted to strangle answers out of him.

Friday morning she lay next to her husband watching him sleep. She hadn't been able to string together more than an hour or two of sleep since the ordeal began. Her greatest fear for the past twenty years was to be caught asleep by her enemies and dragged away to face her torturous end. It was a scene she was able to witness play out in the lives of countless victims of hers. What she committed to other people she feared for herself. She knew she was a hypocrite and didn't care.

The shifting of the mattress just after the sun rose in the early morning sky put her immediately on edge. Antonin had only been asleep for four hours at the most. Going back out into the world with such little rest was just asking for trouble. She reached across the space between them to grab his arm. Understanding that his wife wished to speak with him, he turned over to face her.

"When are you going to tell me what's really happening out there, Antonin?"

His kiss to her forehead was as patronizing as his silence. She longed to slap him across his smug face, but stopped herself. An argument would only make matters worse. If he was angry with her, he would be even less likely to share his secrets.

"You and Ollie are safe inside this house. That's all that you need to worry about, my love."

"And will your family _always_ be prisoners now?"

A slap across the face might have been less painful. He grimaced at her words.

"You are _not_ prisoners. I'm simply doing what I know how to keep you safe."

Feeling his anger rising, Antonin chose to remove himself from the awkward conversation before it got any worse. Following a quick shower while his wife continued to stew in her anger in bed, he rushed out of the house for yet another morning. Perhaps this was going to be their life from now on. She and Oliver would be forced to hide under protective wards. Maybe not always in their Hogsmeade home. It was possible that after the foul stench of the dungeons quarters belonging to the deceased Dark Lord was eradicated, they would be moved into the castle on a permanent basis. As much as she once loved Hogwarts, making it into her prison again was going to be miserable. She hoped that this was all just temporary until the line of succession was decided. This was no way to live.

She stayed in bed until she could hear sounds coming down the corridor from her son's room. Antonin left her with the task of keeping their son as calm as possible in the midst of the chaos he was responsible for creating thanks to his violent act. It was important that they try to keep as normal a routine for Oliver as possible. Having a panicked child locked in the wards with her would only make it all so much worse. So, she put on her least annoyed face, dressed and descended to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Oliver was practically humming with the desire to ask all of the questions that were built up inside of him. Hermione could recognize the nervous trait as one she possessed as well. Under any other less-than-dire circumstances, she might have even been amused to see their similarities. When she was just as frustrated because she didn't know the answers either, it was obnoxious and a painful ache was forming in her head.

"Can I stay up until Papa comes home tonight?"

"You may, but if he's not happy about you being up so late, I'm telling him it was all your idea."

Her son gave her the first smile he'd had in days. When she was so consumed with her own worries and concerns, it was easy to forget what this was doing to her child. She really was a shit mum. Shouldn't Oliver be her _first_ priority? Instead, it often felt like she was forgetting about him entirely. She dropped a kiss on top of his head as she cleared away the dishes on the table. Some of the tension that had become a normal part of their home began to lessen.

At the sink she tried to experience some of the peace Antonin always enjoyed washing the dishes in the Muggle way. She needed something to pass the endless hours stretching ahead. Sitting and waiting was likely to drive her completely round the bend. Did Antonin not care that telling her nothing was making her crazy? Probably not. He was always of the opinion that he knew best.

A flash of movement in the back garden caught her eye. She set the bowl she was washing back down into the soapy water. Not even bothering to wipe her hands dry, she reached for her wand. They were relatively safe inside their home, but it was never a good idea to get too complacent or cocky. There was always room for improvement. When she didn't see anything again for a full minute, she thought she might have imagined the first movement. Or maybe it was just an owl swooping through the garden. Just as she was about to give up her watch to return to finishing the rest of the dishes, she witnessed a large Saint Bernard emerge from the hedges.

She hadn't seen Rodolphus since before she ran away from the Resistance. In the almost five years since he defected, he had not once returned to Hogsmeade. At least not to her knowledge. For the animagus to appear in her back garden to sit calmly in the middle waiting to be recognized, _something_ must be up. Her first thought was that something terrible happened to Draco. Why else would Rodolphus risk exposure to travel this far? Almost as soon as she thought it was Draco, she dismissed that idea. Rodolphus made it perfectly clear when they were in Devon that he wanted her to stay away from his nephew. A visit like this would go against his wishes. When it was evident that he wasn't leaving, Hermione turned away from the window to look at her son reading one of his books at the table.

"Ollie, take your book into the lounge… and _stay_ there."

Twelve years of odd orders from his mother that made little sense kept Oliver from asking too many questions. For a little boy who lived in an adult's world, much like his mum had once upon a time, he was used to being dismissed by adults. He picked up his book and disappeared through the door to the lounge. When she was satisfied that he was gone, Hermione carefully pulled down the wards covering the back door. She wouldn't be out there long. Rodolphus wouldn't linger.

The wizard transformed out of his animagus form the moment he saw Hermione exit the back door. Looking every bit as exhausted as she felt, Hermione knew that the days hadn't been easy for the wizard either.

"What's Antonin been doing?"

He wasn't terribly friendly nor was he overtly rude. Just gruff and to the point. Much more like the man who trained her on missions almost two decades earlier. At least she could take comfort in the fact that he was less hostile than he was when they were still in the Resistance village. Perhaps he was no longer angry with her for being a bad influence on Draco. It was small, but she would take it.

"I don't know. He won't tell me anything."

It was the complete truth even if she hated to admit it out loud. Rodolphus examined her face, looking for any evidence that she was lying. When he found nothing there to be suspicious about, his features softened. He placed his hands on the outside of her upper arms. With a light squeeze of each hand, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Promise me that you'll be careful, Hermione? We might've had our differences in the past, but I still care about you."

She promised him that she would try. It was as close as she could vow without telling a complete lie. Rodolphus transformed back into a dog before sneaking out of her garden. The entire visit lasted less than five minutes, but it left her uneasy. What could possibly be so important that he would risk exposure to seek her out? Antonin could've easily been home.

Once she was back inside her home and the wards reapplied, the pain in her head only grew worse. She didn't understand anything that was happening. Why was Rodolphus behaving so strangely? He had always been a bit odd, but this was different. Was he serious when he admitted that he cared about her? She would've thought that after his not-so-subtle warning to stay away from Draco that he would want nothing to do with her.

Trying to piece together the wizard's true motivations made her head pound even harder. Asking Oliver to be as quiet as possible, she ascended the staircase to return to bed. She would've loved to take a potion, but she was determined to remain strong enough without them.


	196. July 14th

July 14th

Hermione's headache hadn't yet abated by the next morning. After spending the entire day in bed with the windows covered with thick curtains, she hoped that it would be better. When Antonin returned home just before midnight to find his son awake and worried about his mother, he'd begged her to take a potion for the pain. She continued to refuse. The world was too unsettled to be vulnerable enough to attack. Under the influence of the potions that were designed to supposedly settle her confused mind, she was defenseless.

Part of her wished that she'd taken Antonin's advice when she discovered that Saturday afternoon was to be Lord Voldemort's lavish funeral. Still tight-lipped about his activities since he killed their master, all she knew was that at least a temporary truce had been called in the fight for the succession to allow for the proper burial of the Dark Lord. None of the power players wanted to appear to be overly excited about the death of the wizard many of them had followed for decades. To show too much excitement might've been taken as a sign that they'd been in league with the Resistance or any of the other rebellion groups since long before the tragic death of their beloved master. No one wanted to be accused of disloyalty. Not yet. Not until they knew which way the winds would blow.

All of the Death Eaters and their spouses were expected to attend the funeral held on the castle grounds. To not show the proper amount of respect would've been tantamount to openly declaring they were rebels themselves. Hermione had no desire to go and pretend that she wasn't internally jumping for joy at the knowledge that she would never have to see the Dark Lord's face ever again. Some of the fear that had become part of who she was since the day she was dragged from her broom cupboard and tossed at his feet was beginning to disappear. For more than twenty years she lived in terror of the wizard. If only he could've been killed instead of Harry… how much better would their world have been?

Just before noon on the Saturday following the tragic demise of their master, Hermione and Antonin moved around their bedroom, dressing in their finest and most somber robes, and prepared themselves for the event they were sure to never be able to forget. Though she'd been furious to know that she was expected to attend, she could see the reasoning behind the demand. They had to be seen as being not only loyal to the Dark Lord, but loyal to each other. The days ahead were sure to be fraught with danger. It would be easier if they faced it together.

"You're not expecting Oliver to come, are you?"

"Of course not, Hermione. It might be dangerous. He'll stay here. Alain will come get him if something happens to us. We've already made a plan."

She felt a little bit better knowing that her brother-in-law was involved. At least there was someone she could trust that wouldn't be at the funeral. The Rowles and the Yaxleys would be right there with them publicly mourning the death of the man none of them were sorry to see go. There was no one else she trusted to keep her son safe if something terrible were to happen at the funeral. Alain would probably smuggle Oliver out of the country and back to Africa with him. Oliver would like it there. He hated being cold and he'd always been fascinated by the animals from that continent. A little adventure might help him get over the loss of his parents.

Never had the walk to the castle taken so long. The dread of approaching the place where many of their enemies would be gathering was choking. It would be just like the Resistance to attack in the middle of the Dark Lord's funeral. The ultimate in disrespect. They would all have to be on their guard. As she passed through the gates with the crush of other mourners, Hermione squeezed her husband's hand tightly. She needed the reassurance of knowing that she wasn't alone. Antonin wouldn't let anything happen to her if it was in his power to stop it. The gentle squeeze of his hand in return helped.

Memories of the last funeral she attended on the grounds of the school were fresh in Hermione's mind. There were so many similarities to Albus Dumbledore's funeral that she wondered if that was on purpose. Was that another parting insult to the monster their master was? Antonin was generous enough to at least explain that the highest ranking Death Eaters put aside their own desires to plan the final event before they all descended into violence and mayhem. A shaky truce existed on that day and only that day. The real struggles would begin soon.

Everyone who was anyone within the regime was present. Keeping to her husband's side and not relinquishing her grip of his hand, Hermione looked around at all of the supposed mourners. Augustus was alone. No doubt his wife refused to cross the Channel to attend. Without the Dark Lord alive to give the orders to remain together, perhaps they both believed they would finally have their freedom. Draco stood with his parents, his stormy grey eyes focused on the Forbidden Forest. She longed to speak to him, to find out what he was going to do next, but she knew that the middle of the funeral was the worst place to do so. It would look suspicious. She didn't need to give her husband any further ideas on keeping her imprisoned in their home. Rabastan played the doting husband. Like Augustus, she wondered if he would continue to keep up the farce of his marriage with the Dark Lord dead. It wasn't exactly a secret that he only married Gemma Farley because he was ordered to find a bride and she was the least objectionable one available at the time. Maybe he would set her aside too. Possibly many of the marriages that were ordered by their dead master would no longer matter.

"Hermione, darling, where have you been? I haven't seen you in so long."

Alecto Carrow was too cheerful for the occasion. Despite being her friend of many years, her mere presence was enough to get on Hermione's nerves. She didn't want to speak to anyone, especially not about why she hadn't been anywhere lately. Ignoring the narrowing of Antonin's eyes that made no secret about the fact that he loathed the woman, Alecto pressed her lips against Hermione's cheek in greeting.

"We must have lunch again soon. So much to talk about."

The older witch rushed away to find her seat before the ceremony began. Antonin led his wife to the front row of seats. Given his importance to the regime and his status as being the righthand of the Dark Lord, they were assigned prime seats. _Everyone_ could see them. She was grateful to discover that on her left side was seated the Minister for Magic. Little more than a puppet who did as he was ordered, Pius Thicknesse could lay claim to having one of the longest terms as Minister. He was content to keep up the appearance that he was in charge despite the fact that the Imperius Curse Corban Yaxley placed on him during the last war was long gone. He'd gotten used to certain comforts associated with the position and wouldn't dream of giving it up without a fight. Far from being an odious man, Hermione rather liked him. A bit arrogant, he was also a terrible gossip. Many Ministry functions found her seeking him out to pass the time. The wizard knew _everything_ and he was also surprisingly funny. At least with Pius on one side and Antonin on the other, she didn't have to worry about sitting next to Rabastan.

"How is your head?"

She assured her husband in a whisper that it was better. In truth, it was much worse. Having him worry about her would only get on her nerves, making it even more unbearable. Whether it was the bright sunshine or the crush of the people all around her, each second that ticked past only made the pain worse. She hoped that the funeral would be over quickly. Maybe she would even give in to the desire to drink a potion. Much more of the pain and she wouldn't worry about being left vulnerable.

Naturally, the ceremony _wasn't_ over quickly. It droned on and on and on until Hermione was convinced that half of the mourners were asleep with their eyes open. Eulogy after eulogy was presented extolling the virtues of the monster they were all made to serve. Yes, it was ostensibly a choice to follow the Dark Lord, but most knew better. If they wanted to get ahead in life or simply wanted to ensure that their family remained safe, many felt they had no other option. Each speech that was given was full of complete lies. Everyone knew it. The farce of a funeral was pathetic.

A sharp ringing in her ears made her flinch. Covering her left ear with her hand, she hoped for some sort of relief. None came. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. She hated the feeling of her body being out of her control. What was happening? Carefully glancing around, she saw that she appeared to be the only one affected. Maybe it was all connected to her headache that simply wouldn't go away. For over a day, it had lingered with no indication that it was going to get better.

"Are you all right, Madam Dolohov?"

Pius' whispered inquiry managed to cut through the pain. She tried to assure him with a silent smile that she was all right, but somehow doubted she came off looking sincere. The simple act of opening her eyes again increased the intensity of the pain in her head. She was afraid that she was about to scream out. That mustn't happen. Not only would she embarrass herself in front of everyone who mattered, she would make herself and by extension, Antonin look weak. No one would want to follow a man who had an unpredictable wife.

Hermione wasn't sure how she ended up on her back in the grass. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. Or perhaps it was because of the pain that she blacked out. She came to with the sun shining directly in her eyes. The speeches were halted. Murmurs of concern were all around. No one seemed to know what to do next, including the witch sprawled out in the grass. She hoped she hadn't caused a big scene. Headmaster Dumbledore was such a respected figure that it seemed a shame to ruin his funeral. And Harry and Ron would be so embarrassed! She could already hear the scolding she would get from them when they made it back to the common room.

"Darling, are you all right?"

She didn't recognize the voice that spoke. It sounded a little familiar, but she couldn't place it. Who would be so forward with her to use an endearment like that? Or to run their fingertips gently down the side of her face? She looked up to see the face of a man that haunted her nightmares staring back. They'd last been face to face in the Department of Mysteries. He tried to kill her. Maybe he was back to finish what he started. A scream ripped from her throat.

"Death Eaters! Run! There are Death Eaters here!"

She tried to reach for the wand she had in her pocket but a firm hand on her wrist kept her from grabbing it. Completely at the mercy of the evil man who longed to murder her, she lashed out with her legs kicking whatever she could reach. A grunt of pain told her that she'd made some contact. She continued to scream, to try to get out of his grasp. He was going to kill her right there in the middle of Albus Dumbledore's funeral. Why was no one stopping him? Were there other Death Eaters with him attacking the others?

"Harry! Ron!"

A flash of red light filled her eyes followed by darkness.


	197. July 15th

July 15th

If there was ever a moment in Hermione's life when she had been more humiliated, she couldn't remember it. Waking up the day after Lord Voldemort's funeral with the recollection of what happened in front of everyone was enough of an incentive to start running again. She couldn't bear to see the faces of those who witnessed her very public confusion. No one would ever let her forget her screaming out for the dead while she kicked and tried to scratch her husband. Nor should they. It was evident that she was completely broken.

Her bedroom was bright and very warm when she finally opened her eyes the next day. Based on the fuzziness in her head, she knew that Antonin made her drink a potion despite her wishes to never touch another. She wasn't angry and she certainly couldn't blame him. After her public display he had to do what he thought was best. Her cheeks burned with mortification remembering the details again.

She didn't understand what the catalyst was for the _incident_. Was her headache caused by more than just tension and stress? Sometimes these episodes started off as an ache, but she used to always take potions to numb the pain. Had her refusal to swallow a potion been the reason why it had been so bad? Maybe if she'd taken Antonin's advice, she wouldn't have collapsed on the grass in front of every single Death Eater and every other influential person in their crumbling regime.

The door to the bedroom squeaked as it was gently pushed open. As soon as her husband realized that she was awake, he pushed it a little bit harder. Splashed across his weary countenance was his concern. Hermione felt her mortification all over again. Not only had she made a fool of herself, she'd made one of Antonin too. His transition to power wouldn't come easily after the previous day. If the roles were reversed, she would've imagined that she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. Antonin, however, had different ideas. He crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Pushing her hair away from her forehead, he kissed the top of her head.

"I wasn't sure you were going to wake up today. In my panic yesterday, I think I gave you too much."

She reached for his hand to keep him from continuing to touch her hair. While she understood he did it as habit and to comfort himself that she was right there, it was distracting and she wanted him to tell her everything that happened. The moment the request slipped off her tongue, Antonin's shoulders sagged. He was trying desperately to be patient and upbeat with his wife, but she could tell that he was worried. Up until the day before, they'd been able to keep her _episodes_ out of the public eye. There would be no denying them in the future.

"When you started kicking me and screaming, we had to act quickly. Pius stunned you. He's asked me to beg for your forgiveness."

"There's nothing to forgive. I was… out of control. Something had to be done."

"Yes, well, once you were stunned, I picked you up and carried you home. I was scared to rennervate you until you were able to swallow a potion. I wasn't sure if you would try to attack me again."

She hoped that Oliver wasn't aware of what was happening. Antonin was usually pretty good about keeping the worst of his mother's _condition_ away from him, but he was a bright child. He knew there was something wrong even without knowing all of the details. It might have been traumatic for him to see his mother in such a pitiful state.

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that no one else saw or heard what I did."

His awkward silence was the only confirmation she needed. Years of hiding the truth proved to be in vain. Before the funeral, there were only _rumors_ that she was unwell. After, there was no denying it was true. She couldn't imagine that the news of what happened at the funeral wasn't already spreading beyond those who were present to witness it firsthand. Antonin might still have some level of control over what Albert Runcorn printed in his propaganda newspapers, but he couldn't stop the whispers. _Everyone_ was going to know about her shame sooner rather than later. It was just the incentive she needed to leave again. Having strangers and old acquaintances _suspect_ she was insane was bad enough. Removing all doubt from their mind was infinitely worse.

"Do you think you could tell me what happened?"

Antonin's concern was starting to get on her nerves. How could he be so calm after the public spectacle his wife made of herself? If he was still planning on making his move to assume power over the regime, he would have to work much harder to push past the sting of embarrassment associated with his damaged wife. She was nothing but a burden to him. It might have been easier to deal with the entire humiliation if she didn't know how worried he was for her well-being. She was beginning to see the truth in the claim that she was his weakness. If he wasn't careful, she could very easily become his downfall.

"I'm not sure really. It was just like… well, just like all of the _other_ times. I was fine one moment and the next I thought I was at Albus Dumbledore's funeral and we were under a Death Eater attack."

Shame flickered on his face for half a second before he was able to push it back behind the facade he'd spent a lifetime perfecting. She knew it bothered him when the past was brought up. How many times over the previous twenty years had he asked her for forgiveness for the battle in the Department of Mysteries and then again in the Muggle cafe? More times than she could recall. He'd almost killed her, would've been _happy_ to succeed.

"You said your headache was better. Was that a lie?"

There seemed no reason to keep the full truth from him. Not after all that happened. She nodded.

"Do you think the heat might've had something to do with it? We were out there under the sun for a long time. Maybe combined with your headache it made you confused?"

"It's possible, but the night in the kitchen I attacked you and Thorfinn because I thought we were back in that cafe? That was the middle of winter. Even with all of the wood you insist on putting on the fire, I wasn't overheated."

He stopped to consider her explanation. From the first night she tried to attack him in bed only a month or so after their wedding, he'd tried to explain away her episodes with anything other than the fact that she was probably insane. She appreciated the effort, but knew it was futile. Life cracked her brain. There was no other explanation.

"Carrow kissed your cheek. That was odd, wasn't it? I've never seen her be so affectionate with you before."

"Because Allie tries to avoid you whenever possible. A Carrow's hurt pride isn't easily soothed."

"That night was _thirty-nine_ years ago! She's just being ridiculous if she's still holding on to hurt feelings. We were both practically children."

Hermione knew it was a waste of time to continue that line of discussion. Blood feuds were common amongst the Purebloods. Surely Antonin was aware of that. His mother had been a Fawley after all. Grudges between Sacred Twenty-Eight families were infinitely worse. His mother was a proper Pureblood witch engaged to a Parkinson when too much wine and a mysterious handsome Russian wizard made her commit an indecent act at a wedding reception. She ended up with a son, a hasty marriage, and the lifelong hatred of the family she wronged. Toying with the affections of a young witch from a poor, but proud Sacred Twenty-Eight family had been foolish on Antonin's part. Young man or not, his own family history should've been encouragement enough for him to behave more sensibly.

"Are you trying to suggest that Allie cursed me when she kissed me?"

"It's possible."

"No, Antonin, that's ridiculous. She's my _friend_. I know that's always bothered you, but she wouldn't have anything to gain by hurting me. Besides, she wasn't even there for any of my other… _incidents_. Why would you even think she was responsible?"

She knew he was grasping at straws to come up with any other explanation than simply that his wife was crazy. It was almost comforting to know she had a staunch ally on her side. Even though they had their differences, she was _almost_ certain she could trust her husband. They'd shared so much over the years.

"All right, so you don't think Carrow had anything to do with this. Fine. I'll trust you, but has there been _anything_ else unusual the past few days? Any unexpected package come in the post? Any strange visitors?"

The confession that she'd seen and spoken with Rodolphus the day before the funeral was on her tongue, but Hermione stopped herself before she said anything. He hadn't even been there long enough to do anything that Antonin would consider _suspicious_. All he wanted was to find out what her husband had been up to. When she couldn't give him any information, he kissed her cheek and left. It didn't seem right to blow his cover when he didn't do anything wrong. Rodolphus never once hurt her in the past and she highly doubted that would change.

"No, nothing strange happened, Antonin. Ollie and I have been locked inside the house for days. When would we have even had an opportunity to be around anything unusual?"

He appeared on the verge of continuing their discussion, but stopped himself. They could argue for days straight if they allowed it. Antonin kissed her forehead and stood up from the edge of the bed.

"I don't want you ever going back to the Ministry again."

Neither did Hermione. _That_ wasn't a decision she would argue about. She'd already made it for herself as it was. There was no reason to ever return and after her performance writhing in the grass, she knew she was in trouble if she ever returned.

"I'm going to go check on Alain and our guest. They should be coming here in the next few days."

Hermione was glad that they were finally going to get to the bottom of her memory problems. After the incident at the funeral, it was never more important to discover what was happening in her damaged mind.


	198. July 16th

July 16th

Despite spending most of the day outside of the protection of their home's wards facing the chaos of their new world, Antonin returned to Hogsmeade in time to cook dinner for his family. As Hermione watched him stand at the cooker preparing a simple meal, she found it strange that he would make the time to do something so mundane. Even more so than she already felt, she knew that her husband wasn't cut out to be the next Dark Lord. He found too much joy and fulfillment in the basic acts. She knew that if given the opportunity to leave with his family and never return, he wouldn't hesitate. Perhaps, she decided, it wouldn't be the _worst_ fate imaginable if when she ran away from the stresses of their world that her family came with her.

Almost as soon as she allowed the traitorous thought to flicker through her mind, she brushed it away. That was madness talking, not logic and reason. Antonin wouldn't give up the responsibility of becoming the next Dark Lord because he didn't trust anyone else in the world like he trusted himself. If there was _anyone_ else he thought might do a better job, she knew that he would support them in their endeavor. But, as he'd already made it quite clear over and over again, he didn't trust anyone else with the duty. Not with his family still alive and looking to him for protection. Besides, she didn't want the millstone of her husband and son, two people she never wanted in her life to begin with, hanging around her neck.

The Dolohovs consumed their evening meal in almost complete silence. Oliver understood without even being given most of the details that what was happening outside was serious. To be honest, Hermione had been surprised that he hadn't been asking her dozens of questions. It was what she would've done in his place after all. Just when she thought that he was about to burst in his curiosity, a single look from his father would keep him from asking. While she knew that Antonin was doing what he thought was best to keep their child from being afraid, Hermione thought that he deserved to know at least a little bit of what was happening. He was in danger too, after all. That was a discussion they could have in the privacy of their own bedroom at a later date.

Sunset in mid-July didn't usually occur until almost ten o'clock in the evening. It was Hermione's least favorite time of year. Somehow it seemed wrong that there was daylight for so many hours a day, especially when she was unable to leave the confines of her home. Sheer boredom encouraged her to stand at the sink helping Antonin with the dishes. _Something_ was going to have to change soon. She was starting to feel like she did in the Resistance's village in Devon. There had been nothing to do there but stare at the canvas walls of her tent.

Even though it was nearly nine, the back garden was light enough that she was able to make out some movement amongst the hedges. Thinking at first that it was just another bird, she didn't pay it much mind until it happened again. Was Rodolphus returning for another visit? It would be foolish to do so with Antonin home. Thanks to the overactive imagination she'd developed over the years due to constant vigilance and paranoia, she thought it was also possible that there was someone who meant her family harm waiting just past her husband's vegetable garden. Considering they were very likely on the verge of another war, that wasn't an idle threat. She gently grasped her husband's forearm, encouraging him without words to stop the scrubbing of the plate in his hands.

"Antonin, I think there's someone out there."

That was all he needed to spur into action.

"Ollie, go up to your room and lock the door."

"But, Papa, you said…"

"Oliver… _now_."

He might have gone with a grumble, but their son left the room when he was told a second time. Antonin set the plate back into the soapy water, grabbing the dry hand towel Hermione offered. She had her wand already in her hands, ready to defend her home, if required. As much as she hoped that she wouldn't have to fight in another war, she would do what was necessary. Even a shit mum would fight for their child.

"I'm going to lift the wards just long enough to go see what's out there."

"By yourself? What if it's more than you can handle?"

"Then you go upstairs, grab Ollie, and disable _all_ of the wards so you can disapparate you both out of here to somewhere safe. Go to… go to _Cornwall_ , if you have to."

To suggest that she and their son seek refuge with her ex-lover was no small gesture for Antonin. The words must have tasted bitter on his tongue. Hermione stood at the backdoor waiting for the moment their world could potentially come crashing down around them. Her husband slipped out of the door into the back garden hardly making a sound. Years of experience skulking around dark alleyways gave him an advantage over most. She watched him through the tiny window next to the door, hoping that she wasn't about to be forced to run too.

Time went by slowly. What likely only lasted a minute or so felt like much longer. She witnessed a struggle in the hedges with Antonin throwing his body forcefully at the intruder. No spells lit up the night sky that she could tell, but the sun wasn't completely dark yet. When she didn't see Antonin immediately return, she worried that she would need to go upstairs to Ollie. Before she could make a single step, three forms appeared from behind the hedges surrounding her husband's vegetables. One was unmistakably her husband. Leading the other two across the garden, he didn't appear to be in any distress. The tall, regal man dressed in the traditional African wizarding robes calmly walking behind Antonin was a complete stranger. She wasn't able to see the face of the third wizard until her brother-in-law was standing inside her kitchen.

Alain Dolohov entered the backdoor clutching his right eye. A close inspection of it by his sister-in-law proved that he had the beginnings of a fine black eye. The brothers might have cared about each other, but they could be violent when necessary. No doubt Antonin saw his younger brother sneaking into his back garden as a perfectly acceptable reason to practice the Muggle brawling techniques of their youth.

"If I'd known what kind of greeting we were going to get, I'm not sure I would've come so far."

"You were supposed to wait until I came to get you, Alain. Why aren't you ever able to follow simple instructions?"

A wink from her brother-in-law's uninjured eye proved to Hermione that he wasn't as upset about his older brother's unconventional greeting as it seemed. She just rolled her eyes and accepted the kiss to her cheek he offered. It was impossible to tell the two men were brothers just by looking at them. Alain's blue eyes were nothing like Antonin's dark brown. His hair was much lighter and the beard that was growing on his face was a deep auburn instead of Antonin's raven. It was common knowledge that their mother wasn't faithful to her Russian husband, but Vadim Dolohov never questioned the paternity of any of his sons publicly. He was able to take advantage of his wife's high status. What did it matter if the younger sons weren't his?

"Hermione, darling, you are looking well. How long has it been since we last saw each other?"

"Two years? Three? I can't keep track."

"It's been too long. But, no matter, I'm here now and I've brought a very dear friend and colleague with me."

She appreciated that neither Alain nor Babajide Akingbade made too much of the fact that they were there because she was struggling with her memory and other mental faculties. Within moments of meeting the former Supreme Mugwump, Hermione felt entirely at ease in his presence. From the minute Antonin informed her that he was bringing in an expert, she'd been nervous. What if she didn't like the person who came? It would be impossible to trust a complete stranger to root around in her brain if she didn't like them. One smile was all it took. This was a wizard that even Albus Dumbledore trusted once upon a time. She might have had her issues with how Dumbledore ran his school and how he treated Harry, but if he could trust Mr. Akingbade, Hermione could too.

"Why did you come tonight? It's not even dark outside yet."

"I must take the blame for this unexpected visit, Mr. Dolohov. Your brother insisted that we wait, but I was the impatient one. I've been anxious to meet with Mrs. Dolohov since I heard about what happened at the funeral."

Hermione's cheeks burned with shame at the reminder. She knew that for this entire process to be successful she would have to share much more personal memories and thoughts with the wizard, but it was still embarrassing. To try to break up some of the tension and awkwardness, she asked the wizards where they'd been staying since they arrived. Neither one of them would answer, waving it off as not being important.

"I would like to get started, if you don't mind, Mrs. Dolohov."

" _Hermione_ , please."

"All right. Is there somewhere quiet we can speak in private, Hermione?"

Antonin didn't like the idea of his wife being alone with a complete stranger. Especially not after she'd already proven publicly how vulnerable she was. When she suggested her old attic bedroom, her husband wanted to come with them. Only after Mr. Akingbade insisted that it was imperative that they have no distractions did he relent. Alain made his excuses to check on his nephew. Likely he didn't want to spend any longer with his older brother than was absolutely necessary. Not that Hermione could blame him. Theirs wasn't the easiest of relationships to begin with.

She couldn't remember the last time she entered the attic room she used to spend her nights when she was still training. _Years_ , probably. Once Antonin was no longer required to train any other future Death Eaters, there was no reason to enter. It became just another storage room for the junk that was accumulated over the years. A wave of her wand when they first entered cleared away most of the dust. Babajide Akingbade took the old, rickety chair while she sat on the bed.

"I know a little bit about your history, Hermione, but I would like you to tell me more."

It was awkward at first to give the man a rundown of all of the experiences she could remember having, but there was something about him that put her at ease. Soon she didn't feel the same shame. The words tumbled out of her mouth at a rapid pace.

"Now, if you will allow me, I would like to look deep inside your mind."

Decades of constant fear of having someone use Legilimency against her went to war with his request. She could feel her mind resisting the intrusion. Even after he gave her a detailed explanation of the sort of magic he was using to peer into her mind, Hermione worried that she would frighten him away. _No one_ else knew what was in her brain. What if he took one look and decided that she was too evil to help?

"Hermione, I know we only just met and this must be very difficult for you, but I need you to understand that I mean you no harm. If you can't trust me even just a little, this won't work. We will just be wasting our time."

So unlike the intrusion she felt the first time the Dark Lord peered into her mind, Mr. Akingbade's perusal was much gentler. She could _feel_ that there was no intent to harm with his actions. Memories and thoughts swirled to the surface in a dizzying maelstrom of colors. Impossible to focus on a single one, she didn't understand what he was looking at. She was out of her depth when it came to memory charms. She should've _never_ performed one on anyone, let alone her parents. Almost as soon as he began looking, the wizard stopped.

"I am almost one hundred years old, Hermione. For the past eighty years I've been traveling the world learning about memory charms and seen thousands of people afflicted by this harsh magic."

No longer was Hermione at ease with the wizard. Every single word he spoke made her more and more anxious. She knew it was bad before he uttered the sentence that she'd been dreading.

"I have _never_ seen a more intricate web of memory spells than what I've seen inside your head."


	199. July 17th

July 17th

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Hermione that her mind was as confused and messed up as it was, but it did. For years, she worried that something was wrong and broken inside her mind. The sort of life she'd been living for twenty years was stressful enough that anyone could be expected to crack under the pressure. Every single day since the Battle of Hogwarts ended in the death of her best friend, she had to be constantly on-guard, prepared and ready to be killed or tortured. How anyone was supposed to exist in such an environment and remain unscathed was beyond her.

There was the smallest measure of relief at hearing his words. Able to push aside the anger that was bubbling up within her that someone would have the audacity to interfere with her mind in such a blatant manner, she chose to focus in that moment on the very real, if small, possibility that perhaps there was nothing wrong with her at all. Maybe she _wasn't_ broken or damaged. Everything could potentially be explained away by the memory charms he found in her mind.

The sound of the village's bell tower chiming the midnight hour made her jump to her embarrassment. She wasn't even aware that they'd been upstairs that long. Between her spilling out the broad strokes of her issues over the years and his searching through her mind, time had gone by very quickly. Already exhaustion was plaguing her body. Mr. Akingbade might have been gentle, but he still looked around in her brain for a very long time. She knew that she wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer. The desire to unravel all of her secrets, however, was enough of an incentive to keep her from moving from her spot on her old bed.

"Did you mean what you said or were you just being dramatic?"

Something about her words amused the wizard. He smiled broadly, stifling a chuckle. Everything about him put her immediately at ease again. She wasn't sure what she'd been so nervous about to begin with. Years of experience taught her how to size up a potential threat in the first few moments of introduction. Nothing about him set off any alarm bells. If anything, she felt more inclined to move towards him than away.

"Some people have accused me of having a flair for the dramatic over the long years of my life, but no, I _meant_ what I said. What was done to your mind is unlike anything I've ever seen."

There were so many possibilities to explain who did this to her and why. She hadn't survived as long as she had in the Inner Circle without making a number of enemies. Someone had to hate her or at the very least see her as disposable in their quest to achieve their ends. It could be _anyone_. This had been going on for years. She wondered if they would ever be able to pinpoint the moment it began and who was responsible. Perhaps multiple people were involved.

"Do you think that you can fix it?"

The wizard sighed heavily, unwilling to answer the question immediately. While he took his time composing his answer before he spoke, Hermione grew even more nervous. She preferred to be faced with problems that could be fixed, questions that had answers. Finally, just as she was about to give up hope, he smiled again.

"It will not be easy and it will take some time, but yes, I think we can unravel them all."

"Will I get the _real_ memories back?"

"Most likely. I won't make any promises. From what you have told me and what your husband has also shared with me, you've taken many potions."

For yet another time during their private interview, she felt ashamed about her actions in the past. It had been tempting to keep the truth about her potions addiction away from the complete stranger, but she knew that he would need to understand the full truth of her situation to help her. Lies would only hurt her in the end.

"I would like to see all of these potions you've taken. Not just the ones that your husband has given you, but the ones you've taken for _other_ reasons."

All of the potions that she kept in her secret compartment in her desk were destroyed the day that she killed Nott. Even if they weren't, there was no way she would be able to get back into her office at the Ministry to retrieve them. Still, she knew where she could find some. She'd lied when she told Antonin that there weren't any hidden around their home. Old habits were hard to break. There were at least a dozen vials that she could _remember_ hiding. She decided that that would be the perfect time to actually follow through with her plan to get better, to leave all of the illicit potions alone for good. When Antonin wasn't looking, she would retrieve them all and destroy all of them except for the one that Mr. Akingbade needed to test.

"And Hermione, I must ask a question that might be very awkward, but it's important that you tell me the truth."

She could only imagine what he wanted to know that could be considered _awkward_. Hadn't she already allowed him to take a look into her brain with no Occlumency shields up? She really hoped that she could trust this wizard. It would be a shame to have to kill him. He seemed very nice. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Do you trust your husband?"

"What?"

"What I mean to ask is, do you think that there could be even the _slightest_ possibility that your husband is involved in whatever happened to your mind?"

It was an honest question, one that she couldn't fault him for asking. Of all of the people who existed in the world, Antonin had the most access to her, the most opportunity to cast what had to have been difficult memory charms and spells. There might have even been a time when she was distrustful of him enough to think that it was a possibility. She couldn't blame Mr. Akingbade for assuming the worst of her husband. No doubt in his decades of working with those afflicted with these sorts of issues, he would've witnessed what the very worst spouses were capable of. But, did _she_ think that Antonin did something to her mind? Absolutely not.

"No, I don't believe he's responsible. I'm not sure what he would have to gain. I've physically attacked him when I've been confused. At the funeral the other day, I thought he wanted to kill me like he tried to when I was a teenager."

He flinched at the confession. Realizing she'd perhaps said too much, Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Our marriage is complicated."

Mr. Akingbade cleared his throat and seemed at a loss on how to respond.

"It certainly sounds _complicated_."

"But, like I said, Antonin wouldn't have anything to gain, and he's been worried about me since this all began."

She believed it too. Even he wasn't a good enough actor to pull off such a convincing performance of terror as he did the night she first attacked him in bed. The experience rattled him. If he'd been responsible for the spells blocking and altering her memories, why would he have been so desperate to find help? Maybe if everything he'd ever told her behind closed doors was a lie she _might_ see a reason to suspect him. She knew him better than that though. Lying to her spouse was more Hermione's habit than his.

"I hope you are correct in your trust of him, but to be safe, I would like our sessions and what happens in them to remain only between us for the time being. Having another's influence might also negatively affect the process even if they are innocent and mean no harm."

The logic behind his suggestion was sound. She understood the concept from her own experience as an interrogator. Witnesses were easily manipulated and influenced into changing their stories by outside suggestions. Even those well-meant could make an otherwise reliable source no longer so. Besides, she was almost certain that she didn't want Antonin to know the truth about everything they were likely to uncover.

She agreed.

"This will not be an easy process and it will take some time. We must be patient."

Her frustration must have shown on her face. Mr. Akingbade gave her another warm smile to put her at ease. She wanted this to be done quickly, her answers to be immediate. Of course it made sense that they couldn't just strip away all of the spells in one night. The intricate network must've taken years to complete. She only hoped it wouldn't take that long to remove them. There was already too much uncertainty in their world with the Dark Lord dead.

"If I'm not careful when we begin unraveling the charms and attempt to push it faster than we should, I could permanently damage your brain. It's all very delicate."

She nodded that she understood, unable to trust herself to speak due to the disappointment that she wouldn't immediately have answers. Patience was _not_ one of the virtues she possessed in abundance. She also didn't want to consider the fact that she couldn't exactly run away from her husband and the life she didn't want until she knew her mind was no longer muddled. On her own, she made too many mistakes. At least _some_ of that likely had to do with her confusion.

"You must also be aware, Hermione, that once we start the unraveling and dismantling of these memory spells, we cannot stop the process. As I weaken these spells, some will start to break on their own. This may become a very confusing time for you. A lot of what you thought you knew will change. While you're asleep you may dream about your blocked or altered memories as they should be. Even while you're awake you may begin to remember flashes of the past you've forgotten. I would recommend writing down any of these flashes or dreams."

Hermione was anxious to get started. The desire to feel like she was in control of her own mind again was strong. Once they began, she hoped it would become clear just who was responsible. She needed to know who she needed to kill next.

"When can we start? Right now? Tomorrow?"

"I understand your eagerness to begin, but my examination of your mind was very thorough. It needs time to recover, to rest. I will return in two nights' time."

She wanted to argue, wanted to beg him to get started, but something in the man's countenance told her it would be useless. When he rose to his feet to take his exit, she followed. Before he took a single step towards the door, he spoke again.

"I would like you to make me a list of all of the times you can remember when you became confused like you did at the funeral. Include as many details as you can. We will start exploring those very soon. Also, make another list of all of the memories you have that you either suspect or know were altered. We will need a place to begin. Any one of those could be helpful."

Short minutes later she watched Alain and Mr. Akingbade exit her back door. While she _should've_ felt encouraged by their visit, she felt overwhelmed and exhausted. She didn't even argue when Antonin suggested she go to bed.


	200. July 18th

July 18th

Compiling a list of all of the incidents in the past when she was confused was a surprisingly daunting task that depressed Hermione soon after she began. There had been so many. Each one was just as embarrassing and confusing as the last. She hoped that she would never have an occasion to experience another. Screaming out for Harry in the middle of Lord Voldemort's funeral was the worst of all. It was a good thing that she had no desire to remain in their society any longer. She wouldn't be able to hold her head up high if she wanted to stay.

She took advantage of having nothing else to do to sit at the kitchen table and write. Details bled onto the parchment. Some she'd even forgotten in her humiliation. Like the time she was walking alone down the corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries at least five years earlier. Disoriented in the semi-darkness that always permeated that eerie corridor, she remembered calling out for Luna and Neville and all of the others that were there during the battle that ensued after Harry retrieved the prophecy. She wasn't entirely sure how long she was down there before the Muggle-born Head of the Magical Maintenance department she always respected found her. He waved it off as her working too hard and needing some more sleep to her relief. She still wasn't sure what happened to the wizard. Maybe he was caught up in one of the countless purges that affected the Ministry over the years.

The second list of all of the memories she suspected were tampered with was much shorter. Like she told her husband when he asked her weeks earlier why she hadn't been checking her memories in the pensieve downstairs, she wasn't entirely certain that _all_ of her memories weren't somehow altered. Maybe everything she thought was reality was just a figment of her warped and damaged imagination. Wouldn't it be horrifying to come to only to realize she'd spent the last twenty years stuck in the Janus Thickey Ward? Or even worse, that she was _still_ inside the broom cupboard in Hogwarts Castle she'd been chucked into minutes after the battle ended? She had to push those depressing thoughts aside. As difficult and painful as her life had been for twenty years, she just couldn't bring herself to imagine that she was _that_ insane.

To keep from being asked questions she didn't want to answer, Hermione waited until Antonin snuck out of the house for the day to retrieve the vials of potions that Mr. Akingbade requested. The ones in the drawer in their shared bathroom were easy enough to get. Despite his repeated requests that she _consider_ taking another when she was agitated or overwhelmed, there were plenty left. He likely wouldn't even notice that a couple were gone. She chose the strawberry-flavored potion, wanting to know immediately if it was helpful or harmful. Considering what she'd learned about her husband since she returned to Hogsmeade from her year on the run, she was more inclined to believe that he was just trying to help. Having an independent party verify that would make her feel better. She also selected one of the vials of the potion he made her drink when she was having one of her bad episodes, the ones that made her sleep for at least a day each time.

She waited until Oliver was engrossed in one of the books he was assigned for summer reading on the sofa in the lounge before she set about the less savory task of rooting out her hidden vials of illicit potion. Twenty years in the house gave her plenty of opportunities to find new places to hide small bottles. It was likely that Antonin uncovered some of her hiding places over time, but she knew there was no way he would've been able to find them all. Loose floorboards, hollow bricks, easy to unscrew vent covers, and several magically concealed compartments were scattered around the house. Taking the better part of an hour, Hermione was able to retrieve all that she could remember. Upstairs in her bathroom, she upended every single vial but one into the sink. Even though it had been over a year since she last tasted the burn of the cinnamon-flavored potion making its way down her throat, she was tempted to forget the promise she made to never drink another. When only one vial remained, she slipped it into her pocket with the other two vials, hoping that she would have the self-control required to not touch it before her next session with Mr. Akingbade.

Just before the sun went down for the night Antonin returned home. She didn't have the first clue where her husband spent his time outside of their sanctuary. Part of her longed to know all of the details of what was happening out there while she and their son remained locked up under heavy wards. Most of her, however, simply tried to ignore the frightening circumstances she might find if she stepped outside. The power struggle for the new head of the regime likely had already begun. Her husband returning safely home each night was all the information she needed in that moment. Perhaps her feelings would change the longer she was locked inside.

Her brother-in-law returned with their guest only minutes after sunset. Neither man wanted to waste a single moment, but it was important that they not arrive too early in the evening. Not only was Babajide Akingbade not technically even allowed in the country, he was once seen as an enemy of the regime. That fact likely hadn't changed yet. They could all be in danger if he was discovered to be visiting their home. What the implications might be for Antonin's future in the war for succession was unknown.

"Lovely to see you again as always, Hermione."

Alain kissed her cheek moments after entering their kitchen.

"We would've been here sooner, but there was an issue at the safe house that needed to be taken care of first."

His elder brother's eyes narrowed at the announcement.

"What sort of issue?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself about, Big Brother. Our host had an unexpected visitor drop in to see him. Babajide and I were able to sneak out the backdoor."

"Where is your safe house? Who is the host?"

It was impossible to miss all three men sharing a private glance with each other. When no one offered up an answer to her question, Hermione gave up. She didn't want to waste any time that night. Not when she had the possibility of regaining some of her memories. They could keep their secret for the time being.

Shortly after returning to the attic bedroom and resuming their same seats as before, Hermione reached into her pocket to pull out the three vials she'd been carrying around all day. She explained to him which vial contained which potion. After a silent sniff of each, he tucked them into his own pocket.

"Let's take a look at the lists I asked you to make."

He read over each of them and asked several questions. While she knew that it was all part of the process intended to get not only the memory charms removed from her mind, but to help her regain memories she'd lost, Hermione found herself quickly growing impatient. No doubt her frustration was evident in her tone. To his credit, Mr. Akingbade continued examining the lists at his own pace. Clearly, he wasn't intimidated by Hermione. After so many years of having almost everyone who crossed her path be afraid of her, she found it slightly refreshing, if still a bit frustrating. Finally, when she thought she was on the verge of ripping the parchment out of his hands, he lowered it to his lap and met her eyes.

"Before we get started, I want to remind you that once we start messing about with the charms and spells, we can't stop. You may start to have dreams of your true memories or flashes throughout the day. Understood?"

"Yes, of course."

"Excellent. Now, I'd like to explore the very first night that you had what you called an 'episode'. The older the spell, the more fragile. It might seem like it should be the opposite, but memory charms are delicate and they don't follow the same rules that other magic does. To keep a memory charm strong, it must be continuously reapplied and strengthened."

Mr. Akingbade tapped the side of her head with his wand. Almost instantly she felt his gentle presence inside her head. Disconcerting to say the least, he was careful in his movements. The only times she had someone else enter her mind so boldly was the Dark Lord and he'd never been so thoughtful and kind. He ripped what he wanted to see out without care to the pain it caused the victim. While she didn't particularly care for _anyone_ looking inside her mind, she much preferred the memory charms expert to her late master.

"Focus on the night you woke up and thought that your husband was there to hurt you for the first time. Remember the details. Call forth the memory. When I begin untangling the interconnected threads, it will feel strange. Just relax. Just relax and let me do all of the work for you."

'Strange' was hardly a good enough word to describe the sensation that she experienced when she first recalled the night about a month or so into her marriage that she and her husband first realized there might be something seriously wrong with her. Trying to calm herself as he bade, Hermione didn't care for the way her breathing became more shallow and her head felt woozy and light. Finally she understood why he didn't want to start during his last visit. Her weary mind wouldn't have taken it well. Her well-rested mind was struggling enough.

Bits and pieces of that night began to trickle through her consciousness. Calling out for Harry. Antonin pushing the hair away from her face. Her screams as she recognized the man next to her in bed. The struggle. Kicking Antonin in a sensitive spot. Screaming out for help.

A sharp tugging in her mind was difficult to ignore. While the images she could remember sped through her mind with an increasing rapidity, she could feel an awareness of something that felt like a string pulling. At what? She couldn't be certain. Starting to worry and grow anxious, Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath and calm. Another tug and the forgotten memory burst forth.

 _She was in Edinburgh. How she knew that was because she would never forget that mission for the rest of her life. Rodolphus was assigned to teach her about reconnaissance. Her skills were woefully lacking due to the fact that she found it entirely too boring. She grew too impatient. Action was much more her forte. Considering he was one of the most patient and calm Death Eaters in the Inner Circle, he'd been give the task to teach._

 _They only just barely escaped from what was a Resistance ambush. Adrenaline was running high. The information they were sent to find wasn't discovered. Once they were able to return to their homes, they could begin writing their mission reports. The Dark Lord would want to know first thing in the morning whether or not they were successful. Neither one them was looking forward to the moment when one of them had to confess that their cover was blown and the Resistance would no longer be in the same area again. At least one of them was looking at the Cruciatus Curse for their failure._

 _In an area of the city filled with unsuspecting Muggles, they were as safe as they were likely to be until they returned to a region of the country that was run by the regime. Still, they took their time moving through the crowded streets. Night had fallen and there were lots of dark corners._

 _"_ _You've been married what? Six weeks now? How's married life treating you?"_

 _Hermione bit back a snort at Rodolphus' question. Of all people, he should understand how miserable a forced marriage could be. Though it might not have started off as an arranged marriage, his union with Bellatrix went sour quickly. Each of them longed for a divorce, but that was simply something that was not done in their society. Not without a horrific scandal._

 _"_ _It's dreadful. Antonin is insistent that I get pregnant immediately. I can hardly walk into my own home without getting assaulted."_

 _Rodolphus' laugh always made her want to join in._

 _"_ _You've got to admit there are worse fates than that, Hermione."_

 _"_ _Maybe. What about you? Why were you never forced to remarry like the rest of us poor sods?"_

 _"_ _Because I had a bad case of spattergroit as a child. I'm no longer able to father children."_

 _She hadn't meant to have him reveal such a personal fact about himself. It had been an innocent enough question. In an effort to not make the conversation turn awkward, she tried to make a joke to lighten the mood._

 _"_ _Well, I don't want to have children. Maybe I should've married you instead of Antonin."_

 _One swift motion had Hermione pinned up against a brick wall in a darkened corner. Her companion, her_ teacher _for the evening pressed his body against hers. His lips curled into a wicked smirk that made her stomach flip. Did he have any idea how attractive he was?_

 _"_ _Now that could've been fun for both of us."_

 _As if he needed to prove his point, Rodolphus' lips hungrily sought out hers. The kiss was passionate and unexpected. Lasting only a few short moments, when they broke it off, Hermione playfully slapped his arm with a laugh._

 _"_ _Tease."_

The memory alteration ended there. Each of them Disapparated out of the city and went their separate ways for the night to work on their individual reports. Only hours later she woke up in the middle of the night screaming for her lost friends.

"And was that a memory that you don't remember?"

"I remember going to Edinburgh with Rodolphus and I _thought_ I remembered every detail from that trip, but to my knowledge, he'd never kissed me before. Nor since."

Babajide Akingbade ended their session. She'd had enough for one night. Her mind needed to rest.


	201. July 19th

July 19th

The world continued to change outside while Hermione was forced to remain locked inside her home. Antonin was convinced that he was acting in her best interest, keeping her safe from those who meant her harm. Maybe he was. But, it didn't make the situation any less unbearable. Once again, just as she did when she was cooped up in her hidden tent on the edge of the Resistance's village, she was frustrated that no one was telling her anything.

Antonin spent less and less time in their home. Always exhausted and reluctant to give her any indication of what was happening, he was coming back late or not at all. Even when they were both tucked in to their bed where so many private conversations were shared over the years, he would brush any of her inquiries away with a kiss and an assurance that he was doing only what was necessary to keep them safe. No further elaboration was offered.

She wished she understood what that meant _exactly_. Was he already in charge? Or was that fact still undecided? In the past, he'd made mention that it was important that the regime be cleared of those who meant it harm. At the time, she assumed he was simply repeating empty rhetoric. The Dark Lord was eternally paranoid that everyone around him was out to get him. Enemies were perceived to be everywhere. It was possible, however, that her husband actually meant what he said.

Had another wave of purges already begun? It had been years since the last, but everyone in their society lived in perpetual fear of another one. No one was ever safe. Even _she_ had been scared in the past that her name would be called. Dark shadows in the night could've easily been bumbling Snatchers ordered to come take her away. Rarely had any suspected enemies survived a purge.

She was worried about Augustus. He believed that the Dark Lord recalled him from France just before he died, but was unaware of the fact that Antonin had been the one behind the orders and summonses for months. Once the Dark Lord grew too weak, he gave his orders through Antonin and if her husband used his trust to his advantage, there was no one in a position to figure that out or call attention to his misdeeds. As much as she hated to think it was possible, Antonin might have ordered Augustus to return for his own selfish reasons.

From the earliest days of her training and reprogramming after the war ended, Augustus had been Antonin's biggest rival for her affections. Long before she even considered looking at him as more than just her teacher and a man she was learning to trust as a respected friend, Antonin's feelings about Augustus were clear. Their friendship didn't stand the test of time. Not with a bushy-haired Muggle-Born witch in their midst that intrigued them both. Following their mission to France, Antonin had been almost hostile to her new lover.

If he wanted to use a purge to finally rid himself of Augustus' presence, Hermione couldn't see her husband choosing _not_ to use the opportunity. There was a deep-seated insecurity in Antonin that he'd struggled with since his relatively unhappy childhood. Usually able to hide it well, Hermione could often see it manifest itself in his jealousy. Augustus would be a sore subject forever, especially considering the fact that she hid with him at his home in Cornwall when Antonin was desperate to find her.

She was worried that Antonin already ordered him killed. There would only be one way to know for certain. She would have to go to him because Antonin wasn't going to tell her the truth. And, if he hadn't yet had Augustus killed, she didn't want to give him any ideas. Mentioning Augustus at all could destroy the fragile peace they'd created in their marriage since her return. Even if she tried, she knew she wouldn't be able to convince Antonin that she had no interest in ever opening the door to a future with Augustus again.

As she sat in the lounge with her son trying to read a book that held no interest for her for yet another day, Hermione's thoughts moved on from Augustus' fate to Draco's. When had she last seen him? She couldn't remember. Other than at the funeral, of course. It was best that she push all hated memories of that day aside. Was it the Sunday afternoon she visited his flat? How long ago was that? It was difficult to tell time when every day was exactly like the other. Especially when Antonin would tell her nothing. Being coddled like a helpless child was unacceptable.

Draco's part in the crumbling of Lord Voldemort's regime and the rebuilding of the next was uncertain. He walked a thin line as a spy for the Resistance. Truthfully, it was incredible that he'd lasted as long as he had in his position. She'd personally killed many spies over the years. Although she knew that he was involved with the Resistance, she highly doubted anyone else in the disbanded Inner Circle knew. Did Antonin see him as an asset? Or would he want to get rid of the Malfoys the first chance he could? He never had much use for Lucius and probably saw his son as just as useless. She hated that she was worried about the tracker she was almost certain she couldn't afford to trust.

"I'm tired of being inside all day."

Oliver's irritated complaint startled Hermione out of her thoughts. She could sympathize with her son. They both were getting sick of their prison. It was hard enough for an adult bored out of her mind, but to expect a growing boy with entirely too much energy to sit quietly in their house all day was unreasonable. She'd tried to explain that to Antonin in one of his short visits home to shower and sleep. All he did was assure her that _soon_ the protective wards wouldn't be necessary. So far there had been no explanation of _when_ soon actually was.

"I want to go over to Hugo's house."

Ron's family lived on the other side of the village. Wishing to distance himself as much as possible from his family, Pro-Resistance and Pro-Regime members alike, he built a house in Hogsmeade when he married and it was no longer appropriate to continue living in Rabastan's manor. Despite being in the same village for over fifteen years, there were few occasions where the Dolohovs encountered the Weasleys. If they weren't Sorted into the same House, their boys likely would've continued to be practical strangers.

Hermione didn't really see the harm in letting her son cross the village in the middle of the day. Hogsmeade was still a safe village in her mind. Ron might have changed over the years, but she didn't believe he'd ever harm her son. But, she knew better than to disregard Antonin's orders when it came too their son. He would be furious if they were disobeyed and if anything happened to Oliver because of her carelessness, Hermione didn't doubt that he would make her pay dearly.

"I know, Ollie, but your father is doing what he knows is best to keep us safe."

He didn't want to hear her words any more than she wanted to say them. It was important, however, that the parents not undermine each other in regards to their son. She had to support Antonin's wishes even if they annoyed her too. With a scowl and a petulant huff, Oliver got up from the sofa. Every melodramatic stomp of his feet up the stairs threatened to make his mother laugh. Hermione was able to hold it in until she heard the slam of his bedroom door. Though neither one of them would ever admit it, Oliver inherited a touch of the dramatics from _both_ of his parents.

Once Oliver was safely tucked away upstairs deep in a snit, Hermione couldn't bear to keep sitting where she was with her mind tearing off in a hundred different directions. She needed some answers or she would explode. Pointing her wand at the door her son just closed, she muttered a locking spell that would keep him inside until she was ready to release him. It wouldn't do for him to come out of his room only to find his mother was defying orders he was expected to follow. She did not plan on being gone long enough for him to even realize she'd left, but she had to be cautious. What she was about to do was likely very foolish.

She held her breath as she pulled down the wards covering the back door in the kitchen. While Antonin didn't appear to be aware that she'd pulled them down long enough to step into the back garden the day before the Dark Lord's funeral to talk to Rodolphus, she couldn't be certain that he wasn't paying close attention to them now. When her husband didn't immediately apparate into the back garden to yell at her, she exhaled. Not wishing to waste any more time, the second she was positive the wards were secure again behind her, she cloaked her magic and used her untraceable wand to disapparate to a destination hundreds of kilometers away.

Her hand was already knocking on the front door of Draco's flat before she stopped to consider how utterly reckless she was being. If he _couldn't_ be trusted, she was just waltzing up to him in the middle of an uncertain time. She could be captured, used as leverage against Antonin or worse. Draco hadn't made it a secret that he wanted to restore some measure of pride to the Malfoy family. _That_ was his priority. She knew that if he was able to use her to achieve that goal, he would. He would be a fool to ignore the gift.

No one answered the door. At her third knock, just as she was about to give up her dangerous mission, the door swung open on its own. Had Draco been expecting her to drop by at some point? Was that why he adjusted his wards to allow her entrance? The whispering in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Rodolphus telling her that if it felt like a trap, it probably was, was pushed away and ignored. She wasn't some helpless damsel unable to defend herself against a foe. The majority of her life had been spent in some state of preparedness for one type of combat or another.

Hermione stepped into the empty flat, hearing only the rapid pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. What did she hope to discover by showing up unannounced? She looked around the space, checking everywhere she thought a person might be hiding, waiting to ambush her. When it was evident that no one at all was inside, she felt disappointed. Would she have to return to Hogsmeade without any answers?

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

Draco did not sound the least bit pleased to enter his flat to find her standing inside. He swiftly closed the front door behind him, throwing up heavy wards to seal it shut. Whether it was to keep her _in_ or keep others _out_ wasn't clear. She suddenly wondered why she'd even bothered to come. He was alive. That was all she really needed to know to get her mind to stop traveling to the worst case scenario. Showing that she cared enough to seek him out was clearly a weakness. She hated feeling weak in front of anyone.

"I wanted to see for myself that you were still alive."

With that single sentence on her lips, she crossed the length of the flat to try to open the front door. She wanted to exit, wanted to get away from the confusing wizard before he made her do something she would regret. Rather something _else_ she would regret. She already knew she'd been foolish to visit. His hand reached for her arm, gently grasping it, encouraging her not to move another step.

"Were you worried about me?"

His second question came out in a soft tone, much kinder than his first. Hermione looked up to get a better look at hime. Every cell in his body appeared to scream out that he was exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes proved that he'd been working too hard and too long. Sleep was just an afterthought. She worried that he would kill himself if he kept going at such a strenuous pace.

"I don't know what's going on. He won't tell me anything. I had to see if you were all right."

It wasn't exactly an answer to the question he asked, but he didn't seem to mind. Not when his lips sought out hers. Forgetting for the briefest of blissful moments that she couldn't leave her son alone for too long in their house, she gave in to the passionate embrace. Both of them would've loved to escalate their actions. It was simply not possible. They each had their own lives to lead. Trying to recapture what they shared those too-few days months earlier in the same flat was an impossibility.

"I have to get back."

He let her walk away, neither of them knowing when, or _if_ , they would get a chance to see each other again.


	202. July 20th

Author's Note _: So quiet last night! Always seems like there's nothing but crickets for Draco chapters! No one like him? He deserves love too! Lol! ;)_

* * *

July 20th

Returning home following her quick trip to Draco's flat had been deceptively easy. Oliver never even knew that his mother was gone. Based on the way that he acted when he unexpectedly dropped in for dinner that night, neither did Antonin. Hermione knew that she couldn't be foolish enough to risk trying to same thing again. Next time she might not be so fortunate.

Later that night, she met with the memory charms expert. Her second session with Mr. Akingbade lasted well after midnight again. Despite his insistence that they take their time to prevent her from permanently injuring her weakened mind, Hermione continued to push herself, desperate to learn more about what was afflicting her memories. In his eighty years working with others in similar situations, the wizard understood the desire, the drive. He gently reminded her that they didn't have to uncover everything in one night, but didn't stop her before she was ready.

She ignored the sound of the midnight hour being marked with the village's bell tower. There was no reason to get into bed at a so-called 'reasonable' hour. Not when she spent her days trapped inside her home with nothing else to do but sleep and read and try not to go completely mad. She _needed_ to know what was wrong with her, _needed_ to know who was behind the network of memory charms. Somewhere out there in the world was someone who meant her harm. In order to remain alive and to have any sort of hope for a future, she had to figure out who it was.

Mr. Akingbade was still reluctant to decide whether or not Antonin was helping or hurting the situation. Though he'd spent a lot of time in her husband's presence, both in their home and in the mysterious safe house none of them were eager to discuss, he hadn't made up his mind about Antonin's motivations. On the surface he seemed like a loving husband who cared only for his wife's well-being, but he'd known many other husbands and wives just like him in the past who had anything _but_ altruistic designs. Besides, his reputation as being Lord Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater put him at a disadvantage. The former Supreme Mugwump knew what sort of men and women followed the Dark Lord. He knew that some did so out of fear and obligation. Most, however, did so because they enjoyed being near those in power. Until he knew which of those followers her husband was, he wasn't likely to tell him anything about Hermione's sessions.

"Have you experienced any unusual dreams since the last time we were in this room?"

He paused the examination of her mind to discuss what happened in his absence. To his disappointment, there wasn't much to tell. Hermione admitted that she'd had some dreams that didn't make much sense, but she was unable to remember the details. Mostly they felt like disjointed images assaulting her as she slept. Finding any sort of logic or pattern to them was damn near impossible. She'd tried. Handing over the journal she was keeping next to her bed to write down what she saw as she slept, she was just as disappointed that there wasn't much more activity. If she could've gone to sleep one night confused and woken up the next with all of her lost memories restored, she would've been ecstatic. Unfortunately, as she'd had occasion to learn repeatedly over the years of her life, reality wasn't so simple.

"Don't be discouraged, Hermione. They will come with time and patience. If you try to force the memories, you will only succeed in making yourself frustrated."

She didn't want to hear that. Not again. Too much of her life had already been spent being patient. Picking up his wand again, he moved his chair closer to the edge of the bed where she was seated. Another tap to her temple with the tip and she could feel him peering inside again. She didn't think that she would ever get used to the sensation.

"I would like us to review the memory of the dinner party you had where you got confused. Can you begin telling me a little bit more about that?"

"I'm not sure what else I can tell you that you haven't already read in my list. It was an ordinary night. We had several people over for dinner. I ended up in the kitchen. Getting the dessert, maybe? I'm not sure why I was there. My husband and our friend Thorfinn came in when I'd been in there by myself for awhile."

"And then what happened?"

Everything had been so fuzzy. She remembered that she didn't recognize the room she was in. The kitchen where she'd spent countless meals over the years was unfamiliar. When she saw the two men standing just inside the doorway, she thought that she was back in Tottenham Court Road in the Muggle cafe she and the boys took refuge in after Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding was interrupted by Death Eaters. Terrified out of her mind, she searched the room for Ron and Harry even though she knew he was under his invisibility cloak. Realizing she had no allies and she was completely alone, she started screaming and hurling curses at the men. Neither one of them knew what to do at first. Not until Thorfinn was struck in the arm with a stinging hex. Thankfully, even in her madness and confusion, she hadn't resorted to using deadly curses. If she'd thrown an Avada at him… she didn't like to consider the consequences.

"Let's explore what happened _before_ they entered the kitchen. Can you try to focus on those moments?"

She tried, but nothing came through immediately. Only reminders of her standing alone in the kitchen wondering what she was doing there. Just as she felt before, a gentle tugging began in her mind. Unable to truly describe the experience with words, she tried not to overanalyze what he was doing. The tugging became more insistent, never too harsh or too much at once. And just as she felt the first time Mr. Akingbade was successful in bringing forth a memory that was blocked, she began to remember.

 _"_ _You didn't have to come into the kitchen with me, Roddy. I'm not completely helpless."_

 _Her stumbling gait proved that she'd been enjoying herself just a little too much that evening. Wine was flowing freely. Her husband never liked to skimp on the luxuries when they entertained. Antonin prided himself in being just as generous and sophisticated as the Purebloods who lived in manors twenty times bigger than the perfectly lovely, if modest, home he provided for his family. Neither of the Dolohovs were terribly ostentatious, but that didn't mean he didn't like to show off now and again when given the opportunity._

 _"_ _And risk you dropping the dessert because you're too pissed to stand?"_

 _Rodolphus always made her laugh, especially when she'd overindulged. When he was in the same intoxicated state, there was always even more fun to be had. She swatted at his arm, nearly tumbling off the ridiculous shoes she chose to wear for the occasion. Why Antonin insisted they dress up to entertain their closest friends in their own home was beyond her comprehension. Always the gentleman, Rodolphus was there to keep her from stumbling to the ground._

 _She wasn't the only one who was well on her way to being drunk. He'd been meeting her glass for glass in the other room too. Smirking after catching her, the wizard pressed his body against hers, effectively pinning her against the sink. Startled at first by the change in position, when Hermione looked into his darkened eyes she knew what to expect. There was always passion between the two of them when Rodolphus allowed himself to let go. Rarely happening, when it did, she took the opportunity to enjoy herself. His soft, practiced lips sought hers in a fiery moment. Lasting not nearly long enough to satisfy Hermione's ache, he pulled away with a sheepish grin plastered on his handsome features._

 _"_ _I beg your forgiveness. It was the wine. It makes me act on thoughts I shouldn't have."_

 _"_ _I never mind when you lose control, Roddy. You should do it more often."_

 _His second kiss was even more passionate than the first. Even despite knowing the fact that her husband was only in the next room and could interrupt them at any moment, they each gave in to the illicit sensations. She longed to drag him out of the house to somewhere they could be completely alone. The discreet clearing of a throat in the doorway forced the two apart. Alecto stood watching them with an amused grin. She held up her empty glass._

 _"_ _We need more when you can spare a moment."_

 _Hermione opened another bottle of wine. Rodolphus, again resuming his usual persona as the perfect Pureblood gentleman, took it from her hand and refilled Alecto's glass and then filled another for the hostess. She accepted it gratefully, knowing that she needed to calm down before she went back out into the party. Antonin would know something was up if she appeared with reddened cheeks that had nothing to do with the copious amount of wine she'd consumed over the course of the evening. He was always too damn perceptive._

 _"_ _I'll take the dessert out."_

 _He paired his offer with a wink. Picking up the decadent cheesecake she'd been tempted to devour entirely by herself before her guests arrived, Rodolphus exited the kitchen with Alecto giving her a few moments alone. Just as the door closed shut behind them, Hermione noticed the stack of small dessert plates still sitting on the table. They would need those. Setting her wine glass down, she picked them up in her free hands, suddenly feeling dizzy and disoriented. Had she finally reached the point where she'd had too much wine? The kitchen door opened again._

 _"_ _Darling, we need the dessert plates. Thorfinn, do you mind getting the forks?"_

 _Not understanding where she was standing, what the strange room was she was in, Hermione stared at the man that haunted her nightmares. He'd tried to kill her more than once. At least twice. And the other? He'd been with him the second time, but she first saw him when he was hurling curses at her friends and fellow Order members the night that Albus Dumbledore was murdered. Dropping the plates to the floor with a deafening crash, she whipped her wand out of her pocket, prepared to fight for her very life yet once more._

The memory was over, but Hermione still felt the effects of the fuzzy mind. Or maybe it was simply because she was reeling from the discovery that Rodolphus once again featured in her blocked memories. Once could be considered a coincidence. Twice would be strange. If it happened again, she would know there was a discernible pattern.

"Very curious."

Mr. Akingbade's voice brought her back to the present.

"What is?"

"The same man has now been present for _two_ of these blocked memories. Who is he?"

All it took was saying his name and the wizard's eyebrows rose up almost to the top of his forehead. Rodolphus Lestrange was a name that was known throughout the world for his cruelty and his violence. She'd been able to see a different side of him that very few others got to see, but it was impossible to deny that he would always be infamous due to his activities at the end of the first war. The Longbottoms were still in St. Mungo's, blissfully unaware of their lost minds or the fact that their only son was an executed war criminal.

"I think that we've had enough for now. I would like you to take a sleeping potion tonight, Hermione."

He handed over a vial with a familiar label. In order not to insult the wizard, she would inspect it privately before she drank it. Not a Dreamless Sleeping draught to her surprise, she knew that it was only one step more potent than Draught of the Living Death.

"Your mind must rest before we can resume."


	203. July 21st

July 21st

Akingbade's sleeping potion proved to be just exactly what he said it was. Hermione hated that she was so distrustful of the man who was there to help her recover her memories, but she couldn't afford to be too careful. Others that she thought she knew and trusted had already proven that they were willing to do whatever it took to harm her. After her session ended and with her mind still reeling from the memory of the dinner party, she stood in her bathroom staring at the vial.

Sleep once was an escape for her. When she was on the run, she looked forward to those all-too-brief moments when she could disappear into her dreamworld. There was nothing to fear when she was asleep. Since returning to the life she ran from, sleep was no longer as comforting. Nor was it as easy to find. Often she laid up at night listening to Antonin's steady breathing, hoping and begging whatever deity might be listening to help her find her own rest. Her mind was too beleaguered with thoughts she shouldn't have had.

Her hope was that by allowing her body to relax and rest, the memories would come forth easier. Determination and grit could only get her so far. She knew without Mr. Akingbade telling her explicitly so that she was only endangering her progress by attempting to force the memories. At least twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep sounded like heaven. If she was relaxed enough that the binds he was breaking each session with magic began to fray even further on their own, she would be even happier.

Following a long, hot bath where she soaked her tense and tired muscles, Hermione dressed in her most comfortable nightgown, ignored her wet and dripping hair, and swallowed the contents of the vial. She could feel the potion begin to work almost at once. Moving to her bed, she was quite literally asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

With no way to tell time while she was in a drugged sleep, she couldn't be certain _when_ the dreaming began. Only that she didn't feel like she had to wait long. Much like her dreams had been since the whole process of unraveling the memory charms began, they started off as disjointed images swirling around with bright colors that made no sense at all. People she'd known throughout her entire life drifted in and out. Antonin and her two best friends growing up were the most frequent repeats.

That is, until she first saw Rodolphus meander in. When he first made his appearance, she began to see him everywhere. In all of her memories, he seemed to be a part. She couldn't explain his presence. It was possible that she simply had him on her mind because he'd come up in her last session. There were plenty of explanations about him that didn't involve him being directly responsible for her being afflicted with the intricate network of memory charms.

Except, she kept remembering, even in her unconsciousness, bits and pieces of conversations they'd had. When she saw him in the Resistance village in Devon, she asked him how he hadn't been discovered yet. He told her that memory charms helped him when he was caught and then again to convince Tiberius Zeller that he'd already confirmed that his dog wasn't an animagus. Her old friend hadn't made it a secret that he was skilled at manipulating memories.

And how could she explain away the repeated flashes of him kissing her? To the best of her recollections, he'd never done anything more than just chastely brush his lips against her cheek in greetings or in a farewell. She definitely didn't remember him pushing her into a dark corner in Edinburgh to kiss her nor did she remember the heated moment in her kitchen. How else could she explain passionate embraces that she had no remembrance of? It had often frustrated her in the past that Rodolphus was never receptive to any of her embarrassingly obvious clues that she would go to bed with him in a heartbeat. She'd been insulted and even hurt on more than one occasion when it made it seem like he would rather die alone than touch her. Had that all been part of his act? His way of keeping the reality hidden? Was he afraid entering into a sexual dalliance and leaving her memories intact could act as some sort of trigger to remember what he'd been trying to hide?

The longer she dreamed, the more opportunity she had to see herself locked into passionate and debauched positions with the wizard she thought she'd never been able to successfully seduce. Snippets of memories of them lying in beds together that were unfamiliar or with him pressing her up against bricks in dark alleys invaded her dreamworld. They were too real, too vivid to simply be fantasies.

 _She stood in the middle of the packed lounge where her son was celebrating his eleventh birthday. The noise was already causing a headache. Why had Antonin insisted on having it in their home? And despite it being in the middle of the week, all of the little witches and wizards they invited were there. No one was foolish enough to turn down an invitation from the Dolohovs. Hermione wondered if her son knew the reason he was so popular was because all of the little children's parents were terrified to death of his?_

 _The insistence of her husband that wine was inappropriate for a child's birthday party in the middle of the day made the entire event unbearable. Her time would've been much better spent in the Ministry. There was a case she was working on that was much more fascinating than whether or not worthless children brought her son more rubbish he didn't need in the form of offerings to appease his parents. Trying not to show her sour mood, she turned to look out the front window._

 _Her lips began to curl into a grin when she saw the large, furry dog sitting on his hind legs in her front garden. A single loud bark was the only signal she needed. Slipping into the kitchen, she was pleased that no one stopped her. No one was in the kitchen. All that remained in there were remnants of the lunch they served earlier to the ungrateful brats and their horrid parents and the large birthday cake that would come after Oliver finished opening his presents. Based on the table in the lounge overflowing with presents, she had plenty of time to meet with her visitor before her husband grew suspicious._

 _Only steps outside the back door she felt strong, possessive hands grab her and push her up against the side of the house. Rodolphus could be gentle when he wanted. He simply rarely wanted to. She didn't mind. A little pain mixed in with her pleasure was exactly what she liked. His lips covered hers, dominant and bruising. When he made it clear that he was in charge, he stopped his welcome assault on her mouth._

 _"_ _What are you doing here? You could get caught."_

 _"_ _I was careful."_

 _He followed up his assurances with playful nips to her sensitive neck. The flick of his tongue on her flesh pulled a throaty moan out of her mouth against her will and best judgment. They were playing with fire. Every time they met over the previous four years since he made his very public declaration that he wanted nothing to do with the regime or his master any longer, they'd been in danger. If she was found to be aiding him in any way, she'd be on the execution block right after him. Not even Antonin would be able to use his influence to save her from that fate. Rodolphus was too hated and wanted by the Dark Lord._

 _"_ _Antonin is inside, Roddy."_

 _"_ _Makes it all the more exciting, doesn't it?"_

 _As much as she hated to admit so, it absolutely did. Rodolphus kissed her again. His hands tugged the skirt she was wearing up and over her hips. Knowing that they were outside in the middle of broad daylight while at least forty people were inside pretending to enjoy her son's birthday party did indeed make it all the more thrilling. Maybe a part of Hermione desired to get caught. Especially with one of the most infamous fugitives. He could give her just the escape she needed but was too cowardly to provide for herself._

 _Rodolphus' large hands ripped at the lace knickers she wore. Pieces of the ruined fabric fell to the grass. She didn't care. There wasn't time to worry about the impropriety of what they were about to commit. Nor could she afford to worry that her jealous husband might find them. Opportunities for the two of them to meet were getting scarcer the longer he was gone. She knew that a day would come when they wouldn't see each other again. It physically pained her chest to think of that day. Not that she was in love with him. No, he simply knew how to manipulate her body in ways no one else ever could._

 _With one possessive hand on her hip pulling her leg around his waist, he used his other to free himself from the confines of his suddenly too-tight trousers. She gasped at the feel of his hard tip sliding through her slick folds, teasing every nerve ending in her entire body. He would make her say it before he took her. He always did. She was never strong enough to resist him for long._

 _"_ _Tell me, Hermione. Tell me who you belong to."_

 _"_ _You, Roddy. I belong to you."_

 _A sharp snap of his hips seated him deep inside her body. She had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming out. He didn't wait for her body to adjust to him. Once inside he began a punishing pace that threatened to be her undoing._

 _"_ _Yes, you're_ mine _. Only mine."_

 _Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His pace never slowed. She could feel her orgasm building up, ready to push her over the edge._

 _"_ _You don't belong to Antonin. Or to the monster Greyback. Or to my worthless little brother. You don't belong to any of the disgusting, weak men you let crawl between your thighs. You. Are._ Mine _."_

 _She bit her lips to keep from crying out. Only he was able to ever get the right combination of pain and pleasure. His grunts morphed into a low growl as he spilled his seed inside of her. He didn't loosen his grip on her hair or release his bruising grip on her hip until the last tremors of his sated body subsided. Before he removed his hands from her frame completely, he lowered his lips to the outside of her ear._

 _"_ _You're going to forget about our past in a few minutes, but when I'm ready for you to remember again, I'll unlock your mind. I'll be coming back for you."_

 _He kissed her lips again, much more tender than any of his previous kisses. Short minutes later found her standing in her kitchen, her clothes readjusted and repaired, unsure what she was doing there. Her mind felt hazy, fuzzy, and she couldn't concentrate on anything. She reached into her pocket to remove a small vial. Knocking back the cinnamon-flavored contents in one swallow, Hermione took a deep breath and returned to the party._

 _"_ _Where have you been?"_

 _"_ _I was checking on the cake."_

 _The lie came tumbling out of her mouth easily. Spoken much louder than she meant, the host and hostess of the birthday party drew stares from around the room. The urge to curse her husband right in his face became overpowering. She knew that if she didn't get away from him in that moment, she was going to do something drastic that she would come to regret. Storming off into the privacy of the kitchen, she waited for Antonin to follow behind. He always did._

Hermione didn't need to dream the rest of that day to know what happened next. The attack was still fresh in her mind, the details matched up exactly to what Antonin told her happened. Why she was able to remember those details wasn't clear. Maybe Rodolphus' spell wasn't designed to exclude _every_ memory from that day? She couldn't be sure. When she reached the moment that she knew she was going to reach for that fork to shove in his eye, she forced herself awake. She sat up in her bed breathing hard, hoping she didn't wake up Antonin. He would want an explanation and she wasn't sure she had one to offer.

For the time being, she'd had her fill of dreams.


	204. July 22nd

July 22nd

When her next session with Babajide Akingbade came around, Hermione wasn't ready to tell him what she uncovered in her dreams after he gave her the potion. It was too raw, too _embarrassing_. She had yet to really make any sense of what happened. Clearly, she had her culprit. For whatever reason, and she certainly couldn't even begin to fathom what that was, Rodolphus had been placing memory charms on her for _years_. Of all of the people in the entire world that she would've suspected of such a horrendous crime, her old friend never even came into the top one hundred. That's why he'd been so successful. She would've given her life in defense of his. _Never_ would she imagine what he was capable of.

"Did the potion help to open up your mind?"

She wanted to tell him that it didn't because she was afraid that he would ask her for details. Her dream journal was already in his possession. At the beginning of the session before they even began, he requested the opportunity to take a look at it. After her dream about Oliver's birthday party and the events leading up to the brutal stabbing of her husband, she was too ashamed to write down what she saw. It wasn't likely that she was going to forget it any time soon anyway. Keeping a record would only give Mr. Akingbade more fuel for his case against her. Despite him claiming that he was only there to help, her suspicious mind kept returning to fears and worries that this was all just some sort of trap set up by the very people who wanted her out of the way. Wouldn't it have just been easier to kill her? She was exhausted of the games.

"Yes, I'm well-rested and my dreams were much more vivid."

"And yet, there are only a few lines written down about them."

It was her lot in life to be surrounded by perceptive men. Hermione wished that just once she might have a man in her life who was as clueless and unobservant as the men that were frequently caricatured by the rest of the world. It was one more reason to long for the days when her constant companions were two boys that weren't even aware of what was happening in the same room they sat. Once it frustrated her that Harry could be so oblivious to his own surroundings and to the feelings of others that he cared about.

"You are ashamed of what you saw in them."

Mr. Akingbade wasn't asking a question. He _knew_. And because he knew, she couldn't deny the truth. Hermione nodded, but gave no other indication that she wished to reveal what she knew. Couldn't some things about her life be kept private? Even after she'd given the wizard permission to dig around in her most private of organs and seek out what had been hidden even from her view, wasn't she entitled to keep at least _something_ to herself?

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who has been doing this as long as I have."

His features might have been impassive, but experience dealing with people in the midst of terrible interrogations taught her a lot about what people _weren't_ saying. It bothered her that she knew that he was judging her for the past choices she made to remain alive. Usually, the opinions of other people didn't matter much to her. _She_ was the one that had to make the tough choices when her world crumbled after the murder of her best friend. If she hadn't been willing to do what was difficult, she wouldn't have survived as long as she had. Was self-preservation really so awful of a character flaw?

"Yes, well, we can't exactly go back in time to fix our mistakes, can we?"

Her remark came out sharper than she intended. She loathed when she sounded weak. Not offended by her tone, Mr. Akingbade lifted a hand to stop her from going into a full-blown rant.

"I meant no offense, Hermione. Scratch the surface of any person you meet and you will find parts about their past that they do not like."

She felt sufficiently shamed. It wasn't his fault that they were entering into sensitive territory. But, if she truly wanted him to be able to help her, she knew that she would have to be honest.

"I'm not sure what all my husband has told you during your _private_ meetings." She put the emphasis on the private to make it clear that she didn't care for them speaking about her when she wasn't around. In her experience, what people were unwilling to say to her face was usually bad. "But, there was an _incident_."

"When you stabbed him at your son's birthday party?"

"Yes. It was a very confusing time and I…"

He lifted his hand again to stop her. A warm smile spread across his face.

"I've been married to my beautiful bride for seventy-three years. She is the kindest, most generous person I've ever known. Even so, she has lost her temper with me more times than I can count. She once threw a pot at my head. I have the scar to prove she has excellent aim." He pointed to the faded line just above his left eyebrow. "If I was able to forgive her for hurting me when she was frustrated with me, what makes you think that your husband will not do the same for something you did when you were confused and frightened and your mind manipulated by someone who wanted to hurt you?"

Some of the shame began to slip away. Marriage had a way of bringing out the very best and the very worst in people. _No one_ could make her as angry as Antonin could. She knew for a fact that he felt the same way. Was that why she was still so embarrassed by that day? Was she harboring a fear that even though he might act like he did, that Antonin wouldn't be able to forgive her? She shook her head, willing those thoughts to disperse. There wasn't enough time to worry about her husband. Not when she still had memories blocked inside her mind.

"Let's get started."

She was never more grateful for Mr. Akingbade changing the subject. Holding up the list she made of memories that she suspected were tampered with, he pointed to another incident in her past that made her cheeks burn with shame. The Dolohovs tried so hard to keep up a façade of perfection outside the walls of their home. For a complete stranger to know about the shameful details of their actual home life was enough to send her crawling under the bed.

"Right here you've written 'the first time Antonin hit me in two years after my fall'. Tell me about that. Focus on that day."

"I'd just come home from a mission. It went badly and I was in a terrible mood. Antonin was angry too. I don't really remember why. He said something like I was embarrassing him, but I don't know how."

After so many sessions, she was prepared for the tugging of her memories again. Gentle, as everything had been with Mr. Akingbade, she didn't dread the sensation of the pull of the charms. She continued to see the argument that she and Antonin had, wishing she could remember what started it. The memory burst forth at the final pull of the charm.

 _"_ _You were supposed to wait for the others to arrive, Hermione! Why would you go in there by yourself?"_

 _Angry that, yet again, her husband didn't appear to trust her judgment, Hermione put her hands on her hips. She was exhausted of him never believing that she actually knew what she was doing. Hadn't she already proven that she wasn't some helpless damsel in distress constantly in need of saving and protecting? Clearly her husband would never see her as anything other a weakling._

 _"_ _I wasn't alone. Roddy was with me."_

 _Antonin rolled his eyes and scoffed._

 _"_ _Yes, of course he was. He's_ always _with you when you make foolish decisions. I used to believe I could trust him with the safety of my wife. Now I'm wondering if I've been a fool all along."_

 _"_ _Of course you're a fool, but it's not because you've trusted Roddy."_

 _She enjoyed taunting him. It was one of the things in her life that gave her enormous pleasure. Especially when it caused his nostrils to flare and the vein in his neck to bulge out. The wizard really was entirely too easy to control. He grew uneasy when he saw the feral smile on his wife's face. No longer angry, she was ready to inflict some pain on the man. Maybe this time he might actually fight her back. She'd been hoping and waiting, but he always stopped himself right before he lost control. No one would blame her if she killed the horrible man when she was simply defending herself. Even the Dark Lord would forgive her. Her punishment would be harsh. Not enough to kill her though. Just enough to make her_ wish _she was dead and then it would be over._

 _"_ _Now, why don't you run along and go to London to visit your little whore. You know you want to. Tell her what a mean, nasty woman your wife is. Let her spread her legs and comfort you. She's rather good at it. Probably all of that experience she has. I highly doubt you're the only one she whores herself out to."_

 _"_ _The only whore I know is_ you _."_

 _Almost of its own accord, the back of her hand smacked against his mouth with all of her might. She could be quite strong when she was angry and she preferred to leave her mark on her husband with the large diamond he gave her to_ celebrate _their forced marriage. Antonin's bottom lip split, bright red blood oozing out of the wound. She could see his fury, his rage, just itching to come to the surface and make her pay for her cruelty. But, to her supreme disappointment, he wouldn't fight back._

 _She watched him descend the staircase and slam the front door shut. Annoyed, but still feeling justified, Hermione followed his footsteps to the bottom of the stairs. Rodolphus leaned up against the doorway into the lounge, an amused smirk on his lips._

 _"_ _You are a mean one, aren't you?"_

 _"_ _That's never bothered you before. I thought you actually liked it."_

 _His laughter proved she was correct. Rodolphus held up a bottle of Antonin's favorite fire whiskey._

 _"_ _Let's get pissed and fuck in your husband's bed."_

The memory ended there to her relief. They'd seen enough. Later, when she was alone, she didn't doubt that the rest of it would gradually return on its own. Everything came back to Rodolphus. She no longer had any doubts at all that he was the one responsible.

"I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore tonight."

Mr. Akingbade nodded his head, understanding that she'd reached her limit. There was plenty of time to continue after she'd rested. He urged her to take another sleeping potion to ensure that she had plenty of sleep. Though it might not always seem so, their sessions took a lot of energy out of her. She needed to recharge or they would do irreparable harm.

If Antonin was surprised to see his younger brother and the memory charms expert leave earlier in the night than they normally did, he didn't say anything. He stood with Hermione in their kitchen watching the men Disapparate from the middle of their back garden. With a swift kiss to her husband's cheek, she made her excuses to leave.

"I'm going to take another sleeping potion and go to bed early."

He pulled her into his arms for a lingering, but still quite gentle kiss.

"Good. I'll be up later."

She knew that his plans for the evening involved reading a stack of mysterious parchment tucked away in his pocket on the sofa in the lounge. Based on the sheer exhaustion she could read on his face, she knew that it wouldn't take him long before he was asleep on the same sofa in front of the fireplace. She would be patient, but as soon as she knew he was asleep, she was sneaking out. There was a wizard she needed to find.


	205. July 23rd

July 23rd

It was half past one before Hermione felt confident that her husband wasn't coming up to bed. Dressing quietly, she waited for any sound to indicate he would be coming up the stairs. If he caught her, she wasn't sure what she would tell him. No explanation would be good enough. What she was planning was just what a Gryffindor would do, and therefore, the exact opposite of what Antonin would think she should.

When she was dressed, she opened the bedroom door a crack to discern what was happening downstairs. To her relief, all of the lights were off. Oliver's bedroom door was shut at the opposite end of the corridor. She thought she could just barely make out the sound of Antonin's breathing from the sofa in the lounge. One of the advantages of having such a modest home was that she could usually tell what the other occupants were up to from any other room. Of course, the small size was exactly what made sneaking out more difficult.

The longer she waited, the more likely she was to either get caught or lose her nerve. Carefully closing the bedroom door behind her, she crossed the room to one of the large windows near the bed. Depending on the sorts of protective enchantments Antonin used to cover their home, it was possible that he would feel a disturbance and wake up to investigate. She had to be quick. If he found out that she left, he would be angry, but at least she would _hopefully_ have her answers before she returned. This wasn't the moment that she'd been waiting for, the moment she finally said goodbye forever to her home. There were still reasons to stay. Her sessions with Mr. Akingbade, for one thing. And she wasn't properly packed. She had no intention of running out with just the bare minimum like she did last time.

Shifting the wards covering the window, she unlatched the casing and pushed it open. There was just enough of a ledge that she could stand outside of the enchantments to Disapparate. It wasn't going to be easy, but she knew it was possible. This wasn't the first time she had a reason to sneak out of her own home. Though it had been years, she felt certain that she could still remember how to do it.

Heights never bothered her much. That was actually a common misconception that those who knew her hatred for flying believed. No, it was the fast movement of broomsticks, hippogriffs, and thestrals that unnerved her so. She was always afraid that she would be thrown off. Just standing in a high place wasn't so frightening. Of course, she much preferred heights that weren't exactly deadly if she did fall. Stumbling out of the window of her bedroom would probably break a few bones, but unless she fell awkwardly on her neck, wasn't likely to end her life.

The squeak of the window opening sounded deafening in her ears. She knew she should've cast silencing charms on it before she tried to force it open, but it was too late. Once it was open, she didn't waste another second. She was out on the ledge ready to leave. Using her untraceable wand because she didn't want Antonin to know where she went, she Disapparated almost in mid-air. The journey across the country was over in moments. Her feet touched down in a darkened alley. Women, even witches, were vulnerable at that time of night in a dark corner. She rushed towards the building that was her first destination. Before she could find the wizard she wanted, she needed to ask some questions first.

Draco's front door didn't open the first time she knocked on it. Unlike her previous visit when it opened on its own, she had to stand in the corridor waiting for the owner of the flat to appear. When he didn't come immediately, she pounded on the door. If he was in there, she wasn't going to let him ignore her.

"What the bloody hell, Hermione?"

It was evident that he'd been deep asleep. Just the few short days she spent with him in his flat taught her that he didn't appreciate being woken up from a sound sleep. He so rarely had the opportunity to sleep soundly that when it was interrupted, he was cantankerous. She thought at the time that it was rather adorable. Maybe he thought he was being menacing, but he failed. He rubbed at his eyes and covered his mouth to yawn.

"I need to see Rodolphus _now_."

"Well, he's not here."

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for his flippancy.

"Then _take_ me to where he is."

The wizard stepped back from the doorway to invite her inside his flat. His home might have taken up the entire top floor of the building, but there were still neighbors beneath him. Neither one of them wished to have curious onlookers come up to the top floor to demand what all the noise was in the middle of the night. Hermione reluctantly stepped in. She was afraid that if she entered the flat he would figure out some devious way to sidetrack her from her mission.

"All right, first, tell me _why_ you need to see my uncle. You realize it's almost two in the morning?"

"Yes, I know what time it is. I had to wait until Antonin was asleep to sneak out. He's kept me practically a prisoner in my own home since the Dark Lord died."

He gestured for her to sit on the large, comfortable sofa. Not wishing to be there long enough to sit, she knew that she would have to be polite and patient for him to help her. Sometimes he could be terribly unreasonable. She pushed aside the memories of the sorts of activities they'd gotten up to on that very sofa after too much fire whiskey. It was best that she keep her mind focused on anything other than how nicely their bodies fit together. She had a mission, a purpose.

"Tell me why you came to my flat in the middle of the night demanding to see Rodolphus."

"It's not important. I just need to speak to him."

"Don't lie to me, Hermione. I thought you had more respect for me than that."

She wasn't sure she would ever understand how exactly their relationship changed so much in almost eight months. Before New Year's, he was a remnant of her past that she didn't like to think about. Then he started following her all over the country, always popping up when she least expected him. Perhaps loneliness was the biggest reason she finally gave in to entertaining something more than just an awkward acquaintance with the man who once made her life in the castle a nightmare.

It was risky to tell him the truth. Even after tumbling in and out of his bed numerous times, she still wasn't sure that she could completely trust the man. He'd hurt her in the past. And, knowing that he had been playing both sides for years, she knew that he was a good liar. What would he do with the information that she gave him? The tiniest voice in the back of her head warned her that she would regret telling him anything, but she felt like she was going to burst if she didn't tell _someone_ what had been going on. He already knew that she had problems with confusion. He'd been present for one of those moments. Though she knew she was right that she would likely regret it, the words came rushing out.

"I've been working with a memory charms expert to find out what's wrong with my mind. He discovered that someone has been placing spells on me to manipulate my memories or to block them entirely. It's been going on for years. He said that it was the most intricate network of spells he'd ever seen."

"And you want to get a second opinion from Rodolphus because he's also an expert?"

"No, I want to confront him because he's the one who put them on me in the first place."

A whistle came out of his mouth as he exhaled. The bombshell she dropped was large. She didn't know the exact relationship between the two men. Only that his aunt's widower didn't worry about societal expectations and visited the Malfoys on a regular basis when no one else would. She remembered the night that Rodolphus confronted her in the middle of the Resistance village right after the explosion in the Leaky Cauldron. He'd been terrified that something happened to Draco. She also hadn't forgotten how hostile he was when he demanded she tell him what their relationship was. At the time she just assumed that he didn't think she was good enough for his nephew, that he was worried that she would cause him nothing but grief. After the unraveling of her memories and especially the memory of being with him in the back garden in the middle of Oliver's birthday party, she worried that his anger was for a different reason entirely. It was very likely that he was jealous. He promised that he would be coming back for her when the time was right. Maybe he didn't like the idea of Draco touching her.

"Let me see if I understand you. All of this confusion you've had, these _episodes_ you've had like at the funeral and that night in the Forest of Dean… all of this is because of memory charms placed in your mind supposedly by Rodolphus?"

"He's the one that keeps popping up in these recovered memories. He's in _every_ single one of them. How else do you explain that unless he's responsible?"

"No, I'm not doubting you about that. I'm wondering why you thought it was a good idea to confront him alone in the middle of the night. If you believe he's been cursing you for _years_ , this hardly seems like the best plan."

She hated when he was logical. Especially when she was being anything but. Of course, it was reckless and foolish to go tearing off in the middle of the night with a half-cocked plan. Or really, no plan at all. Sometimes she didn't just foolishly act like a Gryffindor, but she was dangerously irrational. If Rodolphus meant her harm, which she could only imagine that he did to go to such drastic lengths, she shouldn't be alone when she went after him for answers. She was just asking for trouble.

Her brain felt fuzzy and tired. The sessions she'd been undergoing with Mr. Akingbade were indeed taking more out of her than she realized. There was no way she would've come to the same conclusion when she was thinking clearly. She needed rest.

Draco's hand brushed the hair out of her face. Almost immediately the feel of his touch began to calm her down. It felt like a lifetime passed since they were last alone in his flat for any length of time, but it really hadn't been that long at all. She almost missed the days she was living there. Little did she know at the time how much more complicated her life would become when she left.

"I should go home. I snuck out a window. If Antonin finds me gone…"

"Or you could stay the night."

His gentle kiss was almost enough persuasion to get her to stay. It would be so easy to ignore her responsibilities, to run away at least for the night. She allowed herself to give in to the kiss, but broke it off before they got carried away.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Draco. I really don't know what I was thinking."

She was back in the safety of her own bed long before Antonin woke up from his nap on the sofa and climbed the stairs to their bedroom.


	206. July 24th

July 24th

If Antonin was aware that his wife left their house in the middle of the night to rush off to London, he kept his own counsel. Thirteen years of marriage taught both of the Dolohovs that sometimes ignorance was indeed bliss. Or at least as close to bliss as two Death Eaters pledged to the Dark Lord were likely to ever experience. Hermione woke up the morning after her little adventure with her husband perfectly content and snuggled up behind her in bed. Her residual guilt from her late-night adventure was assuaged by being the one to initiate a pleasurable morning. Either her husband didn't know that she ever left or he was content with what she offered as her way of apology.

In the light of the morning, she knew how foolish and reckless she'd been. What if Draco _had_ taken her to Rodolphus? What would she have said or done? She could've been in a great deal of danger. Maybe he would've even cast more charms on her to make her forget what she'd already learned. If his past was any indication, she could never trust the animagus again. Not for even a second. The next time she had the opportunity to come face to face with the man, she had to be prepared. Anything less could mean her death. She knew better than most how ruthless Rodolphus could be when it suited his means.

By the time her next session with Babajide Akingbade came around, she was even more determined to unravel the rest of the spells. If she was ever going to have the chance to confront Rodolphus and discover what it was that made him go to such extreme lengths to fulfill whatever his plan was, she had to be free from his control. Some of the books that Mr. Akingbade brought with him for her to research in the hours and days between their sessions described a possible situation where the caster of the spells could build in a switch in their victim's minds. Almost like an activation switch, it was entirely plausible that Rodolphus had some long-term goal in mind for Hermione. She couldn't afford to let him get close to her until she was certain that all evidence of his past machinations were gone.

"This evening I think I would like for us to focus on the issue you had with your parents. Will you tell me a little bit about that?"

Feeling Mr. Akingbade moving around in her brain while she talked was becoming almost second-nature to Hermione. She hated it, of course, but it was easy to get used to once she believed he wasn't there to cause her any additional harm. Knowing that each time he walked away from her she had more answers to her myriad of questions, more strategies to solve the numerous puzzles inside her mind helped her cultivate the desire to succeed in their sessions.

"I wasn't sure until recently if my parents were alive or dead. One day I might believe that they were killed twenty years ago during the war. The next I might believe that they died of natural causes in recent years. Then I started to have flashes of memories in my dreams of them being around my son, of them knowing my husband. That couldn't have happened if they were dead."

"You said 'until recently'. What changed?"

"Antonin took me to visit them and I got to see with my own eyes that they're both still alive and living in the same house I grew up in as a child."

The whole situation with her memories about her parents baffled Hermione the most. _Why_ did she have so many different options? In the other altered memories, she was only given a single alternate version of the facts. Why then did she see multiple with her parents? It only caused her head to pound in agony when she tried to figure out the logistics of it all. Antonin claimed that they'd spent the Christmas holiday with her parents only months before she ran away. If that was the case, _when_ did she have those memories altered? She couldn't remember seeing Rodolphus during that time.

Of course, she also couldn't remember seeing Rodolphus on the day she tried to kill Antonin. _That_ visit had been a major surprise. She still hadn't explained any but the barest of details to Mr. Akingbade when he asked. Each time he brought up her dreams, she was thankful that that was a memory that she was able to uncover entirely on her own. Imagining having him witnessing what she did was mortifying. It was bad enough that he'd seen her in passionate embraces with Rodolphus or that he'd seen the day she hit her husband. Having him be a witness to the debauched manner in which the animagus pushed her up against the wall of her house while her husband and child were literally just steps away would have been too much. She already feared that he thought very little of her to begin with.

When she stopped to remember that awful day, she wondered about the significance of Rodolphus' presence. She didn't doubt that he cast a spell on her or strengthened the ones that were already there. No, that much seemed obvious by the fuzzy confusion she experienced when she reentered her kitchen. What she was worried about was his potential role in the attack against Antonin. Did she do that all on her own? Did she try to kill her husband because that's what _she_ wanted or was it because Rodolphus wanted her to end his life? None of the potential answers to those questions brought her any comfort. Either she was a madwoman who hated her husband enough to want him dead or she was being controlled by a man whose motivations she didn't fully understand.

"This will be a little more difficult than uncovering some of your other memories because we don't know specifically when it happened. Please try your hardest to relax."

Just as Mr. Akingbade suggested, the memory didn't come forth easily or quickly. She could feel her frustration begin to rise when she could feel him moving around in her mind, but she couldn't feel the tugging that she had come to associate with uncovering memories. He insisted that she keep talking about her parents, keep mentioning the moments that she could remember where she wasn't sure whether or not they were alive. Focusing on her confusion was supposed to help him pinpoint where in her brain the particular memories were tucked away.

The tugging wasn't as gentle as it had been. In fact, she cried out in pain when he latched onto one. There was a resistance there that they hadn't experienced with any of the other unravellings. When it was free, the memory came rushing at her, making her feel like she had her head underwater. It began as hazy, muddled. Much like she felt when she'd swallowed too many potions in an effort to forget the hell she was existing in.

 _She could watch the brothers argue from the comfort of the luxurious sofa. They were in the Lestrange Dower House. Originally built for a widowed Madam Lestrange hundreds of years earlier in the past, it was the home that all of the widows moved into when their sons were old enough to marry. Designed to keep the ladies in the family from bickering, it instead became Rodolphus' home when Rabastan married. Some of the wildest parties that the Death Eaters enjoyed happened right under that roof. When the older brother in that family wished to let loose, he could be a great deal of fun. Hermione knew there were many nights she would never forget spent tumbling naked in the large bed upstairs._

 _The potions were particularly strong that evening. Or maybe she'd taken too many of them again. Rabastan warned her that she was consuming far too much to be healthy. But, she didn't care. Not when her world was getting so uncomfortable._

 _She'd had Christmas dinner with her parents just hours earlier. They asked too many impertinent questions about the sort of quality education that could be had at Hogwarts. Worried that their grandson wasn't going to be entering the best school possible when he began the following fall, they weren't shy about wondering out loud whether or not he wasn't more suited to going to a Muggle school instead. Though they didn't know the extent of the danger and violence that existed in the world their daughter was a part of, they knew enough to worry. Antonin was calm, even patient in his assurances that there was no better education to be had than at the school both of Oliver's parents attended. Hermione had been less kind. She and her husband were only just able to keep from starting a riotous row until they got home. When they did, she stormed out of the cage she lived in in Hogsmeade and Apparated to the Lestrange Estate. She knew for a fact that Rodolphus was temporarily hiding back in his old home and he was always much more exciting than her husband._

 _"_ _I don't get it, Roddy. Why are we trying to make her confused about her parents? What do Muggles matter anyway?"_

 _"_ _It's not because they're Muggles, Rabastan. How many times do I have to explain this? We need to make her confused, unstable enough that no one trusts what she's saying."_

 _Rabastan snorted, drawing an eye roll from his brother. There was a reason the two of them rarely spent any time together. They struggled getting along under the best of circumstances. Hermione started to say something, to ask what they were talking about, but found she had no energy. She shouldn't have taken that additional vial._

 _"_ _I think she's crazy enough on her own."_

 _"_ _That may be, but we've got to make it worse."_

 _"_ _Can I try the spell this time?"_

The rest of the memory was too hazy to make out completely. All she could tell was that Rabastan wasn't nearly as capable of casting memory charms as his brother. When he failed, Rodolphus pushed him out of the way to 'clean up his mess'. It seemed that at least she could finally understand why there were multiple versions. A mistake had been made. As talented as Rodolphus clearly was, he wasn't able to fully repair the damage.

"So it appears that we are dealing with multiple people who were involved with casting these memory charms on you, Hermione. Very interesting."

"Rabastan has always hero-worshipped his older brother despite the fact that they don't get along very well. I'm not surprised that he would demand to be involved when he learned what he was up to."

"The question I'm most curious about is why. _Why_ would they wish to make you seem unstable?"

Hermione exhaled a deep sigh. Knowing she wasn't crazy, or _as_ crazy as she initially thought, should've been more of a comfort than it really was.

"Because they didn't want Antonin to become the next Dark Lord. No one would want to follow a Dark Lord who had an insane wife. I would be too unpredictable. They needed me to cast a shadow on my husband's ambitions."

She started to mention that she knew for a fact that Antonin didn't even want to be the Dark Lord, but stopped herself before she said too much. That was a secret he told her in confidence. He wouldn't appreciate anyone else knowing.

"I'm his weakness. I've always been his weakness."

Mr. Akingbade sighed.

"I've been testing the potions that you gave me. The ones that your husband gave you were both perfectly safe and made exactly for the purposes he used them for. He truly has your best interests at heart. His fear for your health and sanity are genuine."

She already knew that was the truth, but it was nice to have the confirmation.


	207. July 25th

July 25th

 _The voices were faint, but growing louder. Every cell in Hermione's body felt too heavy. Despite the potions that she knew she'd been forced to consume and the ones she enjoyed consuming, every single part of her ached with pain. Almost as bad as the first few seconds after a Cruciatus Curse was removed, the residual pain lasted much longer. She tried to focus on the voices, anything to move her attention away from how much she hurt._

 _"_ _Antonin claims it was an accident. That Hermione tripped over her own feet. Is that true?"_

 _Alecto sounded almost bored, like she would've rather been anywhere else but where she was. There were times that Hermione noticed the friendly mask she wore in her presence slip ever so slightly. She'd been wondering for a while if the older witch wasn't simply pretending to be her friend to achieve her own gains. Carrow certainly wouldn't be the first nor would she be the last. Part of the problem with being so close to power were all of the leeches who wanted some for themselves._

 _"_ _It_ wasn't _an accident." Rodolphus was amused, trying and almost failing at keeping his laughter out of his voice. "I was there."_

 _"_ _You're always there when the interesting things happen. I'm beginning to be suspicious that maybe you've had something to do with all of this."_

 _Rodolphus snorted, an indelicate sound that he would normally try to prevent. For all of the times he seemed to have no problem 'mucking about with Mudbloods' as she once heard his younger brother accuse him of, he could easily turn into the proper Pureblood when he wished to seem as important as he believed himself to be. Hermione disliked when he was pompous, but it was easy to ignore him when he was obnoxious._

 _"_ _My father used to always say that Carrows were only one tiny step up from filth and that they didn't have three brain cells to share amongst the entire family. It appears that, at least on one account, he was wrong."_

 _Instead of being offended by his insults, Alecto only laughed. She was too used to having the frequent barbs and abuse hurled at her family to really give it much heed. Even she knew that there were aspects of the Carrows that were less than desirable._

 _"_ _You've always known how to sweet-talk your way straight into a witch's knickers, haven't you, Roddy?"_

 _"_ _Oh, is that what you thought I was trying to do? Very interesting. You don't have much experience with wizards of any class, do you, my dear?"_

 _"_ _Apparently not. I fucked_ her _husband after all."_

 _The longer she was conscious, the easier it was to hear what was being said. Hermione wasn't able to open her eyes yet or move, however. That didn't bother her. She wanted to keep listening to what they were talking about. What did Rodolphus mean when he said her fall wasn't an accident? She was there. It was that damned top step. Over the years since she moved into the house, she'd lost count the number of times that she'd almost tripped over it. Maybe if she hadn't been taunting Antonin about Andromeda again, she wouldn't have fallen._

 _"_ _You said it wasn't an accident. Did Antonin push her?"_

 _"_ _No, but that does sound like an interesting idea. Maybe we should make her think he did. Can't imagine that would help improve their marriage any. But, no, I was just downstairs waiting on her to finish yelling at Antonin. Not even sure that he knew I was there. When she started to go down the stairs, I cast a spell at her feet to make her trip."_

 _"_ _You're terrible, Roddy!" Alecto's giggles seemed to indicate otherwise. "Did you know she was pregnant when you did it?"_

 _"_ _Of course. She told me that she actually wanted to keep it this time. Can you even imagine? I was generous enough to allow her to keep her son, but her becoming nothing more than a brood mare interferes with my plans for her. Not to worry. She won't mourn the loss. It's not as if she ever wanted to be a mother to begin with."_

 _Hermione shifted on the bed, accidentally drawing attention to herself. Was this all true? How could Rodolphus be so callous about what happened? She'd told him about her pregnancy in confidence just a few days earlier. She wanted to try again with Antonin, to see if they could salvage_ something _meaningful out of their forced marriage. Maybe if she gave him the daughter he always wanted, it would be easier. Rodolphus hadn't been happy. He reminded her that her body belonged to him, not to her husband. The slap across her face had only pain in it, no pleasure at all._

 _"_ _Hermione, darling, are you awake?"_

She didn't want to see anymore. Putting up the strongest Occlumency shield she was certain she'd ever produced, Hermione was able to push Mr. Akingbade out of her mind. She'd seen enough. More questions presented themselves than were answered. Even trying to imagine what Rodolphus could've possibly hoped to accomplish by making her take that horrific tumble down the stairs _and_ to have her blame her husband for it made her head swim. Could one person really be that evil?

"I think that we've made enough progress on the charms for tonight."

Mr. Akingbade must have known that she was upset by the memory. Never since they began their session had she forced him out of her mind so forcefully. Maybe she should offer him an explanation, she thought, but she just couldn't form the words. It was too painful. Learning that everything she thought was true was a lie and learning that someone she thought she could trust was manipulating her memories was too much. It was all too much. She wasn't sure how much more of it she could handle.

As if he could sense what she was feeling, and perhaps he could because of his decades of experience, the soft-spoken wizard placed a gentle hand on her knee. Without saying a word to draw even more attention to what she knew he'd just seen, he simply patted her knee. Tears bubbled up out of her, gushing out of her at an intensity that threatened to take her breath away. Mr. Akingbade patted her knee one final time and withdrew his touch. Hermione covered her face with her hands, ashamed that she'd been unable to keep her emotions under control.

It was only when she felt the strength of her husband's arms wrap around her shaking body that she realized the elderly wizard left the room to get her the physical support she needed. One tender kiss to her temple and her husband's soft, soothing voice brought choking sobs out of her throat. Hermione threw her arms around Antonin's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. With his arms wrapped tightly around her body, he held her close while she released all of the tears she'd been holding on to for years. Once they started, she was afraid they would never stop. Antonin simply rubbed her back and continued to whisper soothing assurances that he had her and she was going to be all right.

She wasn't exactly sure what she cried for. Maybe it was for the loss of the child that she didn't realize she'd actually wanted. Or it was because she discovered two friends that she thought she could trust were working together to bring even more misery into her life. Lost potential, maybe. She'd wanted to try to make her marriage work, to make it so she and Antonin weren't miserable. Was she crying because she didn't get the chance? Was it more than that? Maybe she was crying for the loss of the future she _should've_ had until the damned Dark Lord ruined her life. It was all that and more.

Her eyes were burning and her throat raw when she finally was able to stop. Sniffling, she tried to catch her breath. Antonin never once released his grip on her until she was ready to sit back up on her own. She felt embarrassed by her loss of control. Not just because she did it in front of an almost stranger, but because she'd never been so vulnerable in front of her own husband. At least not that she could remember. After all, it wasn't as if she could trust her own memories. Rodolphus made certain of that.

"I think it is time, Hermione, that we share with your husband what we have uncovered in our sessions."

A big part of her wanted to keep it all a secret from Antonin. She didn't want him to know everything that happened. It was too embarrassing. He would get angry when he found out the extent of her _friendship_ with Rodolphus. She also knew that he deserved to know what was wrong with his wife. He'd been the second most affected person in all of it. It might have been Hermione's mind that was messed with, but he was right there with her for all of it.

She didn't want Mr. Akingbade to tell her story on her behalf. Even when he offered, she knew that she had to do it. She only hoped that when it became obvious that she wasn't going to share _all_ of the salacious details that he wouldn't contradict her. It was her right to tell Antonin what she wanted, wasn't it? She would argue that point with him if he insisted that she should tell him everything.

"Mr. Akingbade told me the first night that he looked into my mind that he's never seen a more intricate network of memory charms and spells."

Antonin looked over at the other wizard for confirmation. When Mr. Akingbade nodded, he clenched his jaw and returned his attention to his wife.

"He's been carefully unraveling the charms. If he goes in there and does it too quickly or too harshly, he can actually permanently damage my brain. That's why we've been taking this slowly."

Her husband didn't say a single word as she described the process and what she'd found out. When she mentioned Rodolphus' name, she could see his neck tighten. His skin flushed red and he seemed on the verge of exploding. She explained that the process wasn't over yet. There were still charms on her mind that he hadn't broken yet. He was patient, never asking a question until she hesitated at the beginning of explaining why she'd had such a large breakdown that night.

"What memory did he help you uncover tonight that made you so upset?"

"Antonin, maybe it's best…"

" _No_ , Hermione. Tell me. I've never see you like this before. _Tell_ me."

She stared down at her hands in her lap. Before she spoke, she wanted to make sure that she didn't say something wrong. Something that would send him flying out of the house in a rage towards his potential death.

"The day I fell down the stairs, I didn't trip. It wasn't an accident."

"I already told you, Hermione, that I did _not_ push you."

"No, you didn't push me… Rodolphus was in the house that day. Did you realize?"

"Not until you fell. He was the one who opened the floo connection to St. Mungo's for the emergency Healers. Everything happened so fast and I was so worried about you that I didn't even have time to question why he was there."

Realization struck him in that instant. His dark brown eyes were watery with unshed tears. He clenched his jaw again, rage and fury evident over all of his features.

"He cursed my feet to make me trip."

"If the bastard wasn't likely already dead, I'd fucking kill him."

She started to correct him, to tell him that Rodolphus wasn't dead at all, but stopped herself. Mr. Akingbade ended their session only moments later. As he began to walk out of the room, he suggested that Hermione take one of Antonin's potions that night to calm her down. He would give her a day or two to rest and recover before they tried again.

"Come on, my love. Let's get you to bed."

The urge to tell him about Rodolphus being alive was strong, but she was able to resist it long enough to fall into a deep sleep.


	208. July 26th

July 26th

A long night's rest helped not only to calm Hermione following her intense session with Babajide Akingbade, but to also amplify the feeling of guilt she had at not being completely honest with Antonin. She was afraid that when he found out that Rodolphus was both alive and had recently come to visit her in the back garden that the consequences would not be good. Although he was most definitely the more levelheaded between the two of them, he still had a fiery temper that could be agitated with little provocation.

Based on the position of the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, she knew that she'd been asleep most of the day. It was the early afternoon, long since past the time she should've gotten up. The house was quiet, _too_ quiet. As much as she appreciated Antonin insisting that their son make as little noise as possible while his mother slept, she liked the sound of the two of them moving around her home. It was comforting to hear those sounds even if she didn't quite understand why that was.

Even with the potion and the long sleep, she was still exhausted. Not just in body, but also in her very soul. Keeping the facts of her sessions with Mr. Akingbade away from Antonin helped her to compartmentalize the truth. Now that he knew that Rodolphus was responsible for what was wrong in her mind, it was harder to ignore. She didn't know how she was going to tell Antonin everything. It was important, however, that she did. Once upon a time she hoped to make a fresh start with her husband, to try to see if there was anything worth salvaging in their marriage. Was this the chance for her to try again?

She didn't really know or understand what she wanted in life. Her needs used to be simple. Even in recent days she thought of nothing else but running away from the life she'd built, the family she'd been reluctant to start. Running away held all of the same attractions in one moment and then none in the next. Maybe it was finally time that she _stopped_ running. All it did was make her exhausted and lost.

Her husband entered their bedroom shortly after she woke up. Somehow he always seemed to know when she was awake. Or, perhaps more likely, he kept to a strict schedule where he made certain to come upstairs to check on his wife every fifteen minutes. She knew without him even telling her that she'd scared him the night before. Never had he seen her so discomposed, so open and raw. He stood in the doorway, watching her for any sign that she was awake yet. It would've been easy to keep pretending that she was asleep just to delay the conversation that she knew they needed to have. When she rolled over onto her side and opened her eyes, he smiled.

"Did we make too much noise downstairs?"

"No, I couldn't even hear you."

"Good. Ollie was being a little vehement in his demand to be let outside."

She smiled. It was an argument they'd both been having with their son since the Dark Lord died. For the moment, he wasn't safe outside. Living amongst potential enemies in the village meant that they couldn't be certain that he wouldn't be harmed or kidnapped even in their own back garden. He was sure to grow up to be a very persuasive man. She teased him by telling him to consider studying wizarding law when he got older.

"We're going to have to let him out at some point. I think he's been very patient."

"I know. You _both_ have been."

He crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. The shifting of his features informed his wife that he was about to be serious. She moved to sit up with her back against the headboard. If their conversation was about to turn more intense, she wanted to be ready. Besides, she knew that she had to tell him the truth. Even one night keeping the full truth about Rodolphus from her husband was too long. She wasn't going to last much longer. Already the guilt was upsetting her stomach.

"I've been unbearable the last few weeks."

"Antonin…"

"No, don't deny it. I know that you're both frustrated with me keeping you stuck inside the house. I promise it'll only be for a little while longer. Once it settles down outside, we can reevaluate."

Pushing aside thoughts of Rodolphus for just a few moments, she wondered aloud what exactly was happening out there. Her husband told her _nothing_. Not even if he was in charge or not. She knew he had loyal friends who would always remain on his side, including up to the very moment of death, but was that enough? Did she have to worry that a day would come when he would leave the house one morning and never return? It was almost cruel to leave her out of the circle of knowledge. She was one who thrived on learning and knowing. Besides that, she had a son to think of. If Antonin was killed, she needed to be ready to disappear with her son. There was no potential future that she could imagine where those in charge would let her continue to live amongst them. And if she crossed Rodolphus' path again…

"You don't need to worry about any of that, Hermione. You and Ollie are safe."

"Maybe for now…"

She let the end of her statement hang in the air. Antonin knew just as well as she did that a world at war was unpredictable. As much as he might have believed they were safe, he couldn't predict the future, couldn't prepare for _all_ possible variables. His overconfidence in his own abilities to keep his family out of danger was exactly why she needed to be honest.

"Rodolphus isn't dead, Antonin."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've seen him."

The look of fear that she so rarely saw returned to his dark brown eyes. Only when he worried that his family was in jeopardy and he might be powerless to protect him did he look so panicked. She almost felt sorry for robbing him of his fantasy.

"When you ran away?"

"Yes, but he's also been here."

"What do you mean he's been ' _here_ '?"

His voice turned icy cold. Because she only recently was even aware that there had ever been anything inappropriate between Rodolphus and her, she didn't know how much he suspected in the past. Considering he was always welcomed as a trusted friend, she assumed that Antonin didn't know, but the man she married was far from stupid. For one of the first times since returning to Hogsmeade, Hermione was frightened of her husband.

"The day before the Dark Lord's funeral, I saw him in the back garden."

"Why would he come here?"

"He wanted to know what you'd been doing since the Dark Lord died. Said that…"

Antonin held up his hand to interrupt. She knew that she wasn't going to like what came out of his mouth.

"Are you telling me that you lifted the wards so you could go outside to _speak_ to him?"

"It was only for a few minutes."

He stood to his feet and began to pace the floor. Each time he started to say something, he stopped himself. Finally, he calmed down enough to trust himself to speak.

"You only left our home open and unprotected for a 'few minutes'. The home were our _son_ was."

Even when she was meeting Rodolphus outside she had a bad feeling that what she was doing was dangerous and foolish. And that was before she knew he had a hand in her problems with her memory. She couldn't blame Antonin for getting angry. If the roles were reversed, she would be just as livid.

"What else did he do? Did he say something else? _Why_ was he here?"

"I think he's the reason I got so confused during the funeral."

Antonin's eyes softened just the tiniest bit at her confession. It had been such an awful day. Both of them were frightened, unsure what caused her embarrassing episode in front of everyone who mattered in their society. Just as quickly as they softened, she witnessed them harden. He couldn't afford to let himself get emotional.

"I cannot believe that you would do something so foolish. Rodolphus cannot be trusted."

"I didn't realize that at the time. Before I started these sessions with Mr. Akingbade, I thought I could trust him. I _had_ trusted him countless times before."

There was more truth that needed to be revealed whether she wanted to or not. For better or for worse, she'd chosen her husband's side. At least for the time being, unless he gave her a reason to leave again before their world was settled down, they would have to rely on each other. He deserved to know all of the ugly facts about what Rodolphus did to her over the years. What he was possibly _still_ doing to her. He'd made a promise of unlocking her mind when he was ready. For all that she was aware, Rodolphus had some awful mission that she was going to be activated to complete. Perhaps he was the one responsible for reprogramming her and she didn't even know it.

She told him everything that she'd uncovered during her sessions with Mr. Akingbade. Every _single_ disgusting, terrible truth. All of the kisses, the touches. Even the incident outside in the back garden during Oliver's eleventh birthday party. For one of the very first times in their entire marriage, she held nothing back. The details that she knew, he knew too.

He didn't say a single word as she described what she heard when she woke up in St. Mungo's spoken between Alecto and Rodolphus. Nor did he say anything when she told him about Edinburgh or the day she slapped him. As the weight lifted off of her shoulders as she unburdened herself, she watched it shift over on to his. Still he continued to say nothing.

"I'm scared that he's not done with me yet, Antonin. What if he comes back and tries to finish what he started?"

" _Stay_ inside this house. If I even suspect that you've tampered with the wards and put my son in danger, I will throw you out and _never_ let you back inside."

Speaking in hardly more than a whisper, she knew that he was serious. Perhaps more serious than he'd ever been in his entire life. He rushed from the room, giving her no explanation or indication of what his next moves were. Based on the determination on his face, she knew that he had a plan. A plan to do something that would probably get himself killed.

The sound of the front door slamming shut behind him could be heard all the way upstairs in their bedroom. She only hoped that wherever he went, he would be able to figure out a way to come back.


	209. July 27th

July 27th

Her husband hadn't returned from wherever he ran off to before night fell. Not that she really expected him to. After what she admitted earlier that afternoon, Hermione knew that Antonin would need time to calm down before he could face her again. She might be his weakness, but she was also the one person who could make him the angriest, the fastest. Likewise, he was the same for her. Something about being married, perhaps? Even the couples she knew that were madly and disgustingly in love with each other, the Rowles, for example, admitted that their spouses could drive them to desire the most heinous forms of violence simply for opening their mouths at the wrong time. It was possible that marriage was complicated for everyone.

She didn't doubt Antonin's warning that he would throw her out of their home permanently if she tried to remove the wards again, even temporarily. The cold manner in which he looked at her as he mentioned _his_ son instead of theirs was further proof that he meant what he said. She was his weakness. Oliver was his strength. There was nothing he wouldn't do for their child, _including_ throw his mother to the wolves if she proved to be a danger.

From the moment the front door slammed behind his irate father, Oliver knew something was wrong. Experience taught him a great deal about reading his parents' moods, even if they attempted to pretend that all was right in the world. He always knew. His father's perceptiveness and his mother's inquisitiveness made for a dangerous combination. He was just the sort to get in a great deal of trouble as he grew older. Hermione only hoped that the influence of his father could keep him from being punished too severely when he did. She didn't get the feeling she'd be around long enough to know for certain. The future was impossible to predict.

The sound of Oliver's footsteps climbing up the stairs and then coming towards her bedroom didn't surprise Hermione. She knew it wouldn't be long before he came looking for answers. What she was going to tell him was something, however, that she _didn't_ know. Oliver was only twelve years old. It wasn't fair to drag him into the problems created by the adults. Her childhood and adolescence were ruined because careless adults dragged her into a war they should've never fought. She would be damned if she would allow the same thing to happen to her child.

"Is Papa mad?"

Hermione sighed, unsure where to even begin. Knowing she would find no more rest, she climbed out of bed. Oliver stayed in the doorway, concern written all over his face. She gave him a half-smile.

"Only at me. He'll come home later when he's had a chance to think and calm down."

"I don't like it when you fight."

His words were said in a soft tone that struck Hermione right in the heart. Even though he'd grown several inches over the past year, standing just a few steps away he looked so much like the little boy he used to be. All too quickly he would grow up, but in that moment, it was obvious that he was still a child. Of course he hated when his parents fought. Unfortunately for him, that had been a common occurrence in his life since he was born.

"I know. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's unavoidable."

For the rest of the day and into the evening, Oliver was never far, always watching, waiting. She knew it unnerved him to have his father outside in the world when he didn't know the details of what was happening either. For a reason that she couldn't understand yet, Antonin cancelled all delivery of the Daily Prophet, so they didn't even have the facts that the regime wanted them to know to read. Or maybe it was all so chaotic out there that the newspaper wasn't being printed regularly. Hermione couldn't be sure. When she would stand at the windows of her home looking out at the small corner of the village she could see, she never saw any movement or anything indicating the world was falling apart around them.

When midnight approached and went, she ordered her son up to bed. He could barely keep his eyes open as it was, but she didn't like having him near while she was so close to worry. Antonin could've been out there doing only gods knew what, possibly getting himself killed in the process. Though not usually the paranoid sort, isolation from the rest of the world was beginning to put her overactive imagination to work. Having Oliver close by worrying about his father made it that much harder for her to convince herself that everything was going to be all right.

By half past one in the morning, she _knew_ something was wrong. Yes, her husband had had some late nights since the trouble with the regime began with the fall of their leader. This, somehow, was different. She could feel it in her bones that he was somewhere he shouldn't have been. Considering all that she admitted to him when she woke up that started the row and then all that he learned last night about what she uncovered in her sessions, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that Antonin was out there trying to track down his enemies.

What would happen if he somehow managed to find Rodolphus? She knew that Antonin would try to kill him without a single doubt in her mind, but would he be successful? Rodolphus hadn't made it that far in life without knowing how to take care of himself _and_ his enemies. The moment he knew that Antonin knew his secret, he would be ready to kill. Whatever he had ultimately planned for Hermione, her husband would only be getting in the way. The evil animagus preferred when he was out of the picture completely.

She knew that if she tried to go to bed she would find no rest. Besides having slept for most of the day thanks to the potion she imbibed, her mind wouldn't shut itself off if she tried. As much as she might have hated to admit it, she was worried about Antonin. _That_ was a feeling she was surprised to have for the man. Rest would not be possible until she knew that he was back inside their house, safe and sound. Not for the first time since she returned to Hogsmeade, she reflected on how much had changed in just a few short months. Sipping at a full glass of fire whiskey she poured to calm her nerves, she continued her wait at the kitchen table, hoping that it wouldn't be much longer.

Her third glass was more empty than full and the clock over the table showed a quarter past two when she heard the distinctive 'pop' of Apparition in the back garden. Jumping to her feet, she prepared herself for the very real possibility that the new arrival meant her harm. She extinguished the only light left in the room and crossed to the large window over the kitchen sink.

"Is it Papa?"

So rattled were her nerves that Hermione spun around to point her wand in her son's direction. Oliver stood in the doorway dressed in his pajamas holding his own wand in his hand. Her heart clenched at the sight. He was just a child! What sort of spells could he hope to use against an enemy that meant them harm? He should never be in a position where he had to even worry about trying to protect his mother or himself. She hated the world. Every fucking bit of it. Was _this_ why she fought in a war and then spent the past twenty years supporting the regime that was built from the ashes? Children should never have to fight.

"Go upstairs to your room, Ollie, and lock the door."

He was reluctant to leave his mother alone in the kitchen. Just as she was about to lose her patience and yell at him to go, the back door opened. There wasn't time to run. Spinning back around, she had half a dozen curses ready on her tongue.

"Papa!"

None of them were needed. Antonin stumbled into the room, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Oliver, completely ignoring his mother's earlier demand, rushed towards his father to keep him from tumbling to the ground. The sharp scent of blood hung in the air. After so many years in her chosen profession, Hermione could always smell it before she saw it.

"Help him to the chair, Ollie."

She closed the door behind her husband after she swept the immediate area with her eyes for any intruders or someone else who might wish to harm them. Satisfied when she saw nothing out there, she reapplied the wards he had to tear down to enter. Only when she knew that no one was coming in behind him did she allow herself to take a closer look at her husband.

He was a stubborn fool who wasn't easily killed. Or at least that's what she'd told him more than a few times over the twenty years they shared a house when he would come home injured. Sometimes he didn't know when to back down from a fight. His pride would be his downfall one day if he wasn't more careful. Without asking him for permission, Hermione started removing his bloody shirt to see what sorts of wounds he had. The tremors in his hands told her that he'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse at least once, though probably at least two or three times based on the severity.

"It's just a few cuts and bruises. I'm _fine_."

"Let me be the judge of that. Ollie, go upstairs and get the box of healing potions out of the cupboard."

Oliver didn't need to be told twice. His concern for his father was clear. Only moments after being asked, he was rushing out of the kitchen towards the stairs. Hermione waited until she knew he was out of earshot to speak.

"Are you telling me the truth, Antonin? I can tell you've been Crucioed. Don't even try to deny it. What else?"

"Just a few cuts and bruises, I swear."

"Where did all of this blood come from?"

He dropped his eyes to the floor to stare at the heap of fabric she'd dropped.

"It's not all mine."

She wanted to demand more answers from him, but Oliver ran into the room with the potions. Their son didn't need to know the details of what he had been up to. As much as they could, they wanted to shield him from the nasty truth about their world. He was already frightened enough. Adding more worries to the child just felt cruel.

"Ollie, you should be in bed. It's late."

"I was worried about you, Papa."

Antonin smiled at his son and gently ruffled his hair. Both of them calmed ever so slightly at the interaction.

"I'm home now and I'm fine. Your mum's going to take care of me. Go on up to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

The fact that he wanted to argue about staying downstairs was further proof that he belonged to them. Everyone in the Dolohov family was too stubborn for their own good. It took one more demand from his father before he went back up to his room. They waited until they heard the door to his bedroom shut before speaking again.  
"What do you mean it's not all your blood? Whose is it?"

"Rabastan's mostly. Probably a little bit of Marcus Flint's too."

"Did you _kill_ them?"

He laughed and immediately thought better of his decision. Grabbing his side, she knew without checking that he had at least one broken rib. Whatever he'd been involved in that day since he ran out of the house clearly was very _interesting_.

"No, they're both still alive. Rabastan probably wishes he wasn't though."

She pushed a healing potion and a bottle of Skele-Gro into his hands. Reluctantly, he swallowed both potions. As soon as they started to take effect, she helped him up the stairs to their bedroom. Healing bones was an exhausting and painful process. The rest of his explanation could wait until he had some rest. Now that he was home, she felt confident that she could finally get some sleep too.


	210. July 28th

**_Author's Note : Yes, Draco is coming back. Yes, Augie will be making an appearance as well. Also, yes, Antonin will continue to stick around - he's not only a main character but he's kind of her husband. Not just some random dude. Lol! Please keep in mind that there are 157 chapters plus an epilogue left in this story - still lots more story to come! ;)_**

* * *

July 28th

In order to keep her too-stubborn husband from getting out of bed before his injuries were fully healed, Hermione forced a heavy dose of sleeping potion down his throat despite his protests and assurances that his injuries "were not _that_ bad". Of course she didn't believe him. She had enough experience to recognize he was trying to shield her from the worst of the truth. It would've been frightfully frustrating if it wasn't also thoughtful and kind.

He slept over twenty-four hours, completely missing Friday except for the first few hours of the morning before he stumbled into his home. It was still early Saturday morning, the sun was only just rising, when he began to stir from his medicated sleep. Because her mind had been running over all of the possibilities of what happened to him when he was outside in the scariness of the world, she hadn't had much restful sleep. She was somewhat tempted to take a sleeping potion herself, but didn't follow through with the plan when she thought about how unwise it would be to leave Oliver unprotected. Whatever Antonin was involved in, it was bad. She couldn't be certain until he told her the details if they were in even more danger than before.

Hermione didn't just spend the hours waiting for her husband to recover and imagining all of the worst-case scenarios. When her exhausted body would force her into unconsciousness for even just a few minutes or an hour at a time, she was bombarded with images of her past slipping through the cracks of the memory charms. They weren't gone entirely. Babajide Akingbage claimed there were still several that he needed to unravel before he would confidently proclaim her 'memory charm-free'. She couldn't even imagine what memories she might have been blocking, what horrific deeds and acts she'd committed over the years that she couldn't remember.

There was nothing about herself that she saw in those slips of memory that she liked. So many terrible choices had been made over the previous twenty years. Someone looking at her from the outside, especially one who knew her before the war ended, might assume that she only performed those awful acts or said those terrible words because she was brainwashed into believing in the regime. _Forced_ to follow the Dark Lord. How wrong they would be! As more and more became clear, she knew exactly why she'd done what she did for so long. It was entirely her choice.

Her Granny Granger once told her that she had a 'bit of Darkness' in her when she was just a child. Even before she knew that she was a witch or that those beings even existed, Hermione felt different. When she entered Hogwarts and began to learn magic amongst all of the noble, foolish Gryffindors, she thought maybe she was different from them because of the accident of her birth. Muggle-borns weren't as common as everyone was led to believe. There were only three in her entire year and it was long-rumored that Dean Thomas was the son of a wizard who disappeared during the first war. Some were even convinced he was the product of a secret, scandalous affair Kingsley Shacklebolt had with a Muggle in his younger years. Their eyes were apparently similar. Halfbloods were common enough. Of course, anyone who couldn't prove their Pureblood magical lineage back at least ten generations was lumped into the largest group of witches and wizards. There was no shame in being a Halfblood, not really. Only the elitists in the 'very best' of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families looked down on the Halfbloods. Even Professor Albus Dumbledore was considered a Halfblood thanks to his Muggle-born mother and he'd certainly done all right for himself up until the moment he was murdered. There certainly were plenty of people who didn't dare claim he was somehow less of a wizard because he didn't have so-called 'pure' blood.

So it truly was an anomaly when someone was born with magic in a family where seemingly none existed before. Sure, there were explanations of squib ancestors that made some sense. Perhaps Petunia Dursley was more right than they all realized when she called her sister Lily a freak. Not for being a witch. No, there were plenty of magical folk all over the world. But for having magic when no one else in her family did. Years of genealogical research when Hermione was able to spare the time hadn't yielded any reasonable explanation of why she was able to perform spells. She was a freak. The longer she lived in the magical world, the more she understood why so many were suspicious and fearful of her kind. She didn't make any bit of sense at all.

But the darkness that Granny Granger used to talk about couldn't be denied. She could always feel it writhing around just under her skin. How many times had she stopped herself when she was younger from hurting someone that hurt or threatened her? And worse than simple defense, how many times had she felt the desire to hurt someone for no other reason than she simply desired to hurt them? In school she took pleasure in seeing Marietta Edgecombe's ruined face. She _knew_ what she was doing when she lured Umbridge out into the Forbidden Forest. Part of her hoped desperately that the witch would be dragged into the underbrush by the herd of centaurs. It wasn't a surprise to learn later what they did to captured human women. She knew that before she ever entered the forest. And trapping Rita Skeeter into the jar in her animagus form? That was _mild_ compared to what she actually wanted to do to the evil woman.

Becoming a Death Eater gave her an outlet to the darkness within her that she could no longer deny. If it helped her enemies, her former _friends_ , to believe that she'd been brainwashed, so be it. She knew the truth. That was all that mattered. With each recovered memory, each fragment, Hermione was able to piece together parts of her past that she'd not been aware of for at least the past year or more. It wasn't always good.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Antonin's voice was groggy, heavy. Thankful for a reason to stop thinking entirely about herself, Hermione rolled over on to her side to look at her husband. His color was better than it was when he stumbled into the kitchen covered in blood. When he breathed, she no longer could hear him struggle with pain. More than just ribs were damaged inside him when he ran off to do whatever it was he did. She was glad that he was just as stubborn as she. It made killing him that much harder. Glad to see him looking better, she surprised him by kissing him on the lips.

"It's Saturday morning."

Realizing how many hours were wasted, Antonin groaned. Not even the surprising bit of affection from his wife softened the blow. He was not a man who liked to lounge around in bed. Only on very special circumstances when he was completely naked and a warm witch was next to him. Any other time he considered it a waste. When he tried to sit up, Hermione was quick to gently push him back down.

"You're not getting out of this bed until I think you are fully healed _and_ you tell me everything I want to know."

He groaned a second time, much louder than the first. His reluctance to tell her what she wanted to know was evident. _Why_ did he not want to explain what was happening outside the protective wards of their home? Was he afraid that the more she knew, the more likely she was to want to run away again? She couldn't understand the man.

" _Fine_. What do you want to know?"

"First, I want to know where the bloody hell you went and how you ended up stumbling back home covered in blood?"

Before he would tell her, Antonin took another deep breath to calm himself. She knew his mannerisms well enough to know that he was preparing himself before he had to tell her something she wouldn't like. Whatever she learned, she wasn't going to be happy about it.

"I confronted Rabastan. Demanded to know where his brother has been hiding."

It was Hermione's turn to groan. _That_ couldn't have been a very comfortable visit. With the succession of the Dark Lord still in question, she didn't understand why her husband would've been so foolish as to actually approach a known enemy working against him. Or, maybe the succession _had_ been decided? She didn't know living inside the protective cocoon Antonin created for her and telling her _nothing_.

"Took me most of the night to even find him. He wasn't at his manor. I know his wife was terrified when she saw me at the front door, but she refused to tell me where he went. I eventually found him at Marcus Flint's house."

"What did Rabastan say when you asked about Rodolphus?"

"He just laughed at me. Said that he didn't know what I was talking about. His brother was probably dead. Then he said…"

Antonin's mouth closed, abruptly cutting off the rest of his sentence. Hermione rolled her eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was trying to shield her from something nasty that Rabastan said. She didn't understand why he would even bother. Years of sharing an office, and often a bed, with the horrible man exposed her to the very worst facets of his personality. She wasn't going to be surprised or even offended by whatever he said.

"What did he say? _Tell_ me."

"He accused me of being as crazy as my wife."

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried not to let the words hurt her feelings. Even terrifying Death Eaters who had people ripped from their homes in the middle of the night to be dragged down to the lowest level of the Ministry to await torture could still feel pain. It was embarrassing that so many people in their society knew, or at least suspected up until the day of the Dark Lord's funeral, that she was playing with less than a full Quidditch pitch. After learning that Rodolphus had been manipulating her mind for _years_ , she wondered how much of the insanity she knew she experienced was a direct result of his meddling or just simply who she was? It was a question that she wasn't entirely sure she would ever want to know the answer to.

"And I imagine that is when the curses began flying?"

"Actually… it was a bit more physical than that at first."

The image of her proud husband resorting to the violence of Muggle street brawling made her laugh. Perhaps it was the wrong reaction to have in such a moment, but she couldn't fight back the giggles that exploded out of her mouth. She knew that Antonin was going to be all right. In his stupidity, he'd been able to get away quickly enough that he wasn't going to suffer any long-lasting effects. Seemingly offended at first, it didn't take long before the wizard was laughing right along with his wife.

"Then Flint tried to come to his hero's aid and it just… well, the tide changed somewhat when it was two against one."

She leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"You stubborn, ridiculous man. It's a wonder they didn't knock all of the sense out of your head."

They were quiet for a few moments.

"Antonin, I need you to tell me what's happening outside." He started to interrupt. " _No_ , stop trying to protect me. I can't bear another minute being stuck in here with no information."

"Part of why I haven't told you anything is because there isn't much to say. We've just had meetings and no one has made a move yet. It'll happen though. That's why I don't want you or Ollie outside of the wards. Not until we can see for certain who are our enemies."

It was frustrating that he didn't have any more information than that to give. At least Hermione could be somewhat content with the fact that he was every bit as annoyed and frustrated as she.


	211. July 29th

July 29th

Seemingly in the exact moment that Antonin climbed out of the bed he'd been recuperating in, he made some excuse to go back out into the dangerous world. Hermione was still worried about him, worried about their family, worried about _herself_. He hadn't been able to shed much light on what was happening. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying, and he _wasn't_ lying. Nothing was happening yet. The remainders of the deadly Death Eater Inner Circle were still floundering around in the absence of their master unsure what step to take next.

Antonin could've easily been the one to make the first step, to openly declare himself the Dark Lord's replacement. It would've been bloody and many would've been killed or captured, but at least they would've started to make progress with moving on from the 'tragedy' that was the loss of their deranged master. The very fact that he hadn't yet declared himself the Dark Lord was just further proof that he meant what he said that day they sat on their sofa in the lounge talking about the future. He had no desire to be the leader. Only his legitimate fears about the safety of his family kept him entertaining the insane idea.

Hermione wished that she was out there in the world, running away from the life she no longer wanted to be a part of. The desire to run had never left her heart. There simply had not been a good enough opportunity or time to do it yet. Learning that Rodolphus had been mucking about in her mind for years changed the game. She couldn't afford to run until she knew for certain that she wouldn't be dragged back into the nasty game the next time her path crossed the animagus'. Because she _knew_ eventually it would. He would make certain of it. Until she had confirmation from the memory charms expert she had come to respect and admire, she wasn't going anywhere yet.

Being stuck in her home gave her ample time to think. Each morning she woke up from dreams flooded with repressed and blocked memories that for some reason or another, Rodolphus thought it important to shield her from. Most of them made very little sense. Meetings in dark alleys, drinks in the Leaky Cauldron, once a short trip across the Channel. She didn't know what any of it meant because she couldn't figure out the significance. _Why_ was he blocking such inane events? Usually she would get frustrated and just give up thinking about it until she was calmer. All dwelling on it did was drive her even crazier than she already was and something told her that she didn't need any help with that.

Her biggest fear was that Rodolphus turned her into some sort of walking weapon that he could use at his convenience. She'd seen enough Muggle movies when she was a child about brainwashing and sleeper agents to fear that that was exactly what had been done to her. What was she capable of doing? She knew that what she'd committed of her own free will that she never forgot was bad enough. Was it possible that Rodolphus trained her to do much worse? The possibilities were endless and few of them were positive. Somehow she doubted that the wizard took the opportunity to mess with her mind so thoroughly just to turn her into a better gardener or a primary school teacher. There was nothing to gain for him unless it was _bad_.

She considered what Draco told her the night she pounded on the door his flat until he let her in. He'd been frustrated with her. What _had_ she been thinking by going to him in the middle of the night and demanding that he take her right to the man that was responsible for her memory blocks? The truth of the matter was that she wasn't thinking at all. She was moving on pure adrenaline. Even if the Sorting Hat wanted to initially put her in Ravenclaw, she was placed in Gryffindor for a reason. In the heat of the moment, she often pushed aside logical thinking and analysis to run ahead into danger without much thought. Time and time again she'd done it, first in school and then after in the Dark Lord's forces. If she wanted to stay alive long enough to run off to her new life, she had to be more careful.

Antonin was still gone from their home when there was a distinctive knock on the back door just after sunset. She was given permission to adjust the wards protecting their home for one reason and only that one reason. Checking out the window that the two men standing just inside the shadows were the two she was allowed to grant entrance to, Hermione removed the wards only from the back door. There was a legitimate fear that someone might be watching their home and waiting for the moment when the two wizards arrived to make their attack upon the house. Her heart pounded in her chest up until the very moment she was able to close the door behind them and reapply the enchantments.

"Is my brother up and moving around again?"

Alain kissed Hermione's cheek with a wink as he'd done every single time they'd made a visit. Knowing that she wasn't entirely alone any longer put her at ease. While she could never be entirely certain where she stood personally with her brother-in-law, she knew that if it came down to it, she would have his magic to protect her son. The wizard was crazy about his nephew. More than once while they laid upstairs in their bed, the Dolohovs wondered aloud if they shouldn't send their son away with his uncle to Africa just until their world settled a bit. Each time they decided that that was a drastic option that they weren't ready for, but it helped to know they could.

"Yes, you know as well as I do how stubborn he is. He only let me keep him in bed for a single day."

Mr. Akingbade waited patiently for their conversation to conclude before he made the suggestion that they retreat upstairs for their session. There was still a great deal that he wanted to check in her mind before he declared her free from all of the charms. Even though it made her equally nervous, Hermione was anxious to have all traces of Rodolphus' magic out of her mind. Just the thought of knowing that he could've implanted something like a switch inside of her head was enough to encourage her to keep going with whatever other indignities awaited in their session.

"You have made remarkable progress, Hermione. I must confess that I wasn't so sure that we would be able to clear your mind so rapidly once I saw how intricate the network of spells was."

She didn't like hearing that he had his doubts about unraveling all of the lies inside of her head, but she could appreciate the man for not sugarcoating the ugly truth. Based on his observations and the age of some of her blocked memories, this had been a years-long endeavor by Rodolphus. It could have easily taken just as long, if not longer, to undo the damage he'd done. Once again she was thankful for the wizard her husband found to help. If it had been left up to her, Hermione was afraid that she might have gone the rest of her miserable life still confused and unsure of what was wrong with her.

"Your determination made all of the difference. Without your commitment and your desire, I wouldn't have been able to accomplish as much."

"Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Akingbade. I appreciate you helping me to get my mind back under my own control."

"It was my pleasure. I've also learned quite a bit from this experience that I'm sure I will be able to use to assist others in similar situations. Now, if you would please just relax your mind. I'm going to attempt to remove the remainder of the spells."

No blocked memories came rushing forth at his benevolent intrusion. Not even when she felt the familiar tugging at her mind. Much softer than previously when he was working to remove a specific block, she could feel a trickling in her mind, like a babbling brook tripping over stones. It was almost peaceful. The thoughts and memories in her mind were moving around as they were intended without the interference of the damned spells. Though the difference was subtle, she could tell it existed. When she felt Mr. Akingbade's gentle presence slip from her head, she almost lamented the loss.

"I believe I have everything taken care of now."

"You _believe_?"

"Yes, I cannot say for certain until your mind has had a few days to rest. I will want to check it again."

Somehow she thought she would feel much different than she did. Like it would instantly make her into another person complete with thoughts and feelings that didn't exist before. Through the entire process she had been holding out hope that she might feel more like the person she used to be when it was over. But, to her disappointment, it was evident that even without the spells removed from her mind, she was a completely different person than she had been before she was thrown into her broom cupboard.

"You must remember to be patient with yourself, Hermione. What you have been subjected to all of these years was inhumane and cruel. It may take some time before you start to feel exactly like yourself again, and it is also possible that you won't ever feel that way again."

She almost asked him how he could understand what she was thinking, but stopped herself. Of course he would know. Over the course of their sessions, he'd been in her mind more thoroughly than any other person ever had been before. Except maybe for Rodolphus. He might even know her better than she knew herself after his examinations and prodding. It was for that exact reason that she'd been so reluctant to have anyone test her mind before.

"I was able to test the third potion vial you gave me."

In all of the excitement of her sessions and what was happening in her life and outside her home, she'd almost forgotten that he'd been testing her potions. Once he gave her the assurance that Antonin's potions were simply there to help her, she'd tried to push away reminders of the illicit potion she took on her own to keep her numb to her life.

"And was there something unusual about it?"

"Like I've told you before, Hermione, I'm an old man. I've been fortunate to have many life experiences that most haven't. That includes being familiar with a number of potions that perhaps I shouldn't have been."

It wasn't a surprise that the former Supreme Mugwump was all but admitting to taking recreational potions before. Everyone had a past. Most, in Hermione's experience, dabbled at least a little in the illegal potions at some point.

"Your potion was a standard one that I'm familiar with, but I did notice some additional components to it that shouldn't have been there. With your brother-in-law's assistance, we were able to define what it was."

Alain could've qualified for his Potions Mastery if he ever stayed long enough in one country to try. It was something of a passion of his to construct and deconstruct potions. Like puzzles. Certainly he had more of a natural flair for it than his sister-in-law. If it wasn't written out in a book, she struggled. That was an embarrassing lesson she learned in Professor Slughorn's advanced potions class

"The vial contained traces of a highly addictive rage potion, Hermione. And a… _ahem_ , mild lust potion. One that can cause insanity with long-term use."

She wasn't surprised to learn that the potion had been adulterated. Maybe she always suspected that it had. To know it was a rage inducing potion made even more sense. It would certainly explain her increased violence over the years and how she used to lose her temper so easily and thoroughly when she took them. It also explained her increased sexual appetites. Though she'd never been one of those prudish women who blushed at the mere mention of the sexual act, she used to be much more reserved. Since she stopped taking the potions, she'd been much more mellow than she could remember being for _years_. It also made sense that Rabastan would want her to keep drinking them if it led to eventual insanity. When she stopped to think about it, she couldn't recall Rabastan ever drinking from the same vial she did. It all made perfect sense. The only question that remained was _why_?


	212. July 30th

July 30th

There was a change in the air. Even Hermione could sense it from inside the safety of the wards placed around her home. _Something_ was finally happening. She hoped that the uneasiness she felt swirling in her gut meant they were finally on the verge of the fight that was sure to come. Perhaps it was wrong to wish for chaos, but she was growing weary of the stagnation and uncertainty.

Antonin bared all of his secrets to her once she begged him. Appealing to her heightened risk of insanity might have been the encouragement he needed. Or maybe it was because she was finally honest with him about everything she knew about Rodolphus. Admitting that she'd seen him multiple times while she was on the run was difficult, especially considering she had to keep her involvement with the Resistance under wraps. She wasn't sure how he would feel about her activities. That had been an enemy they both fought against for twenty years. Both of the Dolohovs almost lost their very lives to them at least once. But, what she was able to tell him proved that she was trying to be honest, trying to move past what had been done to her.

Unfortunately for her frazzled nerves, there really wasn't that much to tell. Antonin insisted that everyone was seemingly waiting around for someone else to make the first move for power. The splinters of the Inner Circle were able to come together long enough to agree on some very important issues before they descended into the inevitable maelstrom of violence that was on its way. While it remained to be seen if all agreements would be honored when the curses really started to fly, the concessions were encouraging. Hermione only hoped they meant them.

First and foremost, Hogwarts would be a neutral site. All evidence of the Dark Lord's presence in the castle beyond his ghastly mausoleum on the grounds was to be removed. Headmaster Temeritus Mulciber had been insistent on the fact that violence had no place in their beloved school, especially not when children were present. Not for the first time over the years since the grizzled Death Eater was named Headmaster, Hermione was thankful for his appointment. He had his rough edges, his past, just like all of them, but he was a fine Headmaster and professor. His priority had always been to the students he was in charge of before anyone else, even the Dark Lord at times to his detriment.

As children had no business being caught up in a violent war, their school should never again become a battleground. Students should be able to continue their education without fear, regardless of the activities of their parents were up to. No one wanted to see Hogwarts in ruins again. Not after the last war. Thanks to the Dark Lord's insistence that his loyal followers breed new soldiers for his regime, almost every Death Eater was a parent. And if they weren't, they could understand the value of leaving the castle alone. Hermione had her reservations about sending Oliver back to school in September, but that was a problem they could tackle later. For all she knew, they'd all be dead before the end of the summer holidays.

The Ministry of Magic was in a state of confusion. Though they still technically had a Minister in Pius Thicknesse, he was never much of a leader. His talents lay in being nothing more than a useful puppet. Critical thinking and decision-making on his own were a virtual impossibility. He was expected to be ousted from office sooner rather than later. If he was smart, he would run before the fighting began. Hermione didn't care what happened to anyone in the Ministry. Except maybe for Angelina Johnson. They'd never been enemies and she truly was a kind woman, even if Hermione saw that attribute as being something of a weakness in their current world. The whole building could burn to the ground for all Hermione gave a damn. She would never be returning.

Antonin believed that his enemies assumed he would make the first move to grab power. As the most logical successor to their master, it made the most sense that he would want to solidify his position as soon as possible. His reluctance to become the next Dark Lord was the reason why he hadn't yet tried. He might have claimed that he was waiting to throw the enemies off and force them out into the open, but she knew better. If there was _any_ way he could make it through what was coming without being pressed into the service as the new head of the regime, he would be open to it. But so far, there were no options that either one of them could see making themselves available. He would become the Dark Lord or die in the attempt.

Following his reckless desire for revenge, he'd made quite the spectacle of himself. No doubt Rodolphus was made aware that Antonin was searching for him, _demanding_ satisfaction. The elder Lestrange was intelligent enough to put the pieces together. Even if he didn't think it was possible that Antonin could've uncovered the full scope of his treachery, it was enough. He would be causing waves soon. Now that the Dark Lord was dead, he could even come out of hiding. Maybe that was why Hermione felt so unsettled. She felt nervous that she would be used again to fulfill the wizard's nefarious plans. Mr. Akingbade might have assured her that he removed all of the memory charms, but even an expert made mistakes.

She pushed aside the fears she was dwelling on when Antonin rolled over in bed to kiss her good morning. Their marriage was different in so many ways since she returned. How much of it was because she no longer drank the illegal potions that consumed her existence for so long? It was possible they would never know. When he showed he wasn't in the mood to escalate his advances, she settled down in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, simply enjoyed being in the moment. Hermione couldn't imagine them doing something so simple and _normal_ in the previous life they shared.

"I think we need to prepare ourselves for the very real possibility that we might be forced from our home."

Hermione could've cursed her husband for ruining the pleasant mood. Even if she knew he was right. The fact that they'd been able to remain safely in their own home was a bit of a miracle. Especially considering they were right in the middle of the village. Unless he took power immediately, they were a vulnerable target.

"Your beaded bag has always impressed me."

It was the truth. The bag was how he could gauge whether or not his wife was planning on running. Before she ran, he used to check it to satisfy his own curiosity. When she returned, she kept it empty to calm his fears that she wouldn't be remaining long.

"Would you make me one? And Ollie too?"

There was no reason to deny the request. It made sense. If they were forced from their home, they would be foolish to be unprepared. She sat up in bed to begin working on his request. For days and weeks she'd felt useless. Having a purpose again was energizing.

Twenty additional years of experience wielding magic helped Hermione create two more simple, small leather bags quickly and efficiently. By mid-afternoon, the three bags were all enchanted and ready to be filled. Starting first with healing potions and the damned potions that Antonin insisted she take, she began to fill all three bags with the necessities. Dividing the potions, as well as a store of food and both wizarding and Muggle currency, amongst all three bags made the most sense. If they were separated or one of the bags was stolen, they would still have much of what they needed to survive.

She tried to make the filling of Oliver's bag as non-traumatic an experience as she could. When she explained the purpose of the small bag, his brown eyes widened in fear. What he must have been expecting to happen was anyone's guess because he wasn't talking. Attempting to remain as upbeat as possible, she left him alone with the task of packing whatever clothes and books he thought he might need if they were to go on holiday. The boy was far from stupid. He understood without her saying so explicitly that they had to be ready in case they had to run.

"Well, I think I've sufficiently managed to terrify our child."

Antonin looked up from the robes he was folding to smile when she entered the room and closed the door behind her. The door to their large shared cupboard was open, clothing separated in piles on the floor. Ordinarily he was a fastidious enough man that he wouldn't allow the clutter, but this was special. When she realized the discarded clothing consisted almost entirely of the dark, heavy robes they wore as Death Eaters, she almost laughed. Maybe they could make a large bonfire with the rubbish when they were done.

"Ollie'll be all right. Mostly I think he's worried about you."

His statement startled his wife.

"Me? Why?"

"Because he's got his father's brains…"

"His _mother's_."

It was an old argument they liked to have that usually ended in them laughing and declaring with excellent genes like his, Oliver would do well in life. Maybe they couldn't offer him much of any value, but they could at least pass on their intelligence. Antonin smiled before continuing.

"… he's very smart. He knows we could be in danger."

Leaning against the doorframe of the cupboard, she sighed. Wasn't it a parent's job to protect their child from the dangerous world? She wasn't a very good mum, but even she knew that much. If her own parents knew _half_ of what she was forced to encounter as a child of Oliver's age, she had no doubt that they would've snapped her wand in half and refused to let her return to Hogwarts. That was why she didn't tell them much of anything. Even as an adult and the memories of her interactions with them since returning to the country trickled through the holes left by the charms in her head, she knew that she shielded them from every horrible fact she could.

"I think he's worried that you'll…"

"Run away again?"

Antonin dropped the clothing he was holding to the carpet. Two steps in her direction and he was able to place his hands on the outside of her upper arms and kiss her. Nothing else needed to be said about the subject. He was confirming that she was right even without admitting it aloud. In order to lighten the mood, he pulled her nicest set of Ministry robes down and pushed them into her arms.

"You might want to pack those. Never know when you'll need them next."

His cheeky wink made her laugh. The tension was broken. There had always been a great deal of laughter in their home. They were happy _sometimes_. She wadded the hateful garment into a ball and threw it back at her chuckling husband.

"Let's burn them with our Death Eater robes."

He smiled, but the moment turned serious. Maybe he was thinking along the same lines she was. They could conceivably be standing in their home for one of the last times. If the power struggle went south, they could be dead or forced into exile.

"I would miss our home very much."

She didn't need to say anything in response. Only closed the small distance between them to kiss her husband again. It was, after all, just a place. Their future wasn't confined by four walls and a roof. Dropping the hated robes to mingle with the others, they put all of their bittersweet emotions into the moment. If they were going to have to leave, at least they would have warm memories to carry with them.


	213. July 31st

July 31st

Hermione sat at the table in the kitchen waiting for her husband to return home with a churning in her gut. Intuition told her to worry. Antonin left the protection of their home before the sun even rose that morning. An entire day and much of the night had come and gone with no word, no indication if he was alive or dead. It was clear that she would have to leave again the first real chance she had. Sitting around waiting to hear bad news was no way to live.

But, she had responsibilities she never considered before. Looking across the table at her son reading another one of his assigned books for the summer, she knew that she couldn't leave him again. Not on his own. Antonin was by far the better parent. That wasn't even up for debate. Anyone with half a brain cell could tell that. Maybe it was because unlike her, he desperately _wanted_ to have children. She'd only done it because she was ordered by her master. Regardless of how she ended up with her son, they had to prepare themselves for the very real possibility that all they had was each other. No longer under the constant effects of the rage-inducing potion combined with the absence of Rodolphus' memory charms and control, Hermione felt more capable of caring for her son if the need arose. She would be better than nothing if she was the only parent he had left.

She tried to push that fear out of her head. It was doing nothing but making her more nervous and anxious. Oliver would be able to pick up on that. For his sake, she had to remain calm, had to stop dwelling on the worst possibilities. Her gut had led her astray before. It wasn't an exact method of divination. Not that one of those existed, of course. An entire branch of rubbish magic to be sure.

Just minutes before the sun went down Hermione heard a loud bark coming from the back garden. Startling her out of her thoughts, she couldn't move. Was it just her imagination or something much worse? Using any excuse to put his homework aside, Oliver jumped up from the table to look out the kitchen window. He moved too quickly for his mother to stop him.

"Mum, there's a big dog outside."

The barking resumed. Loud and insistent, she didn't even need to get up to know who it belonged to. In the past, she knew that that was a signal that her presence was _requested_. Perhaps that was one way in which he controlled her? Forced her to rush to him every time he barked? _No_ , she decided. She couldn't imagine he would stoop to such embarrassing lows. Not even for her. When the sound grew louder and threatened to continue, she knew that she wouldn't be able to continue ignoring it. Rodolphus had always been insistent when he desired something.

"Take your book upstairs, Ollie. Go to your room and _stay_ there."

Her son opened his mouth to argue, but one firm look from his mother made him shut it again. Experience taught him to take her seriously. She waited until she was certain she heard the click of his door shutting upstairs before she planned her next move. Rodolphus wouldn't go away until she spoke to him. Her recovered memories of him involved a number of moments where he proved that he was impatient and expected to be obeyed at every turn. Though no longer under the pull of his command, it felt strange to stand in her kitchen and _not_ answer his call.

Antonin hadn't been joking when he made the remark that he would throw her out to the wolves if she put _his_ son in danger again. That was no idle threat. As much as she might have once longed for an opportunity to anger him to the point that he wanted nothing to do with her, she knew that her feelings were different. Though she wanted far away from their world, the thought of going out there alone again wasn't nearly as appealing as it used to be. She was growing weary of her contradictory mind and thoughts. The hope that that infuriating aspect of her personality would be cured once the memory spells were removed from her mind was dashed. Maybe she would always be indecisive.

The barking stopped abruptly. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a terrifying one. Rodolphus wasn't known for being a forgiving man. Especially not when he was ignored. Hoping that he'd gone away, she jumped when the pounding on the back door began. She wasn't easily frightened. Nor was she weak. But the idea of facing down Rodolphus on her own filled her with a sense of dread that she couldn't shake. What if he wasn't by himself? This could be the beginning of the power struggle they were waiting for. She no longer had any doubts that the Lestrange brothers were working together towards the same purpose. Their faction could be making their move against Antonin by first taking out his family. Rabastan said it himself that she still had a great deal of influence whether she realized it or not. Maybe they were afraid of what she was capable of.

"I know you're in there, Hermione. Open up."

Rodolphus didn't sound angry. Perhaps slightly annoyed, but not angry. Once upon a time she thought she knew how to handle him when he was in a similar mood. Little did she know that he was always in control even when it didn't seem like it. Hearing his voice again after discovering what he'd done to her filled her with more dread than any other emotion. She wished Antonin was home. They made a good team. Being alone against a formidable enemy was never desirable.

She wished that she wasn't filled with the blackness that permeated every cell of her body. When she was younger, still the idealistic, naïve child who had no doubts that the Light would win the war, she was able to summon up the purest of magic to cast a patronus. A happy, carefree otter, if she remembered correctly. So many years had passed since she last saw it. The loss of all hope when Harry died initially robbed her of the required happiness to cast the tricky charm. And then when she became a Death Eater, pledged her life to the service of the Dark Lord, she might have felt joy, but she still wasn't able to cast the silvery otter. None of the Death Eaters, to her knowledge, were capable. Maybe one or two of the ones that hadn't allowed the Darkness to consume them. She wasn't certain. All she knew was that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't do it herself. In the safety of her kitchen, she tried again. If she could somehow get a message to Antonin… it was useless. Not even silvery mist came out of the end of her wand when she tried.

"What do you want, Rodolphus?"

Their voices weren't as clear speaking through the thick wood of the door, but she didn't trust the wizard not to harm her if she opened it. Protective wards could only hold so far. She remembered Antonin strengthening their doors with powerful magic in the wood itself many times over the years they lived together. The wards were stronger with the doors shut.

"Just to talk. Open the door, love."

"No. Go away."

"You should know that I didn't come alone."

She already suspected as much. Where was Antonin? What could he be off doing that was so important that he couldn't come home? He'd already promised her that their family was his number one priority. If that was true, why wasn't he there with her? She was capable of fighting if it came down to it, but she knew she was out of practice. Not just because she ran away for a year. Years in the Ministry where she didn't have to capture her victims made her weak, rusty. She didn't trust her abilities like she once did. And certainly not against a man who once was one of her teachers.

"Antonin's wards are effective, but he's not infallible. We can rip them down if necessary. But, I'd much rather we keep it civil, wouldn't you agree? There's no reason to scare your son."

The threat was unmistakable. He might not have come right out and declared what he would do to Oliver if she didn't prove willing to comply with his demands, but she knew. It wasn't the first time he held the safety of her child over her head. Likely, it wouldn't be the last either.

"Step outside this door and I give you my word as a Lestrange that no harm will come to little Ollie. I just want to talk."

"We're already talking."

"One minute, Hermione. I'll give you one minute before we start forcing our way inside."

His second threat was also impossible to miss. If she didn't comply, he would force his way inside and hurt her son. Or at the very least use him as leverage. As shit of a mum as she was, even she couldn't stand by and just watch Oliver be harmed. Antonin would have to forgive her for opening the door. Rodolphus didn't make threats that he didn't follow through on.

Gathering her strength, she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart before she opened the door. Rodolphus could smell fear and weakness. With nothing but a magical barrier between her and the wizard that manipulated her for years, Hermione felt powerless and afraid. What if he was able to curse her mind again? She'd been unable to stop him before. His broad smile didn't put her at ease whatsoever. Stepping quickly outside the back door, she rushed to renew the wards. She didn't want Oliver to be left completely undefended if something bad were to happen.

A quick survey of the back garden didn't reveal any of his companions. Either he'd been lying about not being alone or they were being careful to remain out of sight. Perhaps they weren't yet open enemies of her husband. Keeping their identities under wraps until the very last second would be the smarter move. She wished she knew who was out there so she could prepare herself for the fighting that was sure to come. Rodolphus didn't come just to talk to her. How addled did he think her brain was after all of his manipulations?

"I understand that you wished to see me. That you had some questions, was it?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, Rodolphus. Afraid you've wasted a trip."

"A little owl told me that you were very angry with me. Something about that pretty little head of yours?"

He tapped the top of her head with his finger. The sickening feeling in her gut increased. Only one person knew that she was angry with Rodolphus, that she wanted to _confront_ him about what he'd done to her. She'd confided only in … _Draco_. She fought the urge to laugh. Why would she have ever imagined for even a second that she could trust the wizard? Hadn't he proven that he hated her for almost thirty years? All of their tumbles in bed meant nothing. Even she'd gone to bed with people she loathed and didn't trust. No doubt Draco sought his uncle out to tell him everything.

"I'm very curious to know what it is you _think_ I've done to you."

There was no opportunity to talk. Shouts of curses tore through the quiet night air. Light from spells illuminated the back garden. Everything happened so quickly that she couldn't even focus on who else might be out there with her, who might be on her side and who might be there to kill. It was evident almost immediately that one side was woefully outnumbered. A figure ran past her at full speed straight through the wards into her kitchen. She couldn't tell who it was. Her first instinct was to run inside, to protect her child. Unable to move even a single step forward, she was stopped by an arm wrapped tightly around her waist. The blast of a curse knocked Rodolphus off his feet, but she and her unexpected protector knew it wouldn't keep him down long.

"I've got you, Hermione. Let's get somewhere safe."

Mr. Akingbade's heavily accented voice calmed her down enough to keep her from panicking at the abrupt sensation of being Apparated away from her home.


	214. August 1st

**Author's Note : Sorry to do this in the AN, but remember, if you don't login, I can't answer your questions. Also thought there might be some others who wondered the same.**

 _ **AriannaKoz** : Death Eaters can't produce patronuses, Hermione included. She allowed the darkness to overtake her and remember, she didn't want to be a mother. Oliver isn't necessarily a joy to her. If that changes in the future remains to be seen. (Perhaps that is a truth that makes some people uncomfortable, but not everyone who has children is excited by that fact... nor honestly, do they even necessarily love their children. How else can you explain the nasty, awful people who abuse and murder their own children?) Severus Snape was the exception to the rule of Death Eaters being unable to cast patronuses. It's also an extremely difficult spell. There's a reason why the OWLs moderators were so impressed that Harry could produce one. Oliver might have intelligent parents, but he's still not even a second year. It'll take him time to be strong enough to cast one. Certainly wouldn't have been able to do it on such short notice while under threat of attack. Harry didn't get it on his first try. Or on his first several._

* * *

August 1st

Hours after her narrow escape from the ambush in her back garden, Hermione lay awake in an unfamiliar bed going back over the events that led her to where she was. Thankfully, the arrival of Babajide Akingbade and her brother-in-law for what was _supposed_ to be her last session kept her from falling into whatever trap Rodolphus set. When she made the observation while the spells were flying that it looked like one side was outnumbered, she had been correct. Unfortunately, it was _her_ side that had the lesser numbers. Escape was the only option to keep her alive, or at least _unharmed_.

The salty smell of the sea assaulted her nose when they landed. It might have been dark, but Hermione knew where she was. Somewhere she'd been countless times over the years. Even recently. Mr. Akingbade released his grip on her waist. Another pop of Apparition sounded just steps away. Spinning around on her heel with her wand outstretched, she exhaled in relief when she saw Alain holding Oliver's arm. The mystery of the figure running into their home in the middle of the ambush was solved. Alain's purpose was to save his nephew. She wasn't surprised to discover his brother gave him the ability to break through the wards in a time of crisis. If the two wizards hadn't been there…

She didn't want to imagine what the outcome could've been. Trying to focus on anything other than the worst case scenario, Hermione looked up towards where she knew the house would be. Standing just outside his kitchen door was a concerned Augustus. He appeared as if he wanted to run towards the small group congregated just inside his back garden. Perhaps if she had been the only one there he would've.

"So _this_ is the safe house you and Alain have been staying at since you arrived in the country?"

Mr. Akingbade didn't deny the truth that was so evident. Just a simple nod of his head was all he offered by way of explanation. At least she finally understood why all three wizards, the two visitors and her husband, had been so secretive about where they were living. Clearly, her ex-lover had been working with her husband for quite some time despite both of them openly declaring they weren't. She would have words for each man when she had the chance to catch them alone.

"Are you both all right, Hermione?"

There was a note of panic in Augustus' voice that she'd only heard on a few prior occasions. Each one was during a time when her life had been in danger. As much as he was trying to remain stoic, she knew him well enough to know that he'd been worried about her. It was sweet, if a bit confusing. Up until just a few minutes before she landed outside his home, she was under the impression that he was only interested in saving his own arse from the fire. Augustus had plenty of his own secrets.

"Yes, I think so. Ollie?"

At the mention of his name, her son lost the little bit of composure he'd been holding on to. Tears rolled from his eyes and she was convinced he was about to burst into sobs. Stepping away from his concerned uncle, her son threw his arms around his mother. Hermione knew very little about comforting an upset child, but did what she could. Watching other women she knew with their children helped. Her son's entire body shook with the almost silent cries. She _hated_ that he was so frightened. He was only a boy! In just a matter of moments, his entire world was turned upside down. Never once in his twelve years had he been faced with so much uncertainty, ripped from the only home he'd ever known. Unfortunately, she knew all too well what that felt like.

"Let's get inside. I'll make us some tea."

Augustus' offer was welcomed. His unexpected visitors followed him inside the sanctuary of his home in silence. Hermione had every intention of slipping a little bit of one of her potions into Oliver's tea. She was grateful that Antonin insisted she make each member of their small family a bag like hers. Even doubly so because he made certain they kept the bags in their pockets at all times.

The water in the kettle wasn't even boiling when the door to the kitchen opened again. With blood on his ripped shirt and a terrified three-legged cat tucked under his arm, Antonin stepped inside. Oliver called out his cat's name. Both the feline and the boy settled down tremendously when Sam was nestled in his human's arms. Some of her husband's injuries, seemingly minor to her relief, peeked through his ruined clothes.

"Did you _seriously_ run back in for the _cat_?"

Little time at all passed since the initial curses were hurled across their back garden to the moment they were in. She highly doubted that Rodolphus and his band of merrymakers were gone from the premises when Antonin rushed in. Perhaps it was simply a matter of excellent timing or more likely, he was alerted to the additional presences in his garden by his wards. Though the blood wasn't much and he wasn't moving slowly like he was terribly injured, it was evident that he'd been met with unfriendly spells. Antonin shrugged his shoulders at his wife's question.

"I like him."

A bubble of hysterical laughter erupted from the relieved witch.

"You stupid, _stupid_ man."

Only two steps closed the distance between the married couple. She moved swiftly, ignoring the audience gathered around them to kiss her husband. Antonin's arms wrapped around her back. They might have kept going if they weren't interrupted by the gentle clearing of Augustus' throat. Hermione felt embarrassed, but based on the smug grin he had on his face when they broke apart, Antonin didn't in the slightest. He turned his attention to their pink-cheeked host.

"Rodolphus and several others showed up at our home while Hermione and Ollie were alone."

"Always knew that bastard wasn't dead. Who was with him?"

"Rabastan, of course. Carrow."

He caught Hermione's eye when he mentioned her friend. Not that she was surprised. After what she discovered when her memories were unraveled, she was no longer under the impression that they were actually friends. Also, the coarse white hair she found on her robes after her lunch with Alecto made more sense. It belonged to Rodolphus. They'd been working together.

"Flint. Few others, but I didn't get a good look at them. Just tried to get out of there as quickly as I could. Looks like we'll be staying for a little while."

Augustus sighed.

"Well, that's why we've been preparing this house. We both knew something like this was going to happen eventually."

Hermione was confused.

"How long have you two been working together? Tell me the _truth_ this time."

Both men exchanged glances and neither spoke. Before she could demand they answer her, Alain rose to his feet.

"Come on, Ollie. It's late. You and me are upstairs."

She appreciated her brother-in-law taking their son out of the room. Sometimes she forgot Oliver was even around. He didn't need to know about everything that was happening. Wasn't it their job as his parents to keep him shielded as best they could? With a warning to Augustus and Antonin that they weren't finished yet, she followed Alain and Oliver to the staircase that led to the small attic bedroom Augustus used to share with his older brother. She slipped a vial of her strawberry flavored potion into Alain's hands with instructions to tip a little into Oliver's tea. He promised her he would. On her way back to the kitchen, she saw Mr. Akingbade nod to her as he made his way to the end of the corridor. She appreciated that she would have a chance to speak to the two wizards alone.

Antonin and Augustus were seated at the table. If they refused to tell her what she wanted to know, she feared she would burst and curse them both. She was tired of being kept in the dark. Even if they didn't know everything that was happening, they could at least be honest with her about that fact. To constantly feel like she was being coddled and dismissed was unbearable. She wouldn't live like that anymore. Her mind was sharper than it had been in years. She was _not_ a child.

"Well? I'm still waiting for your answer."

They each took turns talking about their unlikely partnership. Augustus was evidently a much more believable actor than she initially thought. There used to be a time when she could sniff out his lies and deceptions. A plan had been put in a place months earlier. Almost immediately after she returned home, they'd been preparing Augustus' home as a potential safe house. Because of their rather public disagreements regarding Hermione, very few, if any, of their enemies would ever suspect that they were working together. Antonin was the one to recall Augustus from France, but only after the former Unspeakable insisted. He didn't want to be stuck in another country while the regime crumbled. If they'd been working together since before she returned home, neither of them admitted so. She knew without question that Antonin told the truth about Augustus being the one to tell him where she could be found. Why Draco seemed to believe it was Fenrir was a problem to solve another day.

She wasn't sure how she felt about them working together. Yes, she could understand their reasoning that no one would suspect them to be partners. What bothered her, what made the back of her brain itch was the fact that she knew Augustus had ties to the Resistance. It was his request that kept her protected from their wrath months earlier. Did Antonin know that his partner was working with the Resistance, the organization he hated and vowed to destroy on numerous occasions in the past? And if not, did that mean that Augustus was planning on betraying Antonin at some point?

Not all of the questions she had for the men were answered before she declared she was too tired to stay awake. The adrenaline from her encounter with Rodolphus was wearing off. If she couldn't slip into her own bed, at least she wanted to slip into _a_ bed. Everything else could wait for the morning. It was rapidly approaching already.

Force of habit took her straight to the door that led to Augustus' bedroom. How many nights had she spent alternating between sleeping and writhing between his sheets? She reached for the doorknob.

" _Our_ bedroom is next door."

Antonin spoke through clenched teeth. His approach behind her had been so quiet she didn't even know he was there until he spoke. Already the awkwardness of their situation was making itself known. She wondered how long they were going to be living in Cornwall. Surely this was just going to be a temporary stop until their world was less chaotic.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

She didn't mean to utter the words out loud, but found that she didn't regret them. They settled into the guest room without even addressing how bizarre it would be to have them all living together under the same roof. Hours later as she listened to the sound of the ocean just outside the window and her husband's steady breathing, Hermione struggled to understand how quickly her entire life changed with one knock on her backdoor.


	215. August 2nd

August 2nd

Two days after what _should've_ been Harry Potters thirty-eighth birthday, Hermione strolled down the beach near Augustus' house with her mind fixed on thoughts that she should've ignored. Living in the safe house with her husband, her ex-lover, her son, her brother-in-law, and kind Mr. Akingbade was already difficult. The house wasn't big enough for so many people, especially not when there was nowhere for them to go. All of them were stuck inside day and night. Only their host, it seemed, was able to slip out for a few hours at a time when the air grew too stifling. He was the only one who wasn't on the run or who hadn't been smuggled into the country. Of course, that didn't stop Antonin when it suited him to disappear too.

Hermione was grateful that Augustus opened his home to her family. That had been an enormous gesture, especially considering their rather rocky past. Recent events couldn't have helped his decision either. Less than four months passed since she first knocked on his front door in the middle of the night seeking sanctuary. She struggled to believe that so little time passed. The entire year seemed to be passing too quickly to keep up. What other horrific surprises did the year have in store for her? She was afraid to learn.

Most years she didn't even allow herself to think about Harry's birthday. It was too painful. Twenty years after his death, she still felt the pain. Maybe because she was expected to push it down and out of sight once she was taken from her broom cupboard. No one wanted to see that she mourned her best friend who was the ultimate enemy of their master, least of all the Dark Lord. She learned how to ignore him, how to _forget_ her friend when it was convenient.

She hadn't even been aware of the date when Rodolphus showed up at her kitchen door. Since she was expected to remain home locked inside the enchantments, each day was very much like the next. There was no reason to keep track of the days. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of the date on the morning's Daily Prophet sitting on top of Augustus' kitchen table he quickly snatched away that she realized another year had passed with her forgetting Harry's birthday.

Maybe it was ridiculous to dwell on the loss of her friend after so many years. There was nothing that anyone could do to bring him back. She had to keep moving forward, keep looking ahead. All dwelling on the past did was rob a person of their future. While she didn't have the first clue what to expect for the rest of her life, she knew there was no sense in thinking only of what couldn't be. Didn't people go mad doing that? She couldn't afford that. Too many years with her mind under control had taken their toll. Part of her feared that she wouldn't ever be fully back to normal again. Likely her mind was well and truly fried.

The first day living in Augustus' safe house had been more than a little awkward. Even something as simple as sharing a meal with all of the inhabitants, temporary and permanent, was fraught with frustration. Antonin assured her in the privacy of their bedroom that they wouldn't be there long. It was only ever supposed to be a place they went in case of emergency. Though neither of the wizards involved in the planning hoped that it would ever become a necessity, they were prepared. She spent more time than was healthy staying in bed staring out the window at the ocean beyond.

When the second day began, she was grateful that Antonin and Augustus both made their excuses to leave for a few hours. Her husband wanted to quietly meet with some of his allies to decide what his next moves would be. Where Augustus ran off to was a mystery. She only hoped that he wasn't about to betray them to the Resistance. Even with Aberforth freed from his cell in the Ministry and able to cause as much havoc as he pleased, she knew that the Dolohovs would never be admired or beloved by that subsection of the wizarding world. Part of her selfishly hoped that Antonin was using the time away to figure out how to smuggle his family out of the country, though she wasn't about to hold her breath in anticipation. But even if she was glad that they were gone, she also worried about them.

The men had only been gone for less than half an hour when she made the announcement to the wizards remaining in the safe house that she would be taking a long walk. No one stopped her. Their safe house was far enough away from the rest of civilization that it was unlikely anyone would even see her. And, if someone crossed her path, she _did_ know how to take care of herself. The other night had been an anomaly. Rodolphus caught her off-guard. She couldn't afford to let that happen again. Next time she might not be so fortunate.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been outside staring at the ocean. A while. Standing next to the water always made her feel so small. There was a time that it frightened her, made her feel insignificant and weak. The sound of a throat softly being cleared steps away shook her out of her thoughts. She didn't expect it to be Mr. Akingbade. When their eyes met, he smiled warmly, dispelling any concerns that he was there to cause her harm. Hermione didn't realize until that moment how on edge she'd been. Nor did she know how long exactly she'd been feeling that way.

"I apologize for startling you. I called your name a few times."

"It's all right. I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't hear you."

"You were deep in thought."

Hermione took a deep breath before speaking again. Though the man was a stranger only a short time earlier, he knew some of the darkest secrets she possessed. The fact that he was able to stand next to her with a smile instead of a curse was a miracle. She knew what kind of man he was. Nothing like the monster she'd allowed herself to become over the years. It had been a long time since she had anything close to a mentor. Something, perhaps the kindness, in his eyes made her feel like she could tell him whatever she desired. Maybe he would judge her when he eventually walked away, but not in that moment.

"I was thinking about my best friend Harry Potter. It was his birthday two days ago. I'd forgotten in all of the excitement."

"It's always difficult to reflect back on the missed birthdays of the ones we've lost."

"He would be so ashamed of the person I became."

She didn't mean to be so brutally honest right out of the gate. But, she reasoned with herself, did she really have to keep secrets from a man who'd already seen everything inside her head? There was likely no one else alive who knew more about what was inside her brain than Babajide Akingbade. Whether that was a fact that would later come back to bite her or not remained to be seen. She hoped that she could continue to trust the wizard.

"And do you not believe he would understand that some of that was out of your control? That between the memory charms placed on you against your will and the potions you became addicted to, you didn't become the person you intended?"

Though she appreciated him trying to be kind, she knew that wasn't the full truth. It would be too easy to blame brainwashing and potions on what happened to her to change her from the girl she once was. People changed. Sometimes it was as simple as that. When they got older and life became more difficult with its constant adversities and challenges, people were changed. It was ridiculous to assume that she would be the same person she was when she was in school. Even Harry would understand that growing up wasn't always a seamless process. His life was over too early and he'd faced enough changes himself. _Some_ of the blame could be dropped at the feet of her memory charms, the potions, and even Antonin's efforts at reprogramming her thinking to be more favorable to the regime. _Some_ of it. Not all.

"Antonin wasn't as effective at brainwashing me in the beginning as he thinks he was."

She smiled at Mr. Akingbade, glad to see that he wasn't completely horrified by her statement. They'd already established weeks earlier that she had something of a complicated relationship with her husband.

"I _chose_ to become a Death Eater because I was tired of not having any power, of being weak. Antonin tried to talk me out of it. He didn't want me to have to experience the ugliness that came with being so enmeshed in the Inner Circle, but it was my choice. _Not_ brainwashing. Over time, I bought into the lies of the regime because I _chose_ to. I knew they were all bollocks, but I chose to ignore that because I had a purpose. I had _power_. It was easier to swallow my terrible choices by convincing myself I'd been brainwashed. I've known what I was doing all along. From the _very_ beginning."

"And do you not believe these potions you became addicted to had anything to do with the change in your beliefs and even your personality?"

It was an honest question. One that she'd considered many times over the years, especially after she stopped swallowing them. The temptation was still there, but she was proud to admit that she hadn't had a single drop since the day she stabbed Antonin. Her time in Kingsley Shacklebolt's flat saw to that.

"Do you know why I first started taking them? Why I _allowed_ Rabastan an opening to control me?" He shook his head. "Because I wanted to be numb. Because I wanted to forget what a coward I became. I'm not a good person. Maybe I was at one point in my life. I don't know. It was so long ago. But, I made the wrong decisions. Over and over again. I can never be that idealistic girl again. She died with Harry."

The feel of his strong hand tenderly squeezing her shoulder in support meant everything to her. Even after she'd told him the worst thoughts and fears she carried around about herself, he wasn't disgusted. She wouldn't have blamed him if he ran away in terror.

"What is that saying? 'Never say never', Hermione. You've already made remarkable progress. Maybe you'll find her inside of you again one day."

He left her to her thoughts moments later. Maybe he was right. Already she could feel a change in her since she returned from the run and especially after the charms were removed from her mind. She stopped herself before she could develop anything resembling hope. Her choices had already been made. Her deeds had already been completed. There was no coming back from her past. The day would come when she would burn for them.


	216. August 3rd

August 3rd

Babajide Akingbade's time in Great Britain was always eventually going to come to an end. He had responsibilities, not just in Uganda where he taught at the Uagadou School of Magic, but other cases like Hermione's that took him all over the world. They'd been exceptionally fortunate that Alain knew him so well. Some people waited for _years_ for his help. Hermione knew it was no small thing that he took a big risk sneaking into the country during such an uncertain and chaotic time. He could've easily been discovered, especially after putting himself in danger to protect her the night they had to run.

She didn't know how she was ever going to repay him for helping her take back her life. Knowing that she was no longer under control by a mad wizard opened up the possibilities for a brighter future, one she hadn't allowed herself to dream of. When she said as much to the memory charms expect, he smiled and patted her shoulder.  
"A life well-lived would be payment enough for me. I want you to embrace your new beginnings. Maybe even search for the girl you used to be."

It wasn't an easy promise to make, but she did. For the first time in years she didn't look ahead with dread. Maybe there _was_ some way she could move past the formidable Madam Dolohov persona she'd spent the better part of two decades cultivating. Antonin spoke once of desiring nothing more than to take his family and run away. That no longer sounded like the worst of fates to Hermione. Each day she was discovering something new about her husband that she liked or never knew thanks to the haze of her potions and the manipulations of her memories. Starting over in a new country far from the echoes and memories of the past was becoming a more and more attractive prospect.

Before he would make his final exit from her life, Mr. Akingbade insisted on one final session. His reason for coming to her house the night of the ambush was to make certain that all hints of enchantments were removed from her mind. In the aftermath of the Dolohov family being forced to relocate to Cornwall, he hadn't rushed to check her even though they were under the same roof. He would never admit so, but Hermione got the impression he waited for her son's benefit. Already struggling with the rapid upheaval of his world, Oliver clung to his uncle. Mr. Akingbade was kind enough to wait until Oliver wasn't so afraid.

Hermione joined him in the privacy of the small bedroom he'd been sleeping in since he was smuggled into the country only seconds after her husband murdered the Dark Lord. Few details of the operation to sneak him into the country were divulged. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. It would make her too nervous.

"I would like to check your mind thoroughly again, Hermione. Just like the first night we met. I need to take my time examining every corner I can."

It was a mark of pure trust that she allowed him in her mind at all. One didn't survive being a Death Eater as long as she had without learning to shield their mind at least a little. In his prime, Lord Voldemort relished digging through the thoughts of his loyal followers with his cruel, painful version of Legilimency. Instinct and self-preservation taught her to brush up on Occlumency. Though never as strong with that magic as she would've liked, Hermione knew enough to keep her alive for twenty years longer than most expected to her live. Dropping all barriers for Mr. Akingbade to take a peek inside went against all of her suspicious inclinations.

"Rodolphus said in one of my memories that he would return my memories to me one day. Does that mean he charmed some sort of trigger or switch into my mind?"

"It's very possible. Like I told you that first night, I've never seen a more complex and intricate network of memory charms. It was fascinating. _Horrifying_ , but fascinating. I'm afraid that the only person who can tell you exactly what he did and _why_ he did it is Mr. Lestrange himself."

She would probably die before she had all of the answers she wanted. Unless she was able to somehow trick Rodolphus into explaining himself, she wouldn't know why he used her as a pawn in his sick game. None of the possible answers to the 'why' brought her any sense of peace. It could be for anything. Part of her hoped she would have the opportunity to confront Rodolphus one day, but mostly she never wanted to see him again. He frightened her like no one else ever had before. She'd never been so vulnerable, so _violated_. What if he still had power over her? It was a fear she knew she would carry until one of them was dead.

"Now, please try to relax. This might take awhile."

Time had little meaning when the wizard moved around in her mind. She couldn't focus on anything but the gentle intrusion of feeling someone else inside her head with her. It was a sensation she was certain she would never get used to. Hours may have passed and she wouldn't know it.

The memories and images that flashed in her mind were impossible to follow. He moved too quickly through the individual cells of her battered brain. It was for the best that she couldn't focus too long on any of them. Many of them had been terrible. Every bloody, disgusting interrogation she'd ever conducted was locked away inside. How he could see the very worst of her crimes and never hesitate to smile at her or try to convince her she wasn't without hope was incredible. She was positive she wouldn't have enough faith in humanity to do the same to someone with as much blood on their hands.

As he continued to check for any missed memory charms or any mind control spells, a clear image came forward blocking out all others. Seared forever into her mind was the moment she stepped over the proverbial line in the sand to begin her journey through darkness. Not that she needed any help remembering _that_ moment. Even with all of the rubbish Rodolphus put into her brain, she never forgot a single detail.

Oliver Wood stared at her from the cave he'd been trapped in. Such rage, such fury, such _sadness_ in his eyes. His face was soon replaced by another face. Though she didn't know her name, she remembered the brutal manner she'd been killed. Antonin was teaching her how to prolong a victim's suffering, how to enjoy it and make it more memorable. Her face was replaced with another victim and then with another, another, another… Every life she'd ever been responsible for ending was remembered.

Some of them she would've repeated in a second. If Mr. Akingbade flinched when he saw how she murdered Walden Macnair, she couldn't tell. She also didn't feel any guilt for ending Theodore Nott Senior. Her only regret was that she wasn't able to kill him before he killed his own son. The world would've been a much better place to live in if Theo was still alive. With the inevitable changes coming with the Dark Lord's demise, he could've been beneficial to the rebuilding of a country they could once again be proud of. Others, like Salazar Selwyn and Amycus Carrow would've killed her if they had the chance. She didn't regret killing them before they had the opportunity. _Never_ would she feel guilty about some of the difficult choices she made.

There were executions she carried out on behalf of the regime because it was expected of her. It was imperative to her survival that she carry them out as ordered. She wouldn't regret those. Survival wasn't always possible without getting one's hands dirty. She was no martyr. Hadn't she proven since she was in Hogwarts that she would do what was necessary to keep those she cared about and herself protected? Any refusal on her part would've ensured her death and the death of her family. Not even Antonin would've been spared. He would've made the perfect example. So no, she wouldn't regret those deaths by her hands. Even Andromeda's death had been necessary. If she'd told her husband her worst secret, she would've been dead. And her husband knew how to make it hurt. She wouldn't shed a single tear over that wretched bitch's death. If the roles had been reversed, Andromeda would've been just as brutal.

But there were others that she would change if she could. Ones that she almost hated Mr. Akingbade for reminding her of again. Those faces lingered longer than any of the others. Perhaps he could sense which ones she felt true regret for. Over and over again, Oliver Wood's face came into her mind. He was the first, the one that started it all. She should've made different choices. Countless deaths could've been avoided. Almost as quickly as the relentless flash of images of the ones she'd killed over the years assaulted her mind, they stopped. He slipped out of her head.

"Why would you show me all of… all of _them_?"

"You have the opportunity to turn away from the darkness, Hermione. Make something _good_ of your life. You should never forget those you hurt. Seeing their faces should keep you from doing the same to someone else."

She didn't have the energy to argue that more than a few of her victims were justified. It was an argument that had no real winner. He was correct to an extent. At least she understood some of why he was willing to help her. The wizard wanted to do what he could to keep the notorious Madam Dolohov from hurting another innocent. If that was the price she had to pay to get his help with her memory charms, she would gladly pay it. Besides, it wasn't as if they didn't already haunt her nightmares.

"I can find no more traces of the spells that Mr. Lestrange cast in your mind. My examination was thorough. Even after eighty years there are still opportunities for me to improve, but I feel confident in saying that I've done all that I can."

"Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Akingbade."

"It was my pleasure. Just promise me that you will never forget those faces and that you will remember what I told you that day on the beach. You are not without hope. The girl you once were is still inside of you somewhere. It is up to you to find her again."

Alain and their guest departed the safe house for one final time late that night while she was asleep under the influence of a sleeping potion. Her mind needed rest after hours of examination. Just as Mr. Akingbade hoped, she saw the faces again in her dreams.


	217. August 4th

August 4th

Ocean waves crashing against the rocks was a sound that Hermione was certain she would never tire of. Maybe she could convince her husband to run away with her to an island somewhere far away from their troubled homeland. It had been his suggestion once before. Thoughts of the vacation they spent in the Bermuda Triangle never failed to bring a flush to her cheeks. She wouldn't have minded recreating those days down to the very last detail. If that was her true desire, she didn't think it would take much persuasion to get Antonin to agree. He would do anything for her, including kill the Dark Lord.

Her body was well-rested when she allowed herself to finally wake up the morning after her last session with Mr. Akingbade. He'd been insistent that she swallow a potion to help her mind repair itself and rest. There had been no reason to argue. Not only had she grown to trust the wizard, no small feat in itself, she was exhausted. She hoped that there would never be another occasion necessary when her mind would need to be so thoroughly checked. Every glimpse caused a strain that was harder and harder to recover from. Too much messing about in her mind could cause even more damage.

She didn't know what was going to happen next. Hiding in Augustus' home forever was hardly an option. Every day since they arrived both her husband and her ex-lover disappeared for several hours at a time. When she would ask Antonin what they'd been up to, he was frustratingly vague. She didn't appreciate being left out of the loop. Though he understood, he assured her that there was simply not enough to tell. They were meeting in secret other potential allies.

Even with Rodolphus' attack on the Dolohov home with his cohorts, there had yet to be a grab for power. At least not officially. It was telling to a lot of the villagers still living in Hogsmeade that the Dolohovs were scared away. Hermione knew that it was a sign of weakness that they hadn't stayed to fight, but she didn't care. With her mind still healing from the disgusting charms, she wasn't at her full strength. She would be nothing but a liability to Antonin until she was ready. And they had their son to think of. Despite Rabastan's assurances that their son wouldn't be harmed if she chose to join their side, she didn't believe him. She'd witnessed him kill children just as easily as grown adults.

Movement next to her on the mattress forced her attention away from the ocean. Antonin was just waking up. Because she had been asleep drugged on the sleeping potion, she had no idea how long he'd been asleep. Based on the dark circles under his eyes, not long enough. He wasn't as young as he used to be. During the first war he was hardly more than a child. If he wasn't careful, his biggest opponent wouldn't even be another wizard. It would be his own aging body. Reaching across the small space between their bodies, he gently brushed a lock of her hair away from her forehead. He always seemed to be doing that. She didn't mind. It was comforting in its own way.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better."

"Mr. Akingbade said all of the charms were gone. Do you feel any differently?"

She shook her head. It had been a disappointment to not experience a noticeable difference. Briefly considering telling him about the trick the memory charms expert played on her with the faces of every person she ever killed, she stopped herself. Antonin knew just as well as she did about the power of being haunted by his victims. Maybe even more so. He spent almost fifteen years in Azkaban having the dementors continually feeding on his emotions. Only his own anger and bitterness over being caught kept him from losing his mind entirely. There were times that he had his own flashes of madness, but he'd had decades learning to control them.

"Maybe it'll take some time. I'm glad to know that Rodolphus can't control you any longer."

They hadn't really stopped to discuss all that she'd learned during her sessions. Not in great detail. Hermione knew that it wasn't easy for the proud wizard to hear details about an affair his wife had for _years_. Just as she never cared for the reminders that he was in his own extramarital long-term relationship with Andromeda Tonks. She hated the woman because she always felt so inadequate next to her, like he was continually judging her and she was falling short.

"I've never wanted to kill anyone as much as I want to kill him. What he did to you is… it's unconscionable. I can only imagine how you must feel."

"I don't really want to talk about him, Antonin. Not when we're in bed together."

His cheeks turned pink and he clenched his jaw. There was shame and embarrassment mixed in with his simmering rage.

"I used to suspect the two of you were more than just _friends_. The way you would both disappear together for a few minutes here and there during parties. How he managed to always get you assigned to him as his partner for missions. He was at our home _a lot_. I thought I was just being paranoid, but I wasn't, was I?"

"No, you weren't."

There was no reason to lie when he already knew the truth. He sighed, sadness etched across his handsome features. She longed to reach out to comfort him, but it felt wrong to do in that moment. Very few times in their marriage had they crossed over the barrier they silently set up regarding their affairs outside of their marital bed.

"Was it just because of the memory charms? Was he controlling you?"

It would've been too easy to blame Rodolphus' charms for all of the times that she gave her body over to the wizard for his use. But it wasn't true. As all of the memories of their relationship, if one could even call it that, trickled through the blocks on her mind the longer the spells were removed, she knew without a doubt that she'd gone to Rodolphus of her own will. Perhaps that was what made it feel all that much worse. He'd taken advantage of her when she'd already given herself over to him.

"No, it wasn't because of the memory charms. I always fancied him. From the first mission we had together. I think he knew that and used it against me."

The last flicker of hope in Antonin's eyes that she was having sex with a man other than her husband because she was being controlled and not because she didn't care about the man she married dissipated. She knew it hurt him. Hadn't she felt the same sting of pain every time she knew he was rushing off to London to be with Andromeda? Maybe she didn't love him as much as he loved her, but that didn't matter. It was still hurtful to know he preferred being with another woman.

"And there were others?"

"Antonin, let's not talk about this. All it's going to do make us both upset."

She was afraid he would start asking her questions about her time on the run. Had she had lovers in that year? If so, how many and who were they? Had she been with any other men since she returned to Hogsmeade and to their bed? If he allowed himself, Antonin would drive himself completely mad with the questions that he shouldn't have had to ask. As much of a shit mum she was, she was doubly and triply a shit wife. Maybe if they'd married for love it would've been different. She didn't know and it was too late to find out.

"I know about Rabastan. _Everyone_ knows about him. His wife made sure of that. Did you ever… were you ever with both brothers at the same time?"

"Antonin!"

"It's a legitimate question, Hermione. I think as your husband I have every right to know."

" _No._ All right? No, I've never been with both of them at the same time. I stopped having multiple partners at once when the revels ended. Satisfied?"

Of course she agreed that he had every right to know whose bed she'd been in over the years. It was purely defensiveness that caused her to react so poorly to his questions. Why couldn't they just move on from their past? It was rocky and horrible and they _both_ made mistakes.

"Based on how you went straight for Gus' room the night we first arrived, your stay here with him months ago wasn't innocent. I never suspected it was."

"Antonin…"

"And I know about Greyback, of course. Didn't want to believe that you were the one in his house that day last February. I _chose_ not to believe it. Who wants to admit the bruised, naked woman tied up on the floor of a monster's bedroom is the mother of his child? Days later I was sick to my stomach, but I knew I had to go back and check to see if you were still there."

If she didn't change the subject, he would start asking about others she might have been with. As awful as she'd been at lying since she returned, she wasn't sure she would be able to convince him that there wasn't anyone else. He wouldn't rest until he uncovered her other lover. Even if she told him that it was some Muggle whose name she couldn't remember, he wouldn't believe her. Not entirely. She was afraid she would blurt out Draco's name. _That_ was a complication they didn't need.

"You weren't exactly a faithful husband either, Antonin, so don't pretend like you're just some innocent victim."

"No, but at least I was more _discreet_ than you were."

She couldn't resist laughing out loud at his remark. Half the country knew about his ongoing affair with Andromeda. She'd lost count the number of times she was informed by a _concerned_ friend or acquaintance that he'd been seen entering Andromeda's shop in the dead of night long past the open store hours. And she'd seen how other women looked at him when they were at parties. Even Alecto. Though she might have claimed she hated the very ground that Antonin walked on, Hermione knew that her former friend would've taken Antonin to bed again in a second if the offer was made.

"Andromeda was no secret, Antonin. I am curious about the others though. Don't lie to me and tell me there weren't any."

"What does it matter?"

When he was the one whose actions were called into question, Antonin didn't appreciate the tone of the conversation. That was a tactic she often used when they were in the middle of a row. If she could figure out some way to turn it around on him, the argument would usually end up being a victory for her. Or at least he would get so frustrated that he would leave her alone. In that moment, she hoped that he would take the hint that she didn't want to keep fighting. They were out of practice. Everything had been so pleasant since their last big fight. Why was it necessary to ruin the rhythm they'd created with some meaningless discussion? Neither of them would be the winner in that case.

"You were the one who started this. Don't get mad at me. If you were so interested in whose bed I've been in, why can't I ask the same question of you?"

"Do you _really_ want to know, Hermione?"

She nodded her head. Of course she did!

"Gemma Lestrange. Many, _many_ times."

Hermione could feel her jaw drop open at his confession. While she knew that Antonin always made it a point to be polite and friendly to Rabastan's wife when they were doomed to all be at the same social gathering, she had no clue that there was anything happening between them. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that they sought comfort with each other because they both knew what their spouses were up to at the Ministry.

"When did that start?"

"Not long after you started fucking her husband. Seemed only fair."

If he was trying to get a rise out of her, she refused to allow him to be successful. They'd both made mistakes. Neither one of them had ever been perfect. Perhaps it was best that they get it all out in the open. Both of them had been holding on to their indiscretions for years. She knew that if there was any hope that one day they might be able to start over and make a true go of their marriage, and she wasn't sure yet if that was an option she would be willing to consider, they needed a fresh slate.

"Were there any others?"

"A few. None that meant anything. One even solely for information. You think women are the only ones who know how to manipulate their lovers?"

She stared at her husband, unsure what to even say. Was he admitting to having sex with a potential enemy? Who else would he need to get information from? And was it an enemy of his or of the regime? Maybe he had his own contact within the Resistance. Before she could ask him any further questions, Antonin threw the covers off of his body and rose to his feet. He didn't stay inside the safe house long after he was dressed.


	218. August 5th

August 5th

After their uncomfortable discussion early the previous morning and Antonin's subsequent running out, Hermione wasn't sure to expect her husband to return to the safe house that day. Or perhaps any other day. Only the fact that their son remained gave him the incentive to come back again. She knew that what they discussed had been difficult for him to hear. It hadn't been easy for her either. What woman, even one who wasn't in love with her husband, wants to hear about the women he had been with while they were still married? And she was more than aware of the fact that it had been hard for him to. At least she never had to _see_ him with other women. She hadn't been aware up until that moment that he knew about her being at Fenrir's.

An uncomfortable day passed in Augustus' home where she mostly kept to herself in her borrowed bedroom. Oliver spent much of his life alone so she didn't have to worry about keeping his attention occupied. He was a lot like she had been at his age in that respect. She used to need nothing more than an interesting book to keep out of trouble. Once she started Hogwarts and made friends with Harry and Ron began a different stage in her life where that wasn't always possible. Their host still didn't know how to be around her without it being uncomfortable, so she did what she could to spare him from her unwanted presence.

When her husband came barging into their room after midnight reeking of fire whiskey, she'd been so relieved that he came back that she couldn't even imagine pushing him away when he kissed her roughly. It had been exciting. They each put all of their frustration and anger with the other in their heated ardor. If she'd been able to think clearly through the haze of bliss she experienced thanks to his talented touches, she would've been angry with him for the concerted effort he made at ensuring their headboard slammed against the wall they shared with Augustus' bedroom repeatedly and _loudly_. While it had been childish and further proof that his jealousy could make him a bit unstable, she relished in the intense passion. Rarely had their make-ups following a fight been so _enthusiastic_.

He was gone again before she even woke up. Only the pleasant ache in most of the muscles in her body proved that their night hadn't all been just one steamy dream. Likely he was off doing something mysterious that he would refuse to tell her about later. She was starting to get to the point where she didn't care what happened. Yes, it was infuriating being stuck in a place that was not her home with no answers, but it was even more frustrating trying to get answers from a man who refused to give them. In his own obnoxious way he thought he was protecting his family. Maybe he was. Maybe she would do something reckless and foolish if she discovered what he was doing out there. It had been known to happen before. Logic and analytical thinking often went to war against her inherent Gryffindor traits.

By mid-morning she knew she couldn't stay in bed forever. Sleeping her life away was not a suitable existence. Hermione forced herself out of the tangled sheets to prepare for another day of whiling away the hours staring at the ocean or the four walls of Augustus' house. At least he had a decent shower in the bathroom connected to the room she shared with her husband. Dressed and clean, she stepped out into the corridor.

Voices from the kitchen stopped her before she moved very far. Both of them were very familiar. Realizing that her son was deep in discussion with her ex-lover, she found her curiosity take over her good senses. Careful to not make any noise, she tiptoed closer to the room they were seated in to listen in on what they were saying.

"You and my father used to be friends. What happened?"

"We're _still_ friends, Oliver. If we weren't, why would I let your family stay in my house?"

"Because you're still in love with my mum."

Hermione had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from gasping at her son's observation. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was intelligent and perceptive. The adults in his life weren't aways very careful about guarding their tongues in his presence. While she couldn't specifically remember any moment she'd mentioned her past with Augustus where Oliver could hear, clearly she hadn't been as aware as she thought. In an effort to keep the moment from being awkward, Augustus laughed.

"You have a very active imagination, Oliver. Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I'm _twelve_ , Mr. Rookwood. Not four."

"You can call me Gus. But I'm still not sure where you…"

"My mother is the only one who calls you 'Augie'. And when you look at her, you're sad. And when my father looks at you, he's angry."

There was no flaw in his logic. She knew that he was more observant than she realized at times. It was so easy to ignore her son. Mostly quiet and able to entertain himself, she was terrible for dismissing him so often. Evidently she spent too much time away from their home when he was younger. She would like to know him better. Not that she ever wanted to be a mother in the first place. That feeling hadn't gone away. If anything, thanks to the craziness of their world and the unpredictability of it all, she wanted to have more children even _less_ than she did before. She wasn't guaranteed a happily ever after. Even if she was, that didn't include more children.

"Yes, well, we all have a complicated history. When the war ended, your mum was taken prisoner by the Dark Lord."

"Because she was fighting on the other side?"

"Yes, _initially_ , she was on the other side, but she turned from them. She has been a loyal follower of the Dark Lord for twenty years now."

Though she couldn't see their faces from where she hid in the corridor, Hermione could just picture Oliver looking at Augustus with the same expression that his father always had when he was trying to seem unimpressed. A single raised eyebrow, a gentle twitch of his lips that accentuated his dimples. It was enough to make her smile. She considered walking in and stopping Augustus from explaining bits about their past, but she knew how disappointed her son would be. His parents tried to shield him from the ugliness of their history when he would ask. Didn't he have a right to know _some_ of it, at least? She reserved the right to interrupt if he started to reveal too much.

"When she was taken prisoner, she was placed in a broom cupboard. The castle was badly damaged and there wasn't any place better for her to be kept. It wasn't a nice place. I wish I could've helped make it more comfortable for her, but there was a lot going on. Your father found out that she was locked in the cupboard with no protection from the worst of the…"

Augustus cleared his throat. Clearly forgetting for a moment that he was speaking to one so young and innocent, he stopped before he mentioned the atrocities that were happening to other women in the castle. Vanquished foes weren't always executed and tortured. War was hell, in some ways more for women than men.

"Antonin said that she was an important prisoner that required guarding. In all of the chaos, no one knew who was supposed to do what. He took it upon himself to stand guard outside of her cupboard until the Dark Lord was ready for her."

Hermione felt her forehead wrinkle in confusion at his statement. Antonin was never outside of her cupboard. When she first woke up in the darkness, she called out and it was Augustus who answered. Never once did she hear Antonin's voice. Not until the day she was removed from the cupboard and the Dark Lord announced she would living in the village in Antonin's house.

"It was his idea to keep your mum safe, but the Dark Lord called him away. Your father asked me to take his place because he didn't trust anyone else. Said the rest of them were just looking for revenge and would hurt her. So I did as he asked. Never expected to feel so protective of her. Certainly never expected to fall in love with her."

"And Papa hates you because Mum fell in love with you instead of him?"

"Afraid so. It should've been him outside that cupboard. If I'd known how much I would've hurt your mum, I would've told him no and made him do it instead. Damn the Dark Lord."

She didn't want to hear anymore. She _couldn't_ hear anymore. It was too much. Retreating back to the bedroom she'd just exited, she laid back down on the bed. So many thoughts were running through her mind that she struggled to focus on any of them. Never once in twenty years did Antonin tell her that he was the one who was supposed to be guarding her cupboard, that he was the one who came up the with idea in the first place. How many times had she wished that the past was different? That he'd been there instead of Augustus?

Would she have fallen in love with Antonin instead of Augustus? It seemed not only possible, but probable. They were well-suited to each other. Even if they could drive each other absolutely mental with hardly any effort, they had always made a good team. She respected him when he was her teacher, considered him a close friend. There had even been some heated moments before they were ordered to marry when she thought that there was something between them.

When she was locked alone in the cupboard, she had been desperately frightened. Everything about her world had just been turned completely upside down. She didn't even know if she was going to live to see another day. And the screams she kept hearing… she didn't even want to imagine what was happening. In her desperation, she clung to anything that was the least bit hopeful. Augustus was a friendly voice in the darkness when she was all alone. She built him up so much in her head that it was no wonder she fell for him, believed that there was something there. She _did_ love Augustus, but it was borne out of desperation. Was it any wonder that they never could quite get their relationship to work? Everything would've been different if Antonin was outside her cupboard. The chemistry that was already there could've become something much more if they'd had the opportunity to watch it develop.

Hermione tried to push down her sudden bitterness. There was nothing that could be done. The past was over and gone. She would never know what might have been. Somehow she would have to figure out how to keep going forward.


	219. August 6th

August 6th

Another morning arrived. Unable to keep her eyes closed for another moment, Hermione knew she should just get out of bed. Antonin was fast asleep next to her, and she was afraid that she would wake him up if she moved around too much. He had been so tired. Everything about the fall of the Dark Lord was draining his energy. She noticed it before they had to flee, but it had only gotten worse since they started living in Augustus' house. Would there ever be a reprieve for them? She worried that they were just delaying the inevitable.

Since overhearing her son's conversation with their host the day before, she had been unable to think about anything else. How cruel was fate that the very thing she believed would've allowed her to fall in love with her husband was denied her? Though she knew she wasn't accomplishing anything by dwelling on it, she couldn't seem to stop herself. How much pain and heartache could've been avoided with the simple change in the man who sat outside her cupboard?

Knowing that she would never get anywhere productive in her line of thinking and not wishing to disturb Antonin when he had too little sleep, she slowly got out of bed. Wrapping her pajama-clad body in a dressing gown, she tiptoed out of their room. The rest of the house was silent. It was too early for anyone to be awake. Taking care not to wake anyone else up, she headed straight for the kitchen door. Though it would be chilly outside so early in the morning regardless of the time of year, she needed some fresh air.

She was only halfway out the door when she realized her plan to have a few minutes alone wasn't meant to be. Seated in one of the chairs they sat in months earlier to stare out at the ocean over a glass of fire whiskey was the master of the house. Never one for rising early, Hermione never expected that Augustus would be out there. Their eyes met in the early morning dimness. He was every bit as surprised to see her as she was him. Almost instantly he started to stand to his feet. Hermione pulled the door closed behind her and gestured with her free hand to stay seated.

"This is your home, Augie. If either of us should leave, it should be me."

The offer to go back inside might have been made, but she truly hoped that he wouldn't accept it. She didn't want to. A slight breeze coming off the water was pleasant. Already she could feel some of the tension she carried perpetually in her shoulders begin to lessen. Yes, a future next to the ocean sounded like Heaven to her.

"You don't have to go, Hermione."

Everything in his voice told her that he was being completely sincere. Settling down in the chair next to his, she stared out at the vast ocean. Neither of them interrupted the predawn silence. It felt _nice_ to just be there quietly sitting next to the other. She could almost imagine that no time had passed since the years they were together before her marriage. While it was a difficult, growing time for her back then, she could think back on it fondly as a simpler time. None of her problems seemed quite so vast and insurmountable as they did in the present.

Out of the corner of her eye she examined the man she had been in love with for more than half her life. It was different than it used to be, but she could still feel the remnants of the emotion that caused more headaches throughout history than any other. Vengeance had nothing on the power of love. There was a time when she would've been willing to run away with him forever. Would've walked away from the Dark Lord even. How strange the changes that time could bring. Knowing what she knew, recognizing for perhaps the first time in the past twenty years that she cared for Augustus initially out of nothing but sheer desperation marred the sweetness of those old memories and feelings. Or maybe it was simply the added benefit of growing older and being able to see clearly.

"It was very kind of you to offer your home, Augie. I'm not sure I've had the chance yet to thank you properly for that."

He tried to wave off her gratitude. The reason why she hadn't had a chance to thank him was because of the simple fact that he'd been avoiding her. Unless there was already a small group congregated inside a room she was in, he would refuse to go in. She'd witnessed it firsthand when she was alone in the kitchen a few days earlier. One step inside of the room and he turned back around. Not until both Alain and Oliver were in there making their own lunches did he return. She tried not to make a big deal out of it. Their current situation wasn't easy for anyone.

"There's no need to thank me."

"But you've put yourself in danger. That's not a small thing. If any of our enemies discovered you were harboring us, they wouldn't be kind to you."

"I only did it for you."

His statement was spoken so softly the crashing waves nearby could've easily drowned it out if she hadn't been paying close attention. When he admitted the truth, he turned away from her, staring back out at the vastness of the ocean.

"You're in danger. I thought that I could protect you if I took you with me out of the country, but clearly that wasn't an option."

"Augie…"

"I'm not mad about that anymore, Hermione. I swear it."

Except he was. She knew him well enough to see the simmering of his disappointment and fury just below the surface. Even though it had never been her intention to hurt him, she had. She'd rejected his offer, rejected _him_ to return to the husband she claimed that she didn't love and the one she feared. Only someone with the patience of a saint wouldn't be upset with her and Augustus was no saint. Deciding it was best that she not call any attention to the lie, she pressed forward. There was something that had been bothering her for awhile.

"Antonin told me that _you_ were the one who told him that I was here."

His sigh proved that he was regretting his decision to stay outside. Eventually they were going to have to have this conversation. They both knew it. Living under the same roof, it was only a matter of time before it happened. Best that they just got it over with. Augustus seemed to understand the logic in that thought as well.

"Yes, I did. I lied to you when you asked me because I didn't want you to suspect he and I were working together."

"I see."

"And if we're being entirely honest, I also spread a false rumor that Fenrir Greyback was the one who told Antonin you were hiding in my home for the same reason."

At least she finally understood why Draco told her what he did. He'd been so convinced that Fenrir was the one who betrayed her location to her husband and she couldn't understand what he would have to gain by lying. Fenrir wouldn't betray her. Not for anything. The werewolf had proven his loyalty. Though it didn't make her feel any less suspicious of Draco knowing that he wasn't deliberately lying to her about who betrayed her location, it was somewhat comforting to know she wasn't completely wrong.

"Well, no harm done. Antonin didn't catch me that day or any other."

"I still don't understand why you willingly went back to him. There's something you're not telling me."

"There's likely a _lot_ of somethings I'm not telling you, Augie. Doesn't mean I'm going to start now."

The corner of his mouth curled into a grin. He turned his gaze away from the ocean to look her in the eyes again. She was glad that she hadn't insulted him with her remark. Sometimes the wizard could be terribly touchy.

"No, I learned a long time ago that there was a lot going on in that brain of yours that I would never be made a party to."

"I'm sorry that your home has been overrun with my family."

"I'm not. You're still alive. _That_ is why Antonin and I made the decision to make this a safe place for your family to hide if it was necessary."

An uncomfortable silence crept back up between them. Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, what she should say next. Didn't he deserve some explanation for her bizarre behavior? Even if she wasn't quite ready to be honest about what Rodolphus put her through, she wanted him to know _something_. At least enough to know that she didn't run away because she didn't have feelings for him. She did, even if they weren't quite as strong as they once were.

"There was a mess I made I had to go back to Hogsmeade to clean up. I couldn't do it without going back to Antonin."

"A mess? Would it include a certain Resistance leader recently reported as 'deceased' in the Daily Prophet?"

She felt her stomach lurch at his question. Why would he bring up Aberforth if he didn't know something already? It wasn't just an innocent guess. She wanted to know everything that he did, but feared he would keep his own secrets. The man hadn't been an Unspeakable because he was terrible at keeping his mouth shut.

"What do you know, Augie?"

"Quite a bit actually. I know that Mr. Dumbledore is _not_ dead. He's very much alive and living in one of the dreadful outposts the Resistance has. Somewhere near Liverpool, I believe. His presence at their main village was deemed something of a security risk so he was moved. He's recovering from his ordeal at the Ministry quite well, but he is an old man. Wasn't easy for him."

"How do you know all of this?"

His connection with the Resistance had always been something of a shadowy secret. She knew that he had enough influence to request a favor in keeping her out of their line of fire as much as possible. Draco had been mixed up in that too. But she also suspected that Draco was mixed up with his uncle's plans. Why else would Rodolphus show up at her home stating he heard that she wanted to speak to him? Draco must've told. Everyone, it seemed, had their secret alliances and devious plans. Augustus was no different.

"You're not the only one with friends in powerful positions, Hermione. Or who had something to lose if it was discovered Dumbledore wasn't where he was supposed to be."

"What are you saying _exactly_ , Augie?"

She had her suspicions what he was getting at, but wanted him to tell her flat out. Based entirely on his grin, he appeared as if he wanted to tell her something he'd been holding on to for awhile. If it was what she hoped…

"A contact of mine inside the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to be exact, owed me a rather large favor. It was thanks to him that no one discovered your part in switching your prisoner out with Dolores Umbridge."

Once again in just a few short days she felt her jaw drop open in shock. _Augustus_ was the one behind ensuring Umbridge's dead body wasn't discovered down in Level Eleven? If she had a million years to guess, she didn't think she would ever get near his name as a potential suspect. What other secrets was he keeping from her? Was there something he wanted in exchange?

"How did you know?"

"I pay attention. I slip galleons into the right hands. I play the game."

He was being evasive. Likely, she would never get any further information about his part in the coverup of her mistake, but that didn't matter. Not really. He'd protected her and _that_ was what was important.

"Some day you'll have to explain to me _how_ that wretched bitch got mixed up in all of your plans. I imagine it is a tale worth hearing."


	220. August 7th

August 7th

An odd sort of truce crept up between Augustus and Hermione following their early morning conversation. He was still being frustratingly tight-lipped about how he knew about her botched plan, but it helped to lessen the thick cloud of tension that permeated every corner of the safe house. At times it was almost choking. No one knew what to say to each other or what to do. If forced to remain in those conditions for much longer, Hermione was afraid they would all eventually go mad. It was a fate that didn't look forward too, especially not after having the memory charms polluting her brain removed.

But, thanks to their discussion, living together in the safe house became a _little_ bit easier. At the very least they could be in the same room together without feeling uncomfortable. The other two occupants of the house noticed a difference. Out of fear that drawing attention to the truce might somehow negate its effectiveness, no one talked about it.

Hermione still didn't understand how it was even possible that Augustus was the one responsible for saving her arse from the fire. He surprised her with his assurances that he'd been the one behind covering up her mistake down in Level Eleven. None of the details had yet been revealed. Only moments after he made his confession their private conversation was interrupted by a sleepy Antonin who claimed he was worried when he woke up and she was gone. Living with his rival for his wife's affections was exacerbating his already legendary jealousy. She tried to put him at ease by inviting him to join them, but he declined. Feeling uncomfortable being stuck in the middle of the married couple's discussion, Augustus excused himself to go inside to shower.

There hadn't been another opportunity since to catch him long enough for answers. Somehow she always seemed to find him in rooms her son was already in. She had to roll her eyes at his attempt at subtlety. He knew that she wouldn't dream of bringing up the Umbridge issue with Oliver in the room. It was an annoying, yet effective plan.

On another ordinary Tuesday morning where she was stuck in the house with nothing to do, she envied the freedom Augustus and even Antonin had. Neither man was confined to the safe house any longer than they wished to be there. Sure, she wasn't _technically_ a prisoner and she often took advantage of the seclusion of the property to go on long walks, but there was nothing for her to do out in the so-called _real_ world. She feared that she would be nothing but a liability to Antonin if she went with him on his mysterious visits and errands. After her embarrassing display at the Dark Lord's funeral, she would likely never be taken seriously again. It was easier for those he met with to imagine she wouldn't prove to be a problem in the future if she wasn't put on display. Even if they made a public declaration stating all of the horrific spells Rodolphus used on her to rob her of her full sanity, there would still be those who wouldn't believe it, who would call their announcement 'convenient'.

The very real fear of crossing Rodolphus' path again kept her from wanting to stray too far from where she was safe. That was likely a fear that wouldn't go away until one, or both, of them was dead. Mr. Akingbade might have claimed that all traces of Rodolphus' treachery was gone from her mind, but even he admitted that he wasn't perfect. There could still be remnants, still be some sort of psychological trigger in her mind that Rodolphus could switch on. What his endgame with her was was still unknown. She could only imagine it was horrific. Best that she stay safe and far away from him.

Oliver, however, was more frustrated with being stuck in a stranger's house than his mother. While she could certainly appreciate the effort he made to seem like he wasn't about to explode in his boredom and aggravation, the cracks were there and only getting larger. It was unfair that a growing boy with all of the energy he possessed was forced to spend his summer holidays inside. Even a child who enjoyed reading as much as his mother _and_ his father had at his age needed the opportunity to stretch his legs now and again.

When Augustus made his excuses to leave after breakfast and Antonin kissed his wife goodbye before he joined him, Oliver was angry. Stabbing at his eggs with his fork with more fury than was necessary, Hermione knew her son was about to reach his breaking point. Unfortunately for him, he'd inherited his temper from _both_ of his parents. Knowing she had to do something, Hermione banished all of the dirty dishes to the sink and stood up from the table.

"Let's go for a walk along the beach."

She didn't need to make the offer twice. Once the words were out of her mouth, her son was on his feet ready to go. His exuberance brought a smile to her face. She almost envied his youth and innocence. Moments later they were out of the kitchen door and on the way towards the water.

It was pleasant to be outside enjoying the fresh air. Yet again Hermione dreamed of finding her own sanctuary next to the ocean. She could get used to the salty sea air and the sound of the waves crashing against the beach. Maybe even her twisted soul could find peace in a place like that.

Oliver didn't run away from her when they reached the beach like she half-expected him to. With the chance to finally run and blow off some of the steam she knew had been accumulating inside of him, he chose instead to keep close to his mother. There was a smile on his face even if he wasn't running and playing like the child he still was. It was _nice_ to experience the joy of a simple walk with her son. Before she ran away, they rarely spent any time together. When she wasn't working an ungodly number of hours at the Ministry, she was away from home completing missions for the Dark Lord or honestly, doing whatever she could to keep away from her Hogsmeade home. She didn't find a lot of happiness in that space.

Because of her desire to be just about anywhere else, the truth was that she didn't actually _know_ her son very well. It was sad really. Seeing other mothers with their children always made her feel inadequate, like there was something _wrong_ with her because she didn't want to be a mother. Of course she knew that other women must have felt the safe way, but it was never spoken about. Not publicly. She was always made to feel like she was somehow less than a 'normal' woman because she didn't fall into the category of women who felt it was their mission in life to be a mother. If the Dark Lord hadn't ordered her to marry and have children, she would probably still be single. Only the pressure of her former master forced her into a role she never desired. But, even though she never wanted to have children and she certainly was thankful that she wouldn't be able to have anymore, she could see how unfortunate it was that she didn't really know her son. Maybe it wasn't too late.

"I like you better since you came back."

Oliver's statement startled Hermione out of her thoughts of what a shit mum she'd always been. Unsure how to even respond, she stopped her footsteps and stared at her son. Realizing she wasn't walking any further, he stopped too. It was evident that he was uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but now that he'd been confident enough to make his first remark, he found the courage within himself to continue.

"You're a lot nicer. Not as angry as you used to be. And I… I like that you're not hurting Papa like you used to."

She knew that it was no small feat for him to admit something like that. In the past inside their home, a lot was ignored for the sake of peace. Part of the reason she didn't know Oliver that well was because he understood the importance of hiding away when his mother wasn't in a good mood. It saddened her that she'd been so unbearable to live with. Oliver never asked to be born into such a dysfunctional family. He deserved better.

"Ollie, before I left I wasn't… I used to… what I mean to say is…"

With a deep sigh, she closed her mouth. She wasn't sure what she could say that might possibly make up for what she'd done in the past. Perhaps that wasn't even an option. She might have ruined any chance of having a normal relationship with her son because of her past decisions.

"I know that you used to take a lot of potions and they would make you someone else."

There was more wisdom in his twelve year old body than she gave him credit for. Always one to pay close attention to what was happening around him, it had been naïve to assume that he didn't know at least some of what was happening around him.

"Yes, I did."

"Thorfinn said that I shouldn't judge you too harshly for taking them because a lot of bad things had happened to you and it was how you tried to feel better."

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Oliver felt comfortable enough with Thorfinn to talk about his mother's potions problem, but it was. They were close. Always had been since he was born. If they'd named official godparents for their son, it would've been a toss-up between the Rowles and the Yaxleys. Both families were trusted and loved by the Dolohovs.

"Thorfinn was right that I _did_ take them to make me feel better, but he was wrong about not judging me. It was the wrong thing to do. You should _never_ take potions just to make yourself feel better."

She knew that Oliver was aware of more than she gave him credit for. Was it wrong to keep him in the dark? A horrible thought crossed her mind. Rodolphus had also been a part of his life since the day he was born in some fashion. Though certainly not as close to him as he was to Thorfinn, Oliver had always been taught that she could trust Rodolphus. Not his brother though. She made that clear early on that he needed to stay far away from Rabastan. What would happen if Rodolphus showed up again? Would Oliver trust him? He could get himself injured, captured or much, much worse. He deserved to know the truth.

"I haven't taken a potion like those since I… since your eleventh birthday."

The redness that appeared in his cheeks proved that he didn't need to be told the details of what happened _that_ day. Likely they would stay with him until he died. It wasn't every day that a boy had to worry that his father was dead because of his mother. She made the decision to tell him everything. It was only fair.

"I didn't know it at the time, but there was a potion inside of the illegal potions I used to take that made me very angry all of the time. That was part of the reason why I used to get so upset, especially with your father."

They resumed their walk along the beach as she explained to him about the dangers of the potions she took, but promised him that she would never taken another. She also told him _why_ Babajide Akingbade was in the country in the first place. While she didn't tell him _everything_ that she learned in her sessions, she explained that Rodolphus had been manipulating her mind, altering her memories. He was a very bad man and she was afraid of what he would do to her. _That_ was why they were hiding in Augustus' house.

He took it all in stride. She knew that he would need to ask her questions about it later or seek out his father for additional clarification. With each word she spoke to him about her trials, she felt weight being lifted from her shoulders. Maybe there was a chance they could get it right in the future. She thought she might like to get to know the boy who was growing into a man right before her very eyes.


	221. August 8th

August 8th

And yet another quiet morning crept up on the inhabitants of the seaside safe house. Hermione could see the beginnings of the bright rays of sunshine hitting the water. She could almost see the rest of her life stretching out before her, one purposeless day after another until she finally met her sticky end. Unending boredom was causing her to grow entirely too macabre in her thinking. She shook her head to try to knock some of the worst thoughts out. Glancing up, she noticed the window she'd opened before she went to bed hadn't been touched. Though the weather there was rarely unbearably warm, she insisted on going to sleep the night before with the window opened just a crack. Waking up to the smell of the ocean was something she was sure she would never tire of. Huddled under all of the covers, Antonin was of a different opinion about the wisdom of leaving the window open. Left up to him, they would be sealed shut, never to be opened again.

Taking pity on her husband who always seemed to be cold, Hermione carefully climbed out of bed to close the window. Even she had to admit that he wasn't entirely wrong. Snuggled underneath the warm covers after crossing the chilled room felt heavenly. As much as she was beginning to miss their bed in Hogsmeade, she was getting used to the accommodations. Once she was back in the bed, she resisted the urge to place her cold feet on her husband's legs.

"Thank you."

His voice was muffled and heavy with sleep. It had been yet another late night for him. She wasn't even sure when he returned as she was already in bed and asleep. Waiting up for him to return from whatever he was out there doing every day wasn't a good use of her time. She might end up as exhausted as he was if she tried. Knowing that it was unlikely that he would fall back asleep immediately, she rolled over onto her side to stare at him. It didn't take him long to realize he had an audience.

"What?"

"I told Ollie about what Rodolphus did to me yesterday."

Antonin's dark brown eyes opened at her admission. There was confusion in them. Rolling over onto his back, he held open his arm for her to snuggle into his side. He could tell that she wanted to talk. To his credit, he very rarely was bothered by serious discussions in bed when he would rather sleep. She laid her cheek on his chest, appreciating the feel of his arm tightening around her back. For as much as she didn't like him at times, there were others that she did very much. Inside their bed, no matter what happened outside of it, she always felt safe with him.

"How did he take it?"

"Understandably, he was very upset. I censored what he didn't need to know, but I explained about the potions and the memory charms, how I'm afraid that he was able to control me. Maybe he still could."

She appreciated the feel of his lips against the wild curls on the top of her head. There hadn't been an opportunity to really discuss how they were going to handle what they told Oliver. All they'd told him up until that point was there were some bad people who wanted to hurt their family. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget he wasn't a small child any longer. They could blink and he'd be a man.

"I'm glad you told him. He deserves to know… at least _some_ of it. Other parts of it I wish I didn't even know."

There was no reason to ask him which parts he meant. She knew enough. It felt awkward being held in her husband's arms while both of their minds travelled to thoughts of her being with another man. Since learning about her affair with Rodolphus, Antonin had been cool, much cooler than usual, each time the wizard's name was mentioned. Even reminders of Augustus wasn't as successful in bringing up such a strong reaction. She wanted to change the subject, or at least veer it away from Rodolphus as much as possible.

"I never wanted Ollie to know what sort of monsters his parents were."

"Neither did I."

Rarely did they ever admit, even to each other, what horrible people they were. Sure, just like anyone else, they had their good qualities and their moments when they weren't completely horrible. There was still some humanity left in the Dolohovs even if one had to look very, _very_ closely to find it at times. Those who weren't willing to get their hands dirty with blood didn't last long as a Death Eater. They certainly didn't rise to lofty positions within the regime either.

"He was going to find out eventually. Even if it was just hearing from his little mates at school."

Her husband was right. Perhaps it was better to lay it all out for their son, tell him _their_ side before he had the opportunity to hear less than truthful information from outside sources. Likely he'd already learned more about his parents in just his single year of schooling than he had all of the years of his life prior. Away from their parents, children would've been more comfortable sharing what they knew. Oliver could've been hearing nothing but lies. The moment would come soon where they would have to tell him just about everything. Some details of their actions they would take to their graves. Probably best to do it before he went back to Hogwarts for his second year.

"Do you think he will hate us?"

It was tempting to tack on the phrase 'more than he already does' to her question, but Hermione stopped herself. She knew that Oliver loved his parents, despite what they'd been guilty of in the past. Never would she blame him for being ashamed of their deeds. It was human nature after all to despise those that caused ill to others, especially to the vulnerable and weak. Certainly she'd lost count over the years how many people she'd hastened on to a premature death. Thanks to Mr. Akingbade's trick during their last session, a day had yet to go by that she didn't see the faces of her victims rush through her mind. If she discovered that the wizard specifically charmed those memories to haunt her every day of her life, she wouldn't be surprised. It was nowhere near what she deserved. Not really.

"I think we should give Ollie the chance to make up his own mind about us before we decide he will hate us."

He had a fair point. Besides, his father was the _most_ important person in Oliver's entire life. If he was able to forgive his mother for almost killing his father, surely there was some hope that he wouldn't hate them eternally.

"Do you think we deserve our son's love, Antonin?"

"Not in the slightest, but if love was given only to those who _deserved_ it, no one would ever love anybody or be loved in return. We don't get to choose who we love."

Again, he had a fair point. It must have hurt him to say it out loud. She knew that he loved her and desired nothing more than for her to return it. If it was as simple as willing it into existence, she would've already fallen deeply in love with her husband. Since she returned from her year on the run, he'd done nothing but proven to her over and over again how much he cared about her, how far he was willing to go to ensure that she was protected. He'd murdered the Dark Lord for her sake! _That_ was proof that he loved her, valued her presence in his life.

She didn't want to think about love or its consequences any longer. Wars had been fought over that fickle emotion. Why it caused men and women to lose their heads since the beginning of time was beyond her comprehension. She found even just describing the feeling to be damn near impossible. Or maybe it was because she wasn't sure that she understood it to begin with.

"We're not good people."

"We weren't always like this. Maybe there's hope for us in the future."

"I'm not sure we deserve a future."

Antonin kissed the top of her head again by way of responding to her depressing thought. It was normal to grapple with feelings of self-worth and self-doubt when engaged in a possible war for the very right to survive. Hermione had done a number of horrific deeds over the years to make certain that she continued to live for another day. She'd been a witness to the same with her husband. No, neither one of them started out evil, but that didn't lessen the black acts they'd committed.

"This is a much more serious discussion than I expected to have when first waking up. You've always been full of surprises, my darling."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just keep thinking of Ollie's sad face when he told me yesterday that he liked me better since I've come back because I'm nicer and I don't hurt his papa anymore."

"You know I don't blame you for your actions? That they only happened because of the potions and the memory charms?"

"Maybe you _should_ blame me."

They would never know if she was capable of getting angry enough all on her own to attack her husband. Perhaps that was best. She didn't _want_ to know if she had enough rage inside to repeat her attempted murder. One of her greatest fears was to discover that she was more violent and unstable than she realized. Learning about the myriad of ways that Rodolphus fucked with her mind was helpful in dispelling some of her fears, but not all. There was always potential she was as warped and damaged as she thought.

"I made the decision when I was eighteen to follow the Dark Lord. Not because I was afraid for my life or because it was that or remain locked up in a pretty cage. Those were perfectly acceptable reasons for you to become a Death Eater. I became one because I lusted after the power that I thought I could find. The pull of the Dark Arts was… well, maybe there's more Dolohov in me than Fawley. My mum certainly never could understand the fascination. My father did."

Rarely did her husband mention his life as a Death Eater before the end of the last war. It was a subject that wasn't easy for him to discuss. She appreciated that he was confiding in her, telling her bits and pieces about his past that she never knew.

"It wouldn't have been hard for me to continue in my apprenticeship with Gringotts and make a respectable living and name for myself. Find a pretty witch to marry and start a family. But it wasn't enough. I thought I needed more to be happy. The Dark Lord offered that chance. By the time I understood what I was signing my life away for, it was too late. There was no turning back. He had me enthralled."

"Do you regret kneeling before him the first time?"

"Regret it? Of course I do. Every single bloody day of my life. Maybe that's what allowed me to keep my sanity intact when I was in Azkaban, my regret. Not a happy thought. The dementors never wanted that."

"Do you think we can ever be forgiven for the crimes we committed just fighting to stay alive?"

His deep sigh ruffled some of her hair. She was curious to know his answer. Part of her didn't believe she should be punished for what she did when it kept her from being executed. She wasn't like Neville or George. There wasn't an overabundance of selflessness inside of her. Even less after twenty years under the Dark Lord's influence.

"We did what was necessary, but I believe we'll pay for our crimes some day. Probably very soon."

The rest of their conversation was cut off by the sound of their son stomping down the stairs from his attic bedroom. It was time to start another day.


	222. August 9th

August 9th

A sort of routine began to take root inside the safe house. Whether or not it was pleasant or sustainable was still very much up for debate between the inhabitants. At the very least, it was encouraging that the four residents were able to put aside their differences and the initial awkwardness of their presence in Augustus' house together to form some sort of livable existence. Every single day, at least half a dozen times, Hermione asked Antonin alone when they were going to be able to leave her ex-lover's house. His usual answer was just to beg her to be patient.

Waiting around was frustrating, but she learned years earlier when she was on the blasted horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron that war was almost entirely made up of long stretches of waiting for something to happen and short bursts of violent activity thrown in. And that was in a _normal_ war. All of the signs seemed to point to the fact that the war hadn't even really started yet. Antonin confided to her in the privacy of their borrowed bedroom that there had been little to no action so far. No one had claimed the leadership of the regime. Their home being attacked was the only bit of open violence in the month since the Dark Lord died. But they all knew that when it finally happened, when someone finally decided to declare themselves the new Dark Lord, all Hell would break loose.

Hermione tried to keep their minds off of what wasn't happening by cooking a nice dinner for them. Antonin's and Augustus' mysterious missions allowed them the freedom to spend an evening inside the safe house instead of out there in the scariness of the unpredictable world. Though neither wizard was terribly encouraged by the thought of Hermione actually making them a meal, they, along with Oliver, put on a brave face and consumed what she placed in front of them. To everyone's surprise, no more so than the cook's, it was edible and even delicious. Apparently being stuck inside the protective wards in their Hogsmeade home and then in the safe house with nothing to do allowed her enough practice to improve her cooking skills.

"I'm very impressed, Hermione. This was… _not_ what I expected."

She rolled her eyes at the pathetic excuse for a compliment from her husband. The other two wizards were wise enough to keep their opinions to themselves, but she didn't miss the grin Oliver shared with Augustus and his father. Once upon a time it might have embarrassed her to know that she was incapable of mastering the art of cooking. No longer. She silently decided that she'd married well, at least on that account. As long as he was home to do so, she would turn the cooking duties over to Antonin.

"Don't expect perfection every night. Especially not since I can never tell when either one of you will be home to eat."

Picking up a stack of dirty dishes from the table, she carried them over to the sink. She was glad to have something tangible that she could do, something that she could put her hands on. Feeling helpless was infuriating. When she crossed in front of the window, she almost gasped out loud. Standing away from the house, but still close enough that she could make out his familiar pale blond hair, Draco appeared to be staring straight at her. She knew that because there was a Fidelius Charm on the house that he couldn't actually see her through the window. Even knowing that didn't make her feel less discomfited.

What could possibly bring Draco to Cornwall? None of the possibilities were good. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave either. If he wasn't careful, someone else would see him. How would she explain the wizard tracking her to the safe house? Someone would get hurt. Being careful not to draw any unnecessary attention from the wizards still seated at the kitchen table, she scanned the property for anyone else. She didn't _think_ Draco would lead an ambush, but it wasn't as if she really knew the man. Maybe she thought she did at one point in the previous seven months.

Hermione had to get him to leave before he was spotted. When she was confident in the fact that there was no one else waiting out in the shadows with him, she dried her wet hands on a towel. She turned around to announce that she was going to take advantage of the clear skies and take a walk before bed. Oliver's offer to join her was immediately quashed by his father's insistence that it was too late for him to be outside. Bedtime was fast approaching.

"Would you like some company?"

"No, thank you, Antonin. I won't be gone long. This house is stifling. Must've stood over the cooker too long."

"All right, but promise you'll send up sparks if you need me?"

She assured her husband with a swift kiss to his lips that she would. It was a beautiful night. Even if she didn't have a reason to step outside for a walk, she would want to. Knowing that Antonin would likely finish the washing up with her out of the house, she waited until she was just outside of the protective wards of the house where Draco couldn't miss seeing her before turning towards the grove of trees she hid in when she first arrived back in April. The trees were close enough that Antonin wouldn't worry about her and secluded enough that she knew he wouldn't be able to see them.

It wasn't long until she could _feel_ someone following her. Only steps away from the house, she knew that Draco understood what her plan was. Nothing felt malicious about his intentions. Her instincts weren't screaming at her that she was in danger, but she wasn't foolish enough to trust them completely. This could be just another trap set by his uncle to lure her out into the open. She had to be prepared for any eventuality. With her hand in her pocket, she held tightly to her wand, refusing to let it go. Inside the cover of the trees, Hermione spun around to wait for the wizard. It didn't take him long to arrive.

"Are you alone?"

"Of course I am."

"You didn't bring your uncle with you?"

He had enough sense to look ashamed at the question. At least she wouldn't have to explain Rodolphus' treachery again to get him to believe his uncle was a menace. She had a dozen different questions that she wanted answers for. Draco shook his head.

"Who are you working for? Is it the Resistance? Is it Rodolphus?"

"It's… it's _complicated_ , Hermione."

She knew evasive answers when she heard them. Over a decade of conducting in-depth interrogations of known and suspected criminals gave her an edge when it came to detecting lies and other devious tactics. Of course, it wasn't as if he was trying to hide that he wasn't willing to tell her the truth. She didn't understand how his answer could be complicated. Either he was working against her family or he wasn't.

"Are you going to tell Rodolphus where I'm at?"

"I've known you were here all along. Even if Rook's house is Secret-Kept. The spell kept bringing me to this area, but I kept bumping into resistance. Didn't take much to figure out it was the Fidelius Charm. Since you've been here before to hide, I just assumed you were again."

"My _son_ is in that house, Draco."

The first crack in his stoic mask appeared when she mentioned Oliver. Clearly her son's presence was a new fact for him. Perhaps he just assumed she was hiding there alone with Augustus. She hoped that he didn't continue to put the pieces together that Antonin was staying there too. He might be willing to keep her safe and even her son if she asked, but not betraying the known location of the wizard hated most by his uncle's faction might've been an unforgivable offense. To save his own family, and even himself, it was possible that he would have to reveal where the Dolohovs were hiding. She started to make mental plans for running again… _with_ her family this time.

"I promise I won't tell anyone. You're in just as much danger as your husband, maybe more. And I don't want your son to get hurt. He's just an innocent child."

She pushed away his remark about her being in more danger than Antonin. It wasn't a possibility she wanted to consider. If Rodolphus truly had a nefarious plan for how he was going to manipulate her mind to his specifications, she didn't want to know. Just the fears were bad enough.

Draco seemed sincere in his promise that he wouldn't betray her location. She hoped that she could trust him. Revealing to Antonin or even to Augustus that he knew she was there was dangerous. They would definitely see him as a threat that needed to be eradicated. She couldn't tell them _why_ she didn't believe he would hurt her. His statement that he believed he was falling in love with her was difficult to swallow, but she did trust that there was some sort of connection between them. At least enough that neither wished harm on the other. It would have to be enough.

"Why did you come here, Draco? It's not safe."

"I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

The feel of his fingertips against the flushed skin of her cheeks was perilous, _dangerous_. Goosebumps pricked up wherever he touched. She wanted to give in, to throw all caution to the winds and let him do just as he pleased with her right there in the grove of trees. Their location was private. She didn't expect her husband to come walking up on them. He'd been so tired and spoke of wishing to crawl into bed early that night. It would be so easy to allow Draco to do with her what he wished, what they _both_ wished.

But, when she closed her eyes, all she could see was his uncle standing in her back garden. Menacing and so unlike the gentle Rodolphus she remembered from her altered memories, she felt afraid. For one of the first times since the night Draco found her in the Muggle's house on New Year's, she was thinking clearly around him. She wouldn't let him convince her to let down her guard. That had already happened and she didn't like the consequences. Whatever thrall he was able to capture her in yet again, she brushed it off. She pushed his hand away from her face and met his cool grey eyes with hers.

"Tell me the truth, Draco. Were you the one who told Rodolphus I was looking for him?"

She knew the answer without him even saying it. There was only one person it could've possibly been, but she wanted to make certain that he wasn't lying to her. He didn't deny it. Didn't even try. Just put his rejected hand into the pocket of his robes and stared at the witch. A dozen more questions popped into her mind. Why was he helping his uncle? _What_ was his uncle up to? Was anything he ever said to her the truth? Or had he just been manipulating her from the very beginning for his own ends?

It was time to go back to the safe house. Hermione didn't care for how exposed and vulnerable she felt alone with the wizard again. He'd taken the words that she spoke to him when she was in his flat and turned them over to the wizard he _knew_ was messing with her mind. There could be no excuse for that sort of betrayal.

"Leave me alone. Don't follow me again. If I find out that you've come close to me or to any member of my family, I'll not be merciful."

With one last promise that she would confess everything to her husband if she felt the least bit threatened by him ever again, she rushed back to the safety of the house. To his credit, he didn't take a single step forward in pursuit.


	223. August 10th

August 10th

Hermione thought of little else but her impromptu meeting in the grove of trees for the rest of the night. Draco didn't even try to deny the fact that he was the one who told Rodolphus that she was looking for him. At least she could take the tiniest bit of solace in the reminder that at least he didn't lie to her. There would've been no reason to and he knew it. Maybe his honesty counted for something. She wasn't sure. All she knew was she meant it when she warned him about coming near her family again.

If she felt threatened again or she was concerned Oliver would be put in danger, she would tell Antonin _everything_. He might hate her again, but at least he would understand the severity of the threat. Draco was unreliable. She didn't know his true feelings or his true alliances. It was very likely that he'd been manipulating her from the start. Certainly she used to feel fuzzy-headed around him, like she wasn't even in complete charge of her own actions. Perhaps more about her changed with the removal of all of the memory charms than she thought.

Trying to keep a brave face on for the others living in Augustus' home with her was becoming more and more difficult. After a breakfast shared amongst the four of them in the kitchen, Hermione made her excuses to return to her bedroom. She needed a few minutes, at least, to herself to continue to process the events from the night before. It seemed unsafe to have Draco know her whereabouts, but considering the valuable tracking skills he possessed, she knew he would be able to find her no matter where she went. She wished she understood how he was able to track so thoroughly. Maybe then she could figure out how to reverse it, block its effectiveness. It bothered her that he would always be able to find her.

She stood in front of the window hoping that staring out into the ocean would give her the answers she needed. A change was going to need to be made soon. The remainder of her life couldn't be spent hiding inside a house waiting for another ambush. Even if she couldn't ignore that nagging voice in the back of her mind that she didn't have much longer left to suffer in her mortal life, she wanted more than to just sit around and wait for death.

The door to the bedroom opening behind her stalled her fatalistic thoughts. She wasn't surprised to see Antonin over her shoulder. Her husband always kept a close eye on her whenever she was in the same room. He would've noticed a change in her mood even if no one else did. Wishing he would go back to where he'd just come from and leave her alone, she turned back to stare at the vastness of the ocean.

It didn't take a genius to figure out she would rather be left alone and Antonin was one of the most intelligent people Hermione had ever known. Still, he was undeterred. He crossed the room to stand next to her at the window. Both of them stared at the idyllic landscape beyond, unspeaking for several minutes. She wished he would go away, but he was in no hurry to do so.

"You've been acting strangely since you came back from your walk last night. Is everything all right?"

She didn't even try to hide her petulant sigh or the dramatic roll of her eyes. Acting more like a sullen teenager than a woman nearing forty, she didn't care if she upset her husband. They'd lived together for twenty years, married for thirteen of those years. He knew better than to badger her when she wanted to be alone. Not that he usually respected her wishes on that account.

"Oh, everything is just _perfect_ , Antonin. Never better."

"There's no reason to be snarky. I'm simply concerned for you."

When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off. Even when he didn't mean to be, he could be annoyingly patronizing. She assumed it had to do with the large age gap between them. He was twenty-three years older. Though that was hardly anything thanks to wizarding genes allowing them to live close to two hundred if they took care of themselves and stayed out of violent wars, it was enough sometimes to be frustrating.

The air in the bedroom grew thick with sudden tension. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her husband clench his jaw, no doubt to keep from blurting something rude out that would start another fight. They'd had a good, peaceful run between arguments. How many days had they gone? Five days? Six? It was almost a record. Naturally, at some point they were going to blow up at each other again.

"Where did you go last night?"

"For a walk. Just like I told you."

"Did you meet someone out there? You were gone awhile and when you came in you were upset."

She felt her entire body stiffen at his question. How could she answer it? If she told him 'no', he might be able to tell if she was lying. Since returning to his life, he always seemed to know. But, if she told him the truth about Draco, he not only would be furious, he wouldn't stop until he knew everything. She didn't want him to know about Draco. As foolish as it might be to protect the wizard from her husband after he betrayed her to his uncle, she just didn't have it in her to be so cruel. Not to him. She decided to try to deflect the question instead.

"Who would I possibly have been meeting out there, Antonin? I don't even know who I can trust anymore and you already warned me that if I did anything to put Ollie in danger, you would throw me out."

Many moments in their shared past gave Hermione the confidence to know how to emotionally manipulate her husband when the need arose. Certainly not the healthiest of tactics to employ against the man that loved her, at least she knew that it generally worked in her favor. Looking up into her taller husband's eyes, she tried to make herself seem as vulnerable as possible.

"I don't have anywhere else to go, Antonin."

For the briefest of moments, she was certain she'd clenched the victory. Antonin opened his mouth and immediately shut it again. There was the slightest softening of the anger in his eyes. Almost as soon as it appeared, he became serious and harsh again.

"Are you planning on running away again?"

She didn't understand where his sudden paranoid was coming from. It wasn't as if the previous night was the only walk she'd ever gone on since moving in Augustus' house. She wasn't pushing him away. In fact, she could vividly recall a pleasant and passionate tumble in the bed only steps away before they fell asleep the night before. There wasn't a lot to do in the endless waiting for _something_ to happen. They'd been able to pass the time in pleasurable ways many times since arriving. Why was he so convinced she already had one foot out the door?

"Why are you asking me this, Antonin?"

"Interesting how you didn't deny it."

He pushed a rolled up piece of parchment into her hands. Confused, she opened it to discover that she was holding the very list she was making on the day the Dark Lord died before Rabastan came into the Ministry. The beginnings of her next steps were scribbled out in her clear, precise handwriting. When she wrote it out, she was afraid that she was in serious trouble from whatever mysterious benefactor covered up her crime of helping Aberforth Dumbledore escape. Now that she knew she had Augustus to thank for that stroke of genius, she no longer lived in fear. Still, she was curious why Antonin just happened to have the list in his possession.

"Where did you get this?"

"I found it in your Ministry robes the day we were packing our bags."

She remembered. He was teasing her about packing her Ministry robes just in case she needed them again. After she threw them at his head, he must've discovered the parchment inside the pocket. In all of the excitement of the Dark Lord's murder and then her episode at his funeral that ensured she would never be safe to go back to the Ministry, she'd forgotten about her list tucked away in the pocket. Antonin, however, wasn't likely to forget it for as long as they both lived.

"So you're not going to deny that you were making plans to run away again?"

There was the tiniest crack in his resolve. His voice wasn't its usual confident timbre. Instead, she could hear the vulnerability that he always worked so hard to keep hidden. Knowing that she'd managed to, yet again, hurt him made her feel guilty. Perhaps that would always be a recurring theme in their marriage. She didn't appear to know how to make him happy. The absolute least she could do was be honest with him. Even if it hurt him more.

"Yes, Antonin. That was always the plan. Since I returned on Ollie's birthday, I've been planning on running again."

Hurling an Avada at his chest would've been kinder. His shoulders sagged as he heard the words he'd been fearing for months. No longer able to look his wife in the eye, Antonin stared back out the window again. When he felt confident enough to trust his voice again, he spoke.

"Why did you tell me that?"

"Because I'm tired of lying."

Without saying another word, Antonin spun on his heel and headed for the door. She knew better than to rush after him or beg him to stay. Honesty wasn't always easy, to speak it or to hear it. He'd left the door to their bedroom partially open. Through the crack, she was able to hear the obnoxious squeal of the front door that Augustus still hadn't fixed. She knew he would come back home whenever he was calmer.


	224. August 11th

August 11th

She sat up waiting for her husband to come back. Midnight came and went with no sign of Antonin returning. One o'clock arrived. Still no sign. Hermione knew it would be foolish to try to get some sleep without him back. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn't be able to. Not while she was so worried about him. No one would ever deny that their marriage was complicated. As much as she couldn't stand him in one moment, the next she wished he was right beside her. Given the opportunity, they could go on being contradictory with each other for the rest of their lives.

By two, she couldn't bear to spend another moment in the empty bed. It was too cold and depressing. Yes, she'd spent many nights in their marriage alone for various reasons, but this was different. She was worried that he was out there in the scary world doing something foolish that would get himself killed. Would it be her fault? Probably. Even though she knew intellectually that nothing she did could actually cause him to feel one way or the other, it was all by his personal choice what he experienced, she couldn't help feeling guilty. Maybe it would've been better if she just continued to lie to him about her future plans.

Pulling a dressing gown over her nightgown, she crossed the floor as quietly as her bare feet would allow. She was thankful that at least none of the bedroom doors had an awful squeak when they were opened. It wouldn't do her any good to wake up the entire house just because she had trouble sleeping. Oliver had been worried enough as it was. When he watched his father storm out of their safe house, he'd asked his mother a dozen questions about where he was going and why and when he would be back. It had been difficult to admit that she didn't know the answer to any of them.

Augustus had always been steadfast in his habits. All of her countless visits to his childhood home over the years taught Hermione exactly where he kept his best fire whiskey. She reached into the cupboard to pull out a bottle. Though drinking alcohol had rarely been her vice of choice, she could appreciate the feel of the burn down into her belly that always helped her get to sleep. A glass or two would be all she needed to relax enough to hopefully be able to spend the night alone.

It had been over a year since she last drank one of her potions, but she still craved them every single day. She made a promise to Kingsley when she finally was coherent enough in his dingy flat to understand what was happening. Withdrawal from the horrible concoction hadn't been easy. He warned her that she almost died more than once. Too many years of reliance on something artificial to help her get through the madness of her life wreaked havoc on her body. While she could only vaguely remember how the former auror found her wandering around London still wearing her bloody clothes, she was grateful that he did. She could've easily ended up dead in a gutter somewhere with no one to mourn her. Or something worse. Some day she was going to have to sit the wizard down to get the full story. She'd been so out of it that she knew she didn't have the details.

Fire whiskey would have to be her alternative. At least it was legal and plentiful. She poured a glass and sat down at the kitchen table to sip it. In its own way, the alcohol was effective. Some of her fear about her husband began to slowly dissipate. Just before she reached the bottom of that first glass, she heard a stirring behind her. Turning in her seat, she watched Augustus enter the dark room over her shoulder. He jumped when he saw her sitting there, clearly not expecting company.

" _Fuck_ , Hermione." He clutched at his chest. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Why are _you_ wandering around in the dark? It's after two, Augie."

"It's _my_ house. I can do whatever I please."

She liked the fact that they were able to speak to each other again like the old friends they were. Much of the awkwardness had lessened. It also didn't hurt that Hermione made certain to cushion their headboard to keep it from slamming against his bedroom wall again. When she confronted Antonin about making it so his old rival was more than aware of what was happening in the room next door, a proud little smirk had been his only response. For the sake of peace, she made him promise to stop.

"Hope you don't mind that I helped myself to your fire whiskey."

"Of course not. What's mine is yours."

There was a time in their past when he meant that literally. It had been his intention to put aside his first wife and make Hermione his bride. She was glad that that didn't happen. He probably was too even if he was too stubborn to admit it. Perhaps realizing what he'd said without evening meaning to, Augustus cleared his throat and took another glass out of the cupboard. When he set it down on the table across from Hermione, she poured him a liberal amount. She'd decided before her first glass was empty that she wanted to get very drunk. Having company during such an endeavor was preferable to doing it alone. Augustus didn't mind. Just chuckled and took a deep gulp. He knew he had some catching up to do.

"I take it Antonin still hasn't come back?"

"No, he hasn't."

She finished off her glass with a single swallow and tipped the bottle to pour another. With the caustic liquid coursing through her bloodstream, she would be more capable of not worrying about the wretched, stubborn man. He was too damn unpredictable when he got angry.

"Did something serious happen?"

A deep sigh was her initial response. Hermione wasn't sure that she even wanted to entertain the possibility of having this conversation with her ex-lover. Sometimes it was best to keep her thoughts to herself. Outsiders didn't need to know the dirty details of their marriage. But, in the end, she knew she could trust Augustus. He was still her friend. Maybe there had been years when they each wished and thought it would be more… friendship was enough. He'd already proven that he could put his feelings aside to provide her family shelter. That was no small gesture.

"Antonin is angry because when we were packing our clothes in preparation for having to leave our home, he found a list I made detailing my plans for running again."

"I see."

Years of knowing the wizard seated across the table from her gave her an insight to how to read him. She knew that he had an opinion he was trying to keep quiet. It probably wasn't kind. Instead of expressing it, he continued to sip at his glass. Hermione stared at him, waiting for the moment she knew that he would finally break. Maybe the fire whiskey was getting to him or simply the late hour. She didn't have to wait long.

"Seems to me that if you really wanted to keep your plans a secret from your husband, you wouldn't have written them out and left them in a place where he could easily find them."

"It was inside the pocket of my Ministry robes."

"Robes that you hung up in the same cupboard as his?"

Hermione hated when he was perceptive. Perhaps there was even some truth to what he said. She hadn't even bothered to use a code when writing the list. Anyone who stumbled upon the piece of parchment would know her clear thoughts. Either she was getting sloppy or like Augustus said, she _wanted_ Antonin to know her plans. It was a possibility she hadn't really considered. But, she had to remind herself, it wasn't as if she was operating at full mental capacity on that day. Not only was she still under the influence of Rodolphus' spells, she was terrified that she was about to be arrested for helping Dumbledore escape. She was leaning more towards her being sloppy that day.

"Well, no matter. What's done is done." Hermione was thankful when Augustus chose to change the subject. "Oh, I meant to tell you, I received a coded, international owl via France. Mr. Akingbade made it safely back to Uganda. He said there were no problems crossing the border."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Thank you."

Augustus was a curious man. Perhaps a bit _too_ curious at times. It was a personality trait that certainly aided him in becoming an effective Unspeakable. Outside of his former profession, it could be a bit annoying even if she found it amusing. Without even needing to ask him to confirm, she knew that her ex-lover was desperate to know just _why_ he was housing an internationally renowned memory charms expert in his home. Of course, Babajide Akingbade was known for being knowledgeable in a number of subjects. It was entirely possible that Augustus didn't know his true purpose. Antonin hadn't been terribly forthcoming with what he told their host. Deciding that he'd already proven that he could be trusted, Hermione made the decision to confide in him. What did she have to lose? Supposedly all of the charms were gone.

"Mr. Akingbade was here to help remove the memory charms and blocks that Rodolphus Lestrange had been placing on my mind for years. Perhaps even since the beginning of my knowing him. Apparently, it was the most intricate network of memory spells that Mr. Akingbade had ever seen."

Augustus' wide eyes indicated that he hadn't been expected to hear what she told him. The story, barring all but the most private details, tumbled out of her mouth. He sat patiently listening to every word she spoke. Before she was even finished, she could tell that the wizard was _angry_.

"Antonin wouldn't give me any details, but I knew whatever it was, had to have been bad. I'm so sorry, Hermione. That's… that's awful."

"Yes, it was, but we feel confident that they're gone. My memories have been returned to me and we now know that Rodolphus is _not_ someone we can trust."

"If I ever see that bastard…"

She reached across the table to place her hand on top of his. While she appreciated the sentiment, the last thing she desired was to have someone she cared about become another victim of the elder Lestrange brother. He was too dangerous. Squeezing Augustus' hand once and then withdrawing hers, he calmed. Emptying his glass in a single swallow, he rose from the table with his apologies. The hour had grown too late. He was tired.

Knowing that she would find no rest in her bed, Hermione continued to wait.


	225. August 12th

August 12th

Two entire days passed with no word from Antonin. His wife was worried, _terrified_ that he'd run off to do something stupid that he wouldn't be able to fix. She hoped that he wasn't off attempting to confront Rodolphus again. While she had complete faith in his ability to best Lestrange operating under a fair fight, Hermione feared that Rodolphus had more support than her husband. If there was an entire faction of former Death Eaters who wanted nothing more than to keep Antonin from succeeding in his supposed quest to become the new Dark Lord, he would be outnumbered. The Lestranges already proved that they didn't fight fair.

It was important that the remaining adults in the safe house keep as calm as possible for Oliver's sake. Though it wasn't the first time that his father had disappeared for days at a time in his young life, it wasn't hard for the young wizard to notice the difference in Augustus and Hermione. They didn't mean to, but they were behaving strangely. Any time he would ask a question about Antonin, they would get uncomfortable and struggle to find the right words to say. Hermione knew that her son was too smart to fall for their repeated assurances that there was nothing to worry about.

She hated that she was the cause of her husband's anger. It was too late to take back what she told him. Besides, it had been the truth. She _was_ planning to run when given the opportunity again. Surely he was aware of that before he even discovered the list in her pocket. Almost from the very moment she returned to Hogsmeade he'd been suspicious, afraid that she would run again. Even without coming right out and saying so, she knew.

Augustus was kind enough to leave the safe house mid-afternoon to make discreet inquiries into where he might have gone. While she appreciated his assistance, Hermione was feeling anxious, stir-crazy. She wanted to leave the safety of the house to search for him herself. Even putting herself in danger felt like a better plan than just sitting around endlessly waiting.

"Do you know when Papa is coming home?"

Lying to her son used to be easier. And more believable. As soon as she tried to assure Oliver that his father was all right and she wasn't worried, he saw right through her. Knowing that he was worried made it all worse. She'd never been very good at sitting home and waiting. For years she had always been out there in the midst of it all, never left out. She had her own contacts, her own friends in the world. Perhaps they would be able to offer her help. It was better than just waiting and waiting, endlessly waiting. When the sun started to set and neither Augustus nor Antonin were back, she was at her wit's end. She had to do _something_.

"Ollie, I want you to go upstairs to your room. Lock the door and don't open it for _anyone_ but one of the three of us."

"No."

Oliver might have been just as stubborn as each of his parents, but he was never defiant. Especially not openly. Her son stood in the middle of the lounge with his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to budge an inch towards the hidden staircase up to his room. Hermione would have almost admired him if she wasn't already so frustrated and feeling helpless. She didn't have time to deal with a petulant child. Not when their futures were at stake.

"I didn't ask you, Oliver. I _told_ you to go upstairs."

"I'm worried about Papa too. I don't want to sit upstairs in my room."

The temptation to place her only child in a full-body bind was strong, but Hermione resisted the urge. Somehow she didn't think either Oliver or Antonin would forgive her if she resorted to such drastic measures to get him to do what she wanted. Parenting was hard. Especially when her son was refusing to back down. She knew this wasn't going to be a fight easily won by either side.

"It's not safe for you to help. You're just a child, Ollie."

"I'm the same age you were when you helped Harry Potter protect the Philosopher's Stone."

Despite the fact that she'd had the exact same thought multiple times since returning, she was flabbergasted that the words came out of her son's mouth. She didn't even know where he learned the story. It certainly wasn't one that was spoken of in public and she hadn't told him. Antonin knew the stories of her adventures at Hogwarts, but they both made the decision that Oliver didn't need to know them. Not until he was much, _much_ older. Neither one of them wanted to give him any ideas while he was still studying at Hogwarts himself. He was already enough like his mother that they didn't need to help him figure out ways to get into trouble.

Besides, Harry Potter was _not_ a name that was spoken out loud either. Almost as taboo to speak as Lord Voldemort's, it was a name that most were afraid to utter. Nothing but pain and suffering came from it. She never mentioned her dead best friend in front of her son. Fear that he would start to ask questions she wasn't prepared to answer kept her mouth shut on that account. It was too hard to speak about Harry and she never wanted to put her son in danger. Too much knowledge about him might've made him appear to be against the regime.

"How do you know about that?"

Realizing that he'd said too much, Oliver's cheeks flushed red. He would need to learn how to control his temper when he was upset. It was a lesson that both of his parents still could stand to learn more about. When he didn't immediately answer, she repeated her question.

"Hugo told me."

Spoken very softly and with his eyes focused on the carpet at his feet, she could tell that her son felt guilty about revealing the source of his knowledge. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he learned about her past from Ron's son, but it was. She would've assumed that Ron was as careful about keeping those incidents quiet as she. Too much reminiscing about the world before the Dark Lord came to power was considered disloyal. Once he revealed where he learned about the Philosopher's Stone, he kept going.

"Hugo's dad told him. He said that he talks a lot about when he was in school with you and Harry Potter when he's been drinking. Hugo says that his dad drinks a lot. Cries sometimes too. He wishes that everything was different."

Hermione's heart clenched at the mental image of Ron crying about the past. She'd been there too. More times than she really wanted to consider. It took her years to move past those thoughts, but she was glad she was able to push all memories and recollections of her Hogwarts years to the very back of her mind. All those memories did was make her sad. She couldn't afford to wallow in the past. Not when her life was at stake. As a Death Eater, it was _always_ at stake. One whiff of potential disloyalty and she could've been tortured or murdered. Not even the Dark Lord's prized pets were immune.

"Hugo and I don't want to be like our parents. We want to _help_ people, not hurt them."

There might have been a time when she would've been insulted by her son's desires to not be like her. Even just mentioning that he knew his parents weren't good people would've been enough to hurt her feelings, but in that moment, she couldn't blame him. Everything he said in his own innocent way was completely the truth. She hoped that he wouldn't follow in the footsteps of his parents either. He deserved a brighter future than that.

"I also know that you and Mr. Weasley used to fight for the good side, the side that didn't kill people who disagreed with them."

"Did Ron tell Hugo that too?"

"No, it was the Gryffindor ghost."

Oliver had already mentioned once before about the Gryffindor ghost who liked to prank Professor McGonagall with Peeves the Poltergeist. Though she didn't want to even think about the possibilities, she knew who he was talking about. She felt her eyes burn with tears she didn't want to shed in front of her son. It was too hard to think about Fred Weasley being dead. Even after twenty years she found it easier to just not think about him at all than to imagine him as one of the spirits haunting Hogwarts. When she allowed herself to remember that it was Augustus who was the one who cast the spell that ended his life… it was best that she try to forget him entirely.

"Do you know the ghost's real name?"

"Fred or Gred. He says both."

"He's Fred Weasley, Hugo's uncle."

His eyes widened. She had forgotten how innocent he was. Twelve years old and ready to take on the world he knew nothing about. How many years ago had she been the exact same way? The corners of her lips threatened to curl up into a smile. Hardly the time or the discussion for levity, she took control of her facial expressions. She made her face as stern and serious as possible.

"When you get back to the castle, talk to Fred. Ask him questions. He'll probably tell you two everything you want to know about your mum and Hugo's dad."

Much of the urgency she felt earlier to rush out of the safe house into the unknown to do _something_ was gone. Perhaps she needed to have that conversation with Oliver. Hermione sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her to encourage him to take a seat. When they were both settled in, she gently brushed some of his wavy hair behind his ear.

"Your papa and I want nothing more than to keep you safe, Ollie. It's dangerous out there right now."

"Has something happened?"

"No, not yet. That's why it's so dangerous. We don't know when it will. At any moment the war could start again. If we were out there, we could get caught up in it. The last thing either one of us wants for you is to see you harmed. Maybe we seem too strict, but we're just trying to keep you safe."

The front door squeaked loudly open, effectively ending the rest of their conversation. Both Hermione and Oliver jumped up to their feet when they saw Antonin enter the lounge with Augustus. Though he was evidently exhausted, he was in one piece and all right. Oliver rushed to hug his father in greeting. His parents' eyes met over his head, but neither one of them said anything. There would be time to talk later when they were alone.


	226. August 13th

August 13th

She could feel him watching her in the darkness. How she was able to sense that he was awake and staring in her direction wasn't clear. Just that she knew he was. Over the course of thirteen years of marriage and sharing a bed for _most_ of those nights, Hermione developed a special sense to know when her husband was awake and watching. Unsure if she was ready to engage the frustrating man in conversation just yet, she kept her eyes closed and focused on keeping her breathing steady.

Only moments after Antonin released his hold on Oliver when he first reentered the safe house after two entire days away, he headed straight for their bedroom. Not a single word was spoken to anyone. There was no special greeting for his wife. Whatever he'd been involved in his absence, it was evident that he still wasn't over being angry at Hermione for being honest about her desire to run away again. Maybe he would never get over it. She couldn't allow his feelings to dictate her future choices. If she determined that leaving was the best option for her, she wouldn't hesitate.

After a shower, he'd climbed in their bed and immediately gone to sleep. If she discovered later that he hadn't slept at all in the entire time he was gone, she wouldn't be surprised. Despite his age, Antonin had plenty of experience delaying sleep when it didn't fit into his plans. A life spent in the Dark Lord's service made one adaptable. When dinner was over and she could hardly keep her eyes open, she considered just sleeping out on the sofa in the lounge. Maybe it would've been better for both of them if she'd stayed away longer. But, she didn't want to concern Oliver any more than he already was. Waking up to find his mother separated from his father would only make him worry. The needs of children could be so simple at times. He just wanted to see them all together, safe and happy.

Antonin didn't even wake up when she crawled into bed next to him. Careful to keep distance between their bodies, she fell into a restless sleep. Several times throughout the night she woke up following unsettling dreams. Even with him back, she didn't feel at peace about it. There was so much she wanted to know, so much she didn't. Sometime in the middle of the night when the tiniest sliver of the waxing crescent moon was high in the sky, she knew she couldn't ignore him any longer.

Hermione rolled over onto her side, the front of her body turned towards the center of the bed. She opened her eyes to meet Antonin's, to show him that she was awake and knew that he was too. Neither of them were in a rush to break the hypnotic silence. Finally, when she was half-convinced he was merely asleep with his eyes open or had no desire to ever speak to her again, her husband closed the distance between them to gently press his lips against hers. Over in a heartbeat, he didn't press for anything further.

"I'm sorry that I ran out on you… _and_ Oliver."

"I understand why you were so upset."

Part of her wasn't ready to accept his apology. Running out on his family when he was angry with her into an uncertain world where he could've been seriously hurt or worse wasn't how a rational adult handled their frustrations. It had been foolish. Of course the moment those thoughts raced through her head, she realized her own hypocrisy. Hadn't she done the same only seconds after she tried to kill her husband in her frightened and muddled state? And how many times since she'd returned from her year-long adventure had she considered doing it all over again? Perhaps they really were made for each other.

"I forgive you, Antonin. You had every right to be upset."

She was glad that he didn't argue with her. There was no reason and she much preferred their discussions in bed to be much calmer and less fraught with emotion than their usual rows. After their argument about their mutual infidelities in bed earlier in the month, she never wanted to have another disagreement in that sacred place again. Heated debates that led to even more passionate encounters would, however, continue to be allowed. Even if she knew she might come to regret it the moment the words were out of her mouth, Hermione made the decision to continue to be completely honest with her husband. If she wanted him to be honest, she had to do the same.

"I only planned to run because, honestly, Antonin, the very thought of staying in this country has become unbearable."

It was true. Every second she remained, she felt more and more confined. The future leadership of the regime, or even if there _was_ a regime didn't matter. She was under no delusions that she would be allowed to live a happy, quiet existence within the borders of the country she was born in. No longer did she feel like she was welcome at home. Imagining a future where she had to remain in the same places she'd spent the last twenty years desiring to escape from made her unbearably sad. What was even the point of continuing to live if she had to do so in a place that made her so dejected? She would just rather not wake up one morning. Long life in misery wasn't worth it.

"Sometimes I can't even breathe here. It's too confining."

His first response was to tenderly kiss her lips again. She was grateful for the momentary distraction. If allowed to keep rambling, she might have worked herself into an anxious state that it was hard to get out of. Trial and error taught him years ago when they first married that nothing shut up her anxious rambling better than a kiss.

"You were planning to run off on your own?"

"I _was_."

"And now?"

"Now I'm not so sure."

Again it was the complete truth. Even in the short period of time since she began scribbling out that damned list that started the whole trouble in the first place up until that moment in Augustus' house, a great deal about her life had changed. Part of it she knew had to do with the work that Babajide Akingbade did in restoring her memories and removing the charms from her mind. She hoped that he'd been able to remove all traces of Rodolphus' treachery. The fear that the wizard would one day be able to gain access to her mind and implant more spells terrified her more than little else in her life had.

"I understand not wanting to stay in this country any longer than necessary too. It's… it's not _home_ any longer."

Antonin might have felt the same way that she did about leaving the country, but she knew better than to believe that he would act on his feelings. There was too much at stake. He'd already made it perfectly clear that although he didn't actually desire to be the Dark Lord, he didn't trust anyone else to fill up that role. For the safety and security of his family, he was willing to do the exact opposite of what he wanted. It was a tremendous sacrifice. One that she hoped he wouldn't have to make. Not wishing to linger any further on that topic out of fear of how the rest of their discussion would go, Hermione tried to change the subject.

"Where have you been since you left?"

"I snuck back into our home first. There were some items in the basement that I thought we might need. Almost didn't make it back out, if I can be honest. It's being watched."

She couldn't imagine that there was anything left in their house in Hogsmeade that was worth retrieving enough to get pulled into another ambush. Of course it wasn't left unattended. Rodolphus and whatever other idiots were working with him knew that eventually one or both of the Dolohovs would try to sneak back into their house. It was a foolish errand. Not worth the risk. Nothing in that basement was. They'd already packed up the most valuable artifacts and mementos in their bags before they left.

"And that took you _two_ days?"

At first he was reluctant to respond. Years as an interrogator taught her what signals to look for. That and she knew the man better than most. He was easy to read if one simply knew where to look. Antonin was keeping something from her. Likely, a _lot_ of somethings. How was she supposed to trust him if he didn't tell her his secrets? She pushed aside the harsh reminder that she wasn't being entirely truthful with him either. It wasn't fair to expect out of him what she wasn't willing to offer herself.

"I spent most of the time meeting with potential allies. Understandably, they're paranoid and secretive. Word has gotten out that we ran. That doesn't make us look good. We either look guilty or weak. I'm not sure which. Maybe both. These allies had a lot of questions for me. They're still not convinced that they want to help."

"They're going to help you become the next Dark Lord?"

Even in the dim light she could see him vehemently shake his head. She was surprised. Hadn't that been the plan all along? Wasn't that why it was so imperative that Rodolphus and his ilk eradicate the Dolohovs from existence? They were a rival and a challenge for the head of the regime.

"Why not?"

"You reminded me that it was never something I wanted. You encouraged me to seek another way."

Knowing that Antonin wasn't interested in becoming the Dark Lord lifted some of the burden off of her shoulders. She had been terrified for him. There may not have been the all-consuming romantic love between them that stories and films were full of, but there was enormous respect. Especially now that she knew that he wasn't the abusive monster her addled brain made him out to be, she wanted him to be safe and happy and whole. They shared a connection, a _son_. It wasn't unreasonable that she wanted him to be protected. If he no longer wished to ascend to the throne of the Dark Lord, there might even be a future worth having with him… _for_ him. She still didn't expect to make it out unharmed and whole herself.

"I'm not sure my plan will work, so until I do, I don't want to give you any details, my love, but just know that I'm _trying_. I'm trying to ensure that we not only have a future worth having, but our son does too."

Their conversation ended there. The events of the past two days had taken their toll on each of them in different ways. With Antonin snuggled up behind her back and his arms wrapped around her, Hermione finally found the rest that had eluded her for days.


	227. August 14th

August 14th

Antonin was in no rush to return to the outside world once he was settled back in Augustus' house. After the conversation the married couple had in the late hours of the night he returned, a peace had fallen over their family. Hermione was glad to find that he wasn't tempted to leave the next morning. It had been his pattern. An entire day passed where no one, except for Augustus claiming he had an errand when really Hermione suspected he was just trying to give the Dolohovs some time alone, left. Though very little happened, there was comfort in being together.

Midway through August, only two and a half weeks away from the expected start of term for Hogwarts, the four inhabitants sat down for a lavish breakfast prepared by Antonin. With little else to do to occupy his time, he'd once again taken the domestic duties in the kitchen away from his wife. No one complained. There were still awkward moments here and there, but for the most part, they had all figured out an effective way to live with each other. At the very least Hermione was no longer asking her husband every few minutes when they could leave.

"Have you any plans to get out today?"

The question was out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop herself from speaking the words. It reeked of desperation. She didn't want to actually _encourage_ her husband to believe that she couldn't bear to be apart from him when he left. Yes, she'd admitted that she was no longer entertaining running away alone, but that didn't mean she wanted to give him false hope. Their marriage was improving every day, little by little. That still didn't mean what Antonin wanted it to mean. After _years_ of her brain and emotions being manipulated by potions and spells, she wasn't ready to make any serious decisions about what kind of future they might have together.

"No, I thought I'd stay in today. Hogwarts will be starting soon. We should be careful not to waste the time we still have with Ollie."

She appreciated that he didn't make a big deal out of the slip of her tongue. Or maybe _she_ was the one that was making a big deal out nothing. It was just a question after all. She didn't fall to her knees and profess her undying love to the man she'd been married to for over a decade. It would take her some time to relearn how to navigate the potential awkwardness and anxiety of socialization without the crutch of her potions.

Oliver's fork stabbed at his eggs, the clink of the tines hitting the plate enough to pull Hermione out of her thoughts. Rarely did her son ever act out in anger when there was an audience. Either Augustus was quickly becoming considered a member of the family or he was just that upset. She met her husband's concerned eyes across the table.

"Afraid your eggs are going to jump off your plate, Ollie?"

Only Augustus could find the humor in their son's actions. Maybe he didn't realize that Oliver was angry. Or perhaps more likely, he understood perfectly but his personal experience with his own three sons meant that he wasn't impressed. The former Unspeakable laughed his loud belly laugh when he saw the young wizard glare in his direction. Since their conversation days after they first arrived when they thought they were alone in the kitchen, Augustus and Oliver had developed a good relationship. Sometimes Hermione thought that despite being the oldest person in the house, Augustus was just an overgrown child. She assumed that was why they were able to make each other laugh.

"What's wrong, Ollie?"

" _Nothing_ , Papa."

He had many lessons to learn from his parents on how to veil his true feelings and emotions. Every cell in his growing body seemed to scream out that he was angry. Hermione didn't even have the first clue what it could've possibly been about. Breakfast had been perfectly pleasant up until the moment Antonin mentioned Hogwarts. She sighed, understanding at least some of what had their son so upset.

"Are you concerned that you won't be able to go to Hogwarts?"

The sagging of his little shoulders informed her that her guess was correct. All at once she felt guilty that she hadn't even considered how worried he might have been about that. Stuck inside a home that wasn't his, Oliver probably was afraid that he wouldn't be able to go back to school where his friends were. From all reports and witnessing with her own eyes, he thrived at Hogwarts.

"I've already explained this to you, Ollie. You will be going back to Hogwarts on September 1st with everyone else."

"I'm not stupid, Papa. I know we're not safe outside of this house. And if they find out we're here, we won't be safe here either."

Clearing his throat softly, Augustus rose to his feet. He didn't even bother to make an excuse to leave the small family alone. Slipping quietly down the corridor to his bedroom, he gave them the privacy they required. Hermione was grateful. Sometimes it was hard enough feeling like an actual family when they weren't even living inside their own home.

"There's a truce. It has already been settled that _no one_ will be harmed on September 1st. Not at King's Cross station. Not on the Hogwarts Express. Certainly not at Hogwarts itself."

"And did _everyone_ agree to this truce?"

Their son was too smart and too paranoid for his own good, but Hermione couldn't disagree with him. It was a big gamble to just accept that September 1st would indeed be a day of peace. Even more of a gamble to believe that the students wouldn't be harmed at Hogwarts. Twenty years might have come and gone since the last war. That didn't mean she couldn't still remember how the students at the castle were often used against their parents. Luna Lovegood was removed from the Hogwarts Express and kept in the cellar at Malfoy Manor to ensure that her father stopped printing pro-Harry Potter articles in his magazine. They would be foolish to believe that it wasn't within the realm of possibilities that the same would happen again. If Rodolphus wanted to lure Hermione out of hiding, he wouldn't hesitate to use her son.

"I give you my word, son. You _will_ be on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st. You don't need to keep worrying about that."

Oliver was skeptical. So was his mother. Deciding that he was done having the uncomfortable conversation with his parents, he set his fork down on his plate and got up from the table without asking for permission. Neither of them stopped him. They understood all too well what it was like to feel like they were at the end of their tether. He needed some time to calm down. Unfortunately for him, their son inherited a number of their least attractive personality traits. His parents sat in silence listening to him stomp up the wooden stairs to his attic bedroom, breaking it only when they heard the slam of his door.

"I'm worried about it too, Antonin. Just like he said, not everyone agreed to the truce."

"Honestly? I'm concerned too, but I'm more concerned about him _not_ being at the castle. I've spoken at length with Temeritus. With the Dark Lord gone, his number one priority is the safety of his students. He's assured me that he will not allow any violence on the school grounds or in the castle. The other professors are aiding him in ensuring they remain safe."

"I went to school during the war. It wasn't always safe."

"I know, but consider the alternative. We can't stay in Gus' house forever. You and I both know this is only temporary. We can't return to our house. Not until everything has been settled and we're no longer in danger. Hogwarts is the best place for him."

She hoped he was right. Once upon a time she believed that she was perfectly safe within the walls of the ancient, formidable castle. But then somehow Lord Voldemort made his way into the corridors attached to the back of a professor's head. He almost killed Harry. And that was, of course, forgetting the fact that she was almost crushed by a mountain troll in a lavatory earlier that school year. Her second year she was almost killed by a basilisk for no other reason than she had Muggles for parents and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was almost mauled by a werewolf the next year…

The more she considered her own school years, the more she decided that Hogwarts was in fact _not_ the place she wanted to take her son. Did other wizarding schools have to deal with the same insanities that Hogwarts did? She always meant to ask Viktor about Durmstrang, but their time alone was usually spent otherwise occupied in more _enjoyable_ ways.

"Then I suppose all we can do is trust that Headmaster Mulciber can make good on his promises and we have to end this, Antonin. Either we fight the war that's coming or we run. This sitting around waiting is maddening. I can't bear it anymore."

"I know, and you've been very patient. It's just not a good time right now."

As much as she truly didn't want to be involved in the planning and fighting of another war, being actively excluded from one that affected her so deeply was even worse. She was weary of Antonin patronizing her so. Hadn't she proven that she was capable of taking care of herself? She wasn't some weakling.

"You are infuriating. I'm not a child, but yet, you speak to me just like you do our son."

Antonin clenched his jaw, unable to deny her accusations, but still upset by them. She didn't want him to just brush her concerns aside. Either she needed to be given the chance to leave their country behind for good or she needed to at _least_ be kept informed. Trying to 'protect' her from the truth wasn't helping anyone.

"Do you _really_ think that you are still able to do what is necessary to survive, Hermione? Think about it. I know you think I'm coddling you or infantilizing you or whatever intellectual term you want to use for it, but I'm _not_. You are not the same person you used to be. You are not the cold and ruthless fighter that you were. _Something_ changed in you. Did you find it easy to kill Nott? Because I watched you when you came home that day. For _days_ , you were sick, not yourself. Can you honestly tell me that if you had to kill someone again, you would be all right?"

"Nott was an evil man. Killing him wasn't hard."

"Yes, he was evil. He was wretched and nasty and no one alive mourned him when you killed him. He would've killed you given half a chance. And yet, you still struggled. Don't deny it. I know you. What's going to happen out there, Hermione, _isn't_ good versus evil. It's not light versus dark. It's going to be a bloody civil war. _Good_ people are going to try to kill you if you get involved. Not just bad. Do you _really_ believe you could dirty your hands with blood again?"

She didn't know what to say.

"I will protect you and our son with the last drop of blood in my body. I am not afraid to kill or maim or kidnap or do all of the horrible tasks that must be done to make certain my family gets through this in the end. If that means I have to keep the truth from you to keep you from running out there and trying to be brave and foolish before you are ready, then I will. You may _never_ be that warrior again, Hermione. That's all right. Let _me_ be it for you."


	228. August 15th

_Author's Note : Remember in the first chapter when I warned about flawed characters and unhealthy relationships? Yeah, still true. Most relationships are unhealthy to a certain degree in reality and in fiction because humans are imperfect. Yes, Antonin is overbearing and patronizing, but he still loves his family. Yes, Hermione has strength, but she's not done healing from her traumatic experiences and she's also selfish, incredibly so at times. She's lost and confused and you know what? Sometimes it's nice to have someone else do all the worrying and heavy lifting while you put your head in the sand. As long as it's not forever, taking a break from being the one who has to always be strong and in charge isn't a bad thing. And no, I don't see Antonin as the flawed heroic male lead. No one in this story is a hero. They're all pretty screwed up. _

* * *

August 15th

Hermione's conversation with her husband gave her a great deal to think about over the next day. While she could certainly see his point about not being ready to get her hands dirty again, she wasn't sure if she appreciated him keeping her in the dark. Was she really so unpredictable that she would just wander away from safety to confront danger simply because she felt morally compelled to do so? She knew the answer to that was undoubtedly yes. Maybe she had been able to push aside her Gryffindoric tendencies when they didn't suit her in the past when her mind was muddled with potions and she was fighting for prestige and power in a regime she secretly despised. But maybe she wasn't able to any longer. It was why she ran out of Draco's flat and straight into the arms of the husband she believed to be abusive after all. She had to save Aberforth Dumbledore from the prison her mistake put him in. Perhaps Antonin had a valid concern after all.

With the day almost over, Hermione enjoyed a late-night glass of fire whiskey with Antonin and Augustus in front of the fireplace in the lounge. Oliver had been in bed for well over an hour, so they didn't have the added benefit of having him around as a buffer for the adults. There had only been a handful of moments throughout the weeks the Dolohovs had taken refuge in the safe house that the three adults found themselves alone together. It was an arrangement that would never be entirely comfortable for anyone involved. Too much history existed between all of them. When Oliver was around, they had excuses to stay away from the more volatile subjects. Without him, Hermione wasn't sure how the rest of the evening would go. She was tempted to call it a night herself.

She sat on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her next to her husband. In a show of possessiveness that no one could miss, Antonin's arm was draped around her shoulders, gently pulling her against him. Augustus sat in his favorite armchair trying, and failing, not to be made ill at ease by the display on the sofa. If his mind was traveling to the same place Hermione's was, he couldn't help but remember a few incidents on that very piece of furniture months earlier that would've made Antonin leery of sitting on it. She had to bite back an amused smirk at the thought.

"It's going to feel strange around here when Ollie goes back to Hogwarts. I've gotten used to having him around." Augustus sipped at his glass as he stared into the fire. "I never got a chance to be around my boys at his age. I think I would've enjoyed that."

Rarely did either wizard ever allude to their time locked in Azkaban. It was a horrible chapter in their lives that they would like to forget. There were only a handful of times in twenty years that Antonin told Hermione _anything_ about the prison he spent fifteen years in. As horrible as she imagined it to be, she knew it was infinitely worse. How those two mean were able to escape from the prison with any of their wits still attached had always amazed her. Though neither of them would ever win any medals for optimum mental health, nor would she for that matter, they were able to overcome their traumatic experiences admirably. If she'd had to comfort each man at separate times after they'd woke up from a vivid nightmare, she had been glad to do so. She hoped that the dementors would be removed from the prison by the next leader. They were simply too cruel and barbaric.

"We can never thank you enough, Gus, for letting us stay here so long."

Augustus was uncomfortable with any show of gratitude, especially from his main rival of many years. It wasn't easy for Antonin to express his feelings either. Perhaps it was a naïve hope, but Hermione hoped that this experience would help them both put the past behind them. She much preferred when they were working together instead of at each other's throats.

"Glad to do it. Happy to help."

After clearing his throat, Augustus stood up from his chair with excuses that he needed another glass. Hermione bit back a smile. Were all wizards rubbish at expressing emotion and gratitude? She snuggled closer to her husband and leaned up to kiss his lips.

"You were very kind to Augie. Thank you. I know this experience hasn't been easy for you."

"I'd make a deal with the devil himself if it would keep my family safe."

"No, Antonin. No more deals with the devil. Too much of our lives have already been wasted following the devil."

Any response he might have had to her statement was halted by a loud knock at the front door. Hermione didn't understand how that was even possible. Wasn't Augustus' home Secret-Kept? Who else but the ones in the house knew the secret? She couldn't imagine Alain or Mr. Akingbade would've returned so soon after leaving. She was worried that none of the possibilities were good.

Augustus reentered the room only moments after the initial knock. Carefully pulling back the curtain covering the window next to the front door, he peered out at his unexpected visitor. His shoulders slumped.

"Damn!"

Whoever it was, he wasn't pleased to see them standing in front of his house. All hope that they were friendly disappeared at once. Antonin stood to his feet and helped his wife up. He turned his full attention to their host.

"Is it _her_ again, Gus?"

Augustus only nodded. Quickly, Antonin picked up both his and Hermione's glasses of fire whiskey in one hand. With his other, he reached for Hermione's hand. She knew it was serious. Questions could be answered later when they were safe. She allowed her husband to escort her to the door that led to Ollie's attic bedroom. Once inside with the door closed, Antonin pushed the glasses to Hermione. Standing in the middle of the staircase, she watched as her husband pulled down a wall from a hole in the ceiling, effectively hiding the stairs to the attic and making the door seem to lead to nothing but a coat cupboard.

"Hurry up the stairs, my darling. We don't have much time to get into Ollie's room."

She didn't need to be told again. Scrambling up the last few steps, she was glad to see that the excitement hadn't woken their son up. Being a heavy sleeper could be a blessing. Antonin closed the door behind him and cast a silent enchantment over the wood. Seeing his son asleep, completely unaware that they could be moments away from discovery, he circled his bed in silencing spells. Hermione was hopeful that he would continue to sleep without knowing his parents were hiding up there with him. He didn't need to be any more afraid than he already was.

Antonin pressed his hand against the wall opposite from their son's bed. A small window appeared in the paneling. Hermione rushed to his side, eager to see what he was seeing. He moved over enough to give her room to share.

They stared down into the lounge with a perfect view of the front door. Augustus crossed the room wearing his dressing gown, his hair dripping. There was another knock at the front door, much more frantic than the one they heard earlier.

"I'm coming! Give me a moment."

Augustus' voice was only slightly muffled. Whatever gave them the ability to see downstairs also allowed them to hear. Hermione could feel her heart beating against her chest. The late-night visitor was obviously a woman, but Hermione didn't have the first clue who she might be or what her true purpose for coming by meant. Were they going to have to fight? She hoped not. It had been too long since she last had to. And besides, Antonin was right. She wasn't sure she had the stomach for it any longer.

"Oh! Hello there."

Augustus' demeanor changed entirely when he opened the front door. Even his voice took on that seductive husky tone that rarely failed to excite Hermione when he turned its power on her. Still unable to see who was standing just outside the house, she no longer needed to wonder _why_ the woman was there. There were only a few reasons why someone would stop by just before midnight. Based on Augustus' tone, it was for a much more _pleasurable_ reason than a fight to the death.

"You caught me just as I was finishing up my shower."

"What a pity I didn't arrive earlier. We could've enjoyed one together."

Hermione knew that voice. Knew that voice very well. She tried to push down a bubble of both rage and a hint of jealousy. How long had Augustus had enough of an _understanding_ with Alecto Carrow that she thought she had the right to just drop by his home late at night? What other surprises were in store for her as the night wore on?

"Perhaps there will be a reason to take another one later."

"I certainly hope so, Augie."

The casual use of _her_ nickname for Augustus made Hermione very angry. _No one_ called him that but her. What sort of sick game was Alecto playing and why was Augustus allowing it? Sensing that his wife was growing steadily more infuriated as the moments progressed, Antonin placed a supportive arm around her waist. It helped calm her only slightly. She took a deep breath to keep from storming down the staircase to rip the bitch's head off of her neck with her bare hands. Maybe she'd been wrong earlier about her desire to fight.

"When you didn't answer at first, I thought you might have someone else hidden away inside."

"Of course I don't. Feel free to cast a Homenum Revelio if you don't believe me."

Alecto stepped inside with a giggle most unbecoming a woman in her fifties. Did she not understand what a fool she was making of herself? She removed her wand from her pocket.

"I think I shall just to make sure you're not being a naughty boy. _Homenum Revelio_."

Hermione tensed up at the casting of the human-presence revealing spell. If Alecto knew there were others hiding in Augustus' home, she wouldn't rest until they were rooted out. Antonin increased the pressure of his hand on her waist, but it didn't help calm her down. They were about to be discovered! When the familiar wave of energy dispersed by the spell didn't crash over their bodies and Alecto put her wand away satisfied that she was indeed alone with Augustus, Hermione was confused. Antonin kissed the top of her head and pulled her tighter against his side.

"I designed this room to be completely undetectable. It's covered in enough wards that she could cast a thousand Homenum Revelios and never know we were here. It's soundproof as well. No one can hear anything inside this room if they're outside of it and no one inside of it can hear what happens outside unless they're standing right here with the window open. Why else do you think I haven't been terribly concerned whether or not our son could hear us in our bedroom downstairs?"

She looked up just in time to see his satisfied smirk. No longer in fear that they were about to be found and their hiding place ruined, she granted him a smile even as she rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was entirely too proud of himself. At least she was less afraid.

"So this is where you were all of those days you left for hours at a time and wouldn't tell me what you were up to?"

He nodded.

"I had to get this place finished as quickly as possible. I hoped we would never need it, but I'm glad we have it. I'm grateful to Gus. Because of our rather _volatile_ past, no one will ever suspect we're here."

Hermione pushed away thoughts of Draco. There _was_ someone who knew where to find them. Why she hadn't told her husband the truth was still a bit of a mystery to her. They weren't entirely safe. Not like Antonin would like. It was possible they never would be. She focused on what was happening downstairs to keep from blurting out the truth.


	229. August 16th

August 16th

Alecto was in no hurry to leave. Especially not after Augustus brought out a bottle of his best fire whiskey. Not for the first time Hermione wondered what the wizarding world's obsession with that horrid drink was. There were other liquors available after all. One didn't have to suffer the misery of scalded insides just to get intoxicated. But, as with a number of other aspects of their antiquated society, what was good enough for their ancestors was good enough for them.

It was after midnight already and their unwanted guest was making herself right at home next to Augustus on his sofa. At least there were two beds in Oliver's room. If it became necessary, they could sleep in the extra. Hermione desperately hoped that wouldn't happen. If Alecto stayed that long, it would mean that she and Augustus… no, she refused to allow her mind to travel down that road.

"So I guess it was Alecto who dropped by when your brother and Mr. Akingbade were staying here?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it was. She's been making quite a nuisance of herself for awhile now. Gus had to tell her the secret about his house just to keep her from being too suspicious."

"What does she want with Augie?"

Antonin stared at her with a single raised eyebrow like she'd spoken to him in a language he didn't understand. Finally, he chuckled when he saw she was not amused.

"She came to his house in the middle of the night, love. Said she was disappointed that he showered without her. What on earth do you _think_ she wants?"

"There's no reason to be condescending. I just never realized she was interested in Augie. She never said anything to me."

"Based on what you told me about your suspicions that she was working with Rodolphus all along, I'm not surprised. She's been a real snake in the grass, hasn't she?"

Hermione understood how much Antonin wanted to blurt out that he told her so when it came to her former friendship with the wretched witch downstairs. For years, he'd warned her that Alecto couldn't be trusted, that she was using Hermione for her own purposes. Out of her own anger, Hermione refused to listen to his warnings. There were few enough people in their social circles that wanted anything to with the "Dark Lord's Mudblood Bitch" that she wanted to believe she'd found a true friend. It had been naïve and foolish certainly, but it was the truth. She'd been desperate for friendship.

"Gus has been getting information from her. Apparently, she likes to talk after…" He cleared his throat. "…she's been thoroughly satisfied."

"I could've told you that."

He raised a single eyebrow again, curious to hear more.

"Oh, really? And how do you know that?"

She playfully swatted his arm making him laugh. It seemed that no matter how old certain men grew, they'd never fully mature. Or at least they enjoyed taking their minds on frequent trips to the gutter. Antonin's laugh threatened to make her laugh too, but she was able to control herself.

"Has Augie learned anything useful? I'd hate for him to have to endure this for nothing."

"Yeah, I don't think he's had to _endure_ much."

Gesturing to the window with his head, Hermione looked out again to see what he was referring too. Alecto had Augustus pressed up against the back of his sofa as she straddled his hips. She was thankful that the sound from downstairs was slightly muffled. She didn't want to hear the smacks of their kisses and the moans any better than she already could. Augustus' dressing gown was partially open, proving that he used the time it took them to run up the stairs to undress completely and soak his hair in an effort to make his lie about the shower seem convincing.

It felt wrong to keep watching what was happening below. Augustus had to have known that they were able to see all they were doing. Maybe he expected them to walk away from the hidden window or it was always possible that he simply didn't care what they witnessed. Some people enjoyed a little bit of exhibitionism every now and again. Just because he'd never shown that side to her before didn't mean it was non-existent. She was beginning to understand that maybe she didn't know people as well as she thought she did, herself included.

Antonin moved to stand entirely behind her, his chest pressed up against her back. With the benefit of his height, he was able to see easily over her head. It still felt wrong watching even if Hermione found it difficult to look away. Watching others together had never been one of her interests, not even in the midst of the most debauched of dark revels from years earlier. She'd always preferred to be an active participant, let others watch _her_ , but she couldn't deny the appeal of being on the other side.

"We shouldn't be watching this, Antonin. It's wrong."

The feel of his breath just outside her ear forced a shiver out of her body that she didn't expect. He lightly kissed the sensitive skin just under her earlobe, creating another throaty moan that burst out. What was he doing to her?

"I remember a time when you didn't seem to mind when others watched you while you were with other men."

Both of their minds must have travelled back in time to those nights when the Dark Lord allowed them to indulge in all of the pleasures the young regime had to offer. Before they were all ordered to marry and become respectable members of their new society, he allowed them the freedom to act out their most thrilling fantasies. Blood was certainly shed those nights, but none of them minded. Nothing made a Death Eater feel more alive than seeing the light dim in their victims' eyes. Hermione fell under that spell more times than she wanted to recall. While she might have been acting under the influence of her favorite illicit potions, she knew that to show that she was the least bit squeamish around the worst of the atrocities would only make her seem weak in the eyes of the others who didn't want her there. Mudbloods weren't allowed to have respectable positions within the regime. If she hadn't been the Dark Lord's personal pet, she would've been relegated to the bottom rungs of their society. As Theodore Nott once told her, she would be the _entertainment_ , not a willing participant.

Violence was by no means the only activity during their revels. Thanks to the mixture of potions, alcohol and the high emotions from their successful raids and missions, it was usually only a matter of time before those who remained descended into the baser, more primitive acts of self-expression. She knew there were plenty of people from her past who would look down on her actions as being disgusting, but she didn't care. It was how she stayed alive, how she cultivated alliances, how she determined who would aid her in her quest to endure. All of it was simply one long game of survival. If it also helped to scratch some of her biological itches, that was simply an added bonus.

"I always wondered why you never joined in. You could've, you know. I wouldn't have pushed you away."

"Because I'm a very jealous man. I've never wanted to share you with anyone."

"I used to wish you would. Maybe that's why I always tried to make you jealous. I wanted you to want me."

"I've _always_ wanted you, my love. _Always_."

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of her trousers, dipping underneath her knickers. He had a purpose, a goal to reach. Temporarily lost in the anticipation of the touches she knew were about to come, she tensed and grabbed his wrist. Antonin removed his lips from her neck.

"Ollie is asleep just over there, Antonin. What if he wakes up and sees us?"

"He can't see us. Look behind you."

Her husband's deep voice alone was almost enough to get her to throw caution to the wind. But, her good senses prevailed. Spinning around to see where her son still slept, all Hermione saw was a thick wall of smoke. When her eyes were closed and she was focused on nothing more than the feel of his lips and the touch of his fingertips, he'd been silently conjuring a privacy screen. She chuckled. Some of his tricks were old, yet effective.

"I remember when you conjured the smoke when we were in the tent during the Quidditch World Cup."

"Little Ollie had no idea the sorts of depraved acts his papa was engaged in with his mum's firm, willing body just a bunk away. He slept right through it."

"Up until the moment we broke the bunk! Remember trying to explain to a five year old why there was a loud crash while he was sleeping? I thought we'd never get him back to sleep. I blame Thorfinn for telling those horrible ghost stories around the campfire right before bed. We should've sent Ollie to their tent to get him to calm down."

Antonin's quiet chuckles made her smile. It _had_ been a fun trip. She always enjoyed camping with her wizards. Even in the midst of the most stressful times of their marriage, they'd had some good times together. _Memorable_ times too. The moments when the Dolohovs felt like a real family brought her more joy than she ever expected.

"I miss that tent. Whatever happened to it?"

"I'm afraid I lost it."

She couldn't tell him the real truth about their beloved family tent. It was likely still somewhere within the Resistance's village being plundered by that horrible William Wood. If he had to have one of her possessions to make Draco's tracking spell work, she didn't doubt they came out of the tent she used to share with her family. Maybe it was silly to miss a possession that could easily be replaced, but she did.

"Ollie's bed is circled in silencing spells and if we stay off the other bed, we don't have to worry about breaking it. The smoke shields us from view."

"You are a terrible man."

His laughter tickled the bare skin of her neck. Needing something to focus on other than the feel of his mouth against her skin and his hand returning to her knickers, Hermione returned her attention to the action downstairs that she could see in the small window. No longer only partially open, Augustus' dressing gown hid nothing from their view. Alecto knelt on the floor between his legs, licking every centimeter she could, holding him deeply in her throat. At the feel of Antonin's fingers sliding through her slick folds, Hermione gasped. She hadn't realized she was already so sensitive, already so eager for the feel of his touch. Knowing exactly where to apply pressure to morph her gasp into a deep throaty moan, her husband didn't waste a moment in plucking her primed body like a finely tuned instrument.

It was tempting to close her eyes to focus only on the sensations in her own body, but she couldn't look away from the scene down in the lounge. Augustus' eyes flicked up to the part of the wall he knew the hidden window would be. Instead of turning away to look back at the witch on her knees in front of him, he stared, unblinking, right in Hermione's direction. The intensity of the look drew goosebumps all over her flesh.

"He knows we're watching him and he doesn't care. He's imagining that the mouth on his cock is your sweet, little mouth, my love."

Somehow Antonin's commentary made the whole experience much more exciting. She knew there was truth in his statement. Why else would Augustus stare up in the very direction that he knew she was in? It wasn't a coincidence. Antonin increased his pressure, ripping a leg-trembling orgasm out of his distracted wife. Silencing spells or no, she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. What they were doing all felt very, very wrong. Surely they should give the other couple their privacy. Pretend like they weren't aware of what was happening downstairs and go to bed. To _sleep_ , nothing more. At the same moment that Augustus was pulling Alecto up off her knees to encourage her to climb onto his lap, Antonin pushed Hermione's clothes down over her hips until they fell to her ankles.

"The cunt he's dreaming about right now isn't hers. Its _yours_."

Augustus' eyes didn't leave the space he knew he was being watched. Even as he guided Alecto up and down with his hands on her hips, his focus was where he knew Hermione was. While she stared, Antonin invaded her own body inch by traitorous inch. Fully inside her, his right hand snaked around her front to gently grasp her throat. Holding steady and not moving despite both of them desiring nothing more, her husband whispered into her ear.

"I never joined in because I never wanted to share you. I wanted you and only you. That hasn't changed. You're still the only one I want."

He matched his pace to the pace set downstairs. Whether that was intentional or not was unclear. Not that it mattered. They each found their release shortly after they began. No longer interested in what was happening below them and certain that they would be informed of any new information gathered by their host the next day, Hermione and Antonin fell asleep in the empty bed long before their unwelcome guest took her leave.


	230. August 17th

August 17th

To everyone's great disappointment, except for maybe Augustus', Alecto wasn't able to provide any additional information that they didn't already know. The horrible woman stayed the night and even insisted on lingering long enough the next morning to make a big breakfast. Apparently their exertions worked up quite an appetite. Hermione really didn't want to know.

There was no way to keep their son from knowing they had an unfriendly visitor while he slept. When he woke up to find his parents snuggled up together asleep in a bed that was entirely too small for them, he'd been surprised. He appeared to take the news of the intrusion well, all things considered. Oliver appreciated his father's thorough explanation of how secure his room was.

Augustus knocked on the bedroom door when it was safe for them to come out. For the rest of that day and into the next, he couldn't meet Hermione's eyes. If she walked into a room he was in, no matter if there was someone else in there with him or not, he made poor excuses to leave. Once the alcohol and the sex-induced haze wore off, he must have been humiliated. She could understand. Remembering her own actions with Antonin brought a flush to her own cheeks. Her earlier desire to escape from the safe house and find somewhere else to stay increased tenfold. It was entirely possible that the days of the four of them sharing a pleasant meal together were over thanks to the pushy Carrow bitch. Her mere presence was enough to ruin everything. They simply had to make the best of it until another safe place could be found.

The first full day after Alecto left, Hermione and her husband took their time getting out of bed. With no jobs to rush off to, they could linger as long as they wished. Hermione enjoyed the conversations they had, _usually_ , in that sacred place. It might not have been their home, but they were still able to make it comfortable.

"I stopped by Corban and Mafalda's yesterday. Ollie's owl with his school supply list was delivered to their house because no one was at ours."

"Was it safe to go over there, Antonin? It's _next door_ to our house."

"I have no fear of going to their house. It's _our_ house that's being watched. Whatever incompetent fools Rodolphus and his little group have employed for surveillance are complete rubbish. Took them over an hour to even realize I was inside our house when I went there before. I highly doubt they've enough brain cells between them to think about watching the neighbors' houses too."

"But regardless, I wish you'd be more careful."

He rolled over onto his side and pulled her back against his chest in one swift, determined motion. When it suited him, the wizard didn't mind proving how physically strong he still was. Hermione certainly didn't have much to complain about, especially when he nuzzled into the side of her neck to kiss the sensitive flesh there. Something changed between them with the removal of the last spell. She wasn't sure what it was exactly, only that she was interested to see what developed.

"You're not saying that you're _concerned_ about me, are you?"

"Is it such a difficult concept to imagine that a wife might worry about her husband from time to time?"

"Honestly?"

She sighed, not sure she really wanted him to give an honest answer to her question. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Surely it wasn't too much to ask for a simple life, a simple marriage. Nothing about them had ever been simple and it was unlikely that it ever would. Antonin kissed the back of her head and gently tightened his grip on her body.

"Do you still wish that I'd never asked the Dark Lord's permission to marry you? Do you still wish he would've allowed you to marry Gus instead?"

It wasn't the first time her husband had asked her that very question, though she desperately hoped it would be the last. How was she to even answer it? She wasn't even sure she knew how she felt. Everything in her mind had been so jumbled and muddled for so long that she struggled telling the difference in what was real and what was manufactured at times. Whether it was his intention or not, Antonin was a master at emotional manipulation. Perhaps she was just as guilty of doing the same to him when it suited her.

"Why would you even ask that? It's not like we can change the past. All dwelling on it does is make us miserable."

"I suppose I'm asking because I want to believe there's something to hope for."

"It's dangerous to pin all of your hopes on someone, especially if that someone is me."

She didn't want to hurt him with the truth he was asking for. How could she lay there in his arms and tell him that if given the choice to be able to run away on her own or to be by his side, she couldn't decide? Antonin wanted to hear that she'd changed her mind, that her time with him since she returned in May showed her that he was all she ever wanted and desired. It was cruel to lie to a man who was being so vulnerable. She had the power to control him, to _crush_ him with only her words. His weakness, indeed.

"I don't want to marry Augie. I'm not really even sure I ever did."

Knowing and fully understanding that her love for Augustus grew out of a desperation for some kind of positive connection irrevocably marred how she used to view the past. The clearing up of her mind offered her the opportunity for increased clarity. What that might mean going forward was still yet to be determined. She didn't want to give her husband false hope or unmet expectations. Not when she was still trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't.

"I had no idea."

"If you must know, a part of me felt nothing but relief when the Dark Lord ordered Augie to reconcile with his wife."

"Until you found out you would have to marry me instead."

There was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. Sometimes he could behave so petulantly when it served his purposes, but this was different. He was being sincere. His grip on her body lessened. She was afraid he was going to run off again, claiming he had some mysterious errand to run just so he could lick his wounds in private. Turning over to look him in the eye, she couldn't miss the pain, the hurt in those dark brown orbs. Her chest constricted at the undeniable truth that despite his decades as a fierce and violent Death Eater, he was at his core just a man in love with a woman who didn't want him. It was easy to forget that even Lord Voldemort's most faithful were only human.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Antonin. Not about this. I respect you too much. Yes, okay? I _was_ disappointed when we were ordered to marry. More than disappointed really. I was _angry_. I've never wanted my life to be decided by anyone else… especially not the Dark Lord."

She sighed. This wasn't how she wanted the morning to go. Why were they seemingly incapable of going more than a few days without fighting? Was this normal? Were all marriages so bloody frustrating or were they special? They had been dancing around this subject for a long time. Perhaps it was for the best that she just jump in and get it over with.

"We can't keep looking to the past and regretting what we see, Antonin. The past is over and the future isn't promised to us. All we have is the present, this moment right here. Why are we wasting it?"

Her husband stared at her without speaking, almost as if he really wasn't even entirely sure that she was real. While part of her always wished she had the ability to see inside his mind, mostly she was afraid of what she would find inside. No one ever confused her as much as he did. No one that is, when she _wasn't_ under the influence of a complex system of memory charms and potential mind control spells. Sometimes she wondered if she even knew who she was after having Rodolphus' treachery removed from her mind. She might be a complete stranger.

"And do I have you in this moment?"

"Do you see anyone else in this bed with you?"

Some of his sadness melted away with his smile. Though never completely gone, she loved when he smiled wide enough that she couldn't miss his dimples. She leaned over to kiss each one. His arms wrapped around her back, holding her in place. The intensity of his stare reminded her of what he was capable of. This was the man who killed the most powerful Dark wizard that history had yet to know. He killed him for _her_ , for the chance to have a future with her. Was there ever a greater demonstration of a man's love? She didn't think so.

"I know it was you who protected me in my broom cupboard first. That it was _your_ idea all along."

His smile slipped. He didn't know what to say.

"For years now I've wished it had been you outside of my cupboard instead of Augie. Maybe that was a sign that it's been you I've really wanted all of this time?"

"And you can have me whenever you desire. I'll gladly wait for you forever if that's how long it takes."

He coupled his promise with a searing kiss she felt all the way to her toes. Others had come close, but the chemistry between husband and wife had always been the most powerful. Sometimes she wondered if he'd made his feelings for her clear from the very beginning of their acquaintance and showed her how passionate he could be, if she would've been content to stay only inside his bed. The thought of being completely faithful to one's spouse had always appealed to her even if she hadn't considered putting it into practice. With the exception of those first few months of their marriage when they were trying to conceive their first child, she strayed frequently. Antonin did too. Maybe not _as_ often as she did, but it wasn't really a competition.

Spinning them so that Hermione's back was on the mattress and his body pressed on top, Antonin removed his lips from hers to kiss down the column of her neck. He kissed every part of her body his mouth could reach while he made his slow, torturous descent to her knees. Pushing the hem of her thin nightgown up, he met her eyes with a pleased smirk when he discovered no knickers to impede his progress. She could hardly lay still in the anticipation of what she knew was about to happen. Her husband traced the inside of her thigh with his skilled tongue, nipping the flesh ever so gently just to hear her moan. He liked to tease her, torture her, make her _beg_. She was on the verge of pleading with him to stop tormenting her with his gentle pecks…

Until there was a loud knock at the door completely spoiling the moment. The feel of Antonin's deep, annoyed growl between her thighs made Hermione laugh even as she tried to ignore her disappointment and _frustration_ that they were interrupted. Oliver's voice could be heard on the other side of the door asking if he could come in. His father stared down at his mother with a scowl on his handsome face.

"Don't look at me like that. _You_ were the one who was so insistent that I get pregnant thirteen years ago. I'd say this was entirely your fault."

He rolled his eyes even as he bit back a grin.


	231. August 18th

August 18th

An effort was made on a sunny Saturday morning to push past the discomfort that Alecto Carrow's unexpected visit created. Hermione was exhausted of Augustus running out of the room every time she entered. If they were going to continue to live under the same roof, he would need to get over his embarrassment. No one needed to explain to her that sometimes the best way to get information out of a potential source didn't involve violence at all. Rabastan might have been crude when he made reference to her most effective weapon being between her legs, but he wasn't exactly wrong. She'd manipulated her fair share of souls and she had no regrets.

To _try_ to bring back some of the enjoyable camaraderie they'd experienced prior to that night, Hermione got up before everyone in the house was awake to make breakfast. If some of Augustus' favorites that she knew he could never say 'no' to were on the menu, it was completely on purpose. They were all adults except for Oliver. Surely they could get over the awkwardness of one alcohol-influenced night.

"I'm not sure I'll ever get used to walking into the kitchen and finding you cooking."

Antonin's arms slipped around her waist from behind. His lips brushed against the sensitive flesh just under her ear, threatening to distract her from the task at hand. Somehow she doubted Augustus walking in on them on the kitchen floor while his favorite foods burned would help her achieve her goal. Nor did she care for her son to get a firsthand lesson on what his parents did behind closed doors… or thick walls of magical smoke.

"Good. Don't get used to it because I promise it won't become a habit. You're much better at this than I am."

"Well, yes, but you're getting much better. You might one day be better than I am. _Maybe_."

She spun around to playfully shove him away. Before he crossed to the other side of the kitchen to pick up the morning edition of The Daily Prophet that had only just arrived, he laughed and kissed his wife. Those were her favorite moments, the all-too-brief seconds that they felt like an ordinary couple in a normal family. They never lasted long enough to suit her tastes. What she wouldn't give for a simple, _boring_ life. Too many people alive took theirs for granted. She was envious.

"Ollie needs school supplies. We never did circle back to that discussion yesterday morning."

"Are you planning on taking his list and picking them up yourself?"

"I actually thought _you_ might want to take him to Diagon Alley."

 _That_ was certainly unexpected. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she looked at him over her shoulder, unsure if she should believe what he was saying. They'd been in hiding for almost a month. The Dark Lord had been dead for even longer. Not once in that time had her husband even suggested that she go outside into the garden! When she started taking walks along the beach, he'd been anxious, wanting to go with her the first few times just to make sure she wasn't in any danger. Suggesting that she take their son to the busiest wizarding shopping district during one of the busiest times of the year didn't make a lot of sense to her.

Realizing that she was skeptical, Antonin rose to his feet and walked across the room to stand next to her again. She turned her attention back to the breakfast she was finishing up out of fear that she might ruin it right there in the end. As much as she would love to get out of the house even for an hour or two, she wasn't sure that she could actually trust her ears. Was it a trick? Some way for her distrusting husband to find out if she would leave given the opportunity? She didn't appreciate tests. Not when she wasn't even sure what their purpose was.

"It's Saturday and Diagon Alley is going to be very busy today. Lots of parents will be there shopping for school supplies."

"Yes, lots of people will be there, Antonin. You don't like it when your wife and your son are around lots of people."

"That's not fair, Hermione."

She scoffed. Was it not? It seemed to be his purpose to keep his family under lock and key. While she could appreciate his desire to keep his family safe to a point, he could be suffocating. Antonin Dolohov didn't know how to do anything in halves. Never had.

"Aren't you worried that the public will see your mad, insane wife and try to attack her?"

"Hermione…"

There was a note of warning in his tone that she couldn't miss. He hated when she talked about herself that way. Said that it was unbecoming and absolutely untrue. It was almost sweet that he could be so delusional when it came to his own wife. If anyone alive should understand how far her mind had gone in the wrong direction, it should've been the man who slept next to her each night.

"Corban was actually the one who suggested it when I was at their house. He said that there's been a lot of curiosity about you since the funeral."

"I imagine that's true."

"A great deal of whispering that you've gone…"

"Completely insane?"

He rolled his eyes in the dramatic manner their son was only just learning to imitate. No further confirmation was needed. It made sense.

"Go out there and show them that you're perfectly sane and healthy. Prove that you're not locked up in a cellar somewhere banging pipes with your head."

She actually appreciated his attempt at a joke. When she smiled and agreed that she would be glad to take Oliver, he'd kissed her, thanking her for being so agreeable. Moments later the other two wizards in the house entered the kitchen, drawn there by the scents of the ready food. For one meal, at least, Augustus wasn't in a hurry to rush out of the room.

Oliver was excited to learn over breakfast that he would get to go to Diagon Alley later that morning. Staying cooped up in a house was hard enough for adults. For a growing boy with too much energy, Hermione knew it was torture. She didn't miss the concerned look that Augustus silently gave her husband. Perhaps he wasn't as convinced that the plan to be out in the public was such a good one. They didn't say anything specific out of fear of concerning Oliver, but she could almost guess what they were thinking. She would be exposed. If he wished, Rodolphus could approach her. That was why it was very important that they remain in heavily populated areas at all times. By the time the two of them reached the edge of the Anti-Apparition wards surrounding the safe house, Oliver was practically buzzing with enthusiasm.

"Why isn't Papa coming with us?"

"He said he has something important he must go check on instead."

"Oh…"

Her son hadn't yet learned how to shield his emotions the way that his parents could. Part of Hermione hoped that he never would. She liked his innocence. It would be a shame to see him lose it. Hooking his arm in hers, she pulled him against her side, preparing him for the unpleasantness of Side-Along Apparition. Before she took them to London, however, she couldn't resist sparing a moment to tease him.

"Are disappointed to be alone with your mum?"

"No, I just like it when we're all together."

She kissed the top of his head. If she could shield him from all of the pain and misery she knew was coming their way, she would've. It wasn't fair to him that he wasn't able to have a normal childhood, a normal family like other boys his age.

"Let's _accidentally_ forget something important on your list that you can't possibly go to Hogwarts without and we'll encourage him to come with us next time."

Her plan made her son smile and his mood was instantly lifted. Nervous about leaving the safety of their secluded refuge, Hermione took a deep breath before she Disapparated them away. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she _was_ afraid that she would see Rodolphus again. She wasn't sure what she would say to him when she saw him next or what she would do. After having her mind violated by the man for _years_ , she was in no hurry to cross his path again. Especially not in front of her son. It was bad enough that the horrible wizard attacked their home with his goons while Oliver was inside. What would she have done if Alain and Mr. Akingbade weren't already on their way over to their home that night? She hated to even consider the possibilities.

It felt strange not entering Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. Though most of the mess from the explosion had been cleaned up, there wasn't another building in its place. She wondered if that was by design or if there were plans to replace it in the future. Oliver didn't seem to care about the absence of the building nor understand how close his father had come to being killed in its destruction. Perhaps that was for the best. As quickly as she could, she ushered him away from the area.

Antonin hadn't been wrong about anything. The sheer number of people shopping was remarkable. There was an excitement, a joy present that she couldn't remember feeling for many years. Was this what it was like before the war began so many years earlier? It was a lifetime ago. How could she be expected to remember that world? Whatever it was, she found herself almost as excited to be there as her son.

They took their time going from shop to shop picking out the supplies he would need for his second year in the castle. Much like she was, Oliver wasn't dreading the beginning of the school year. He was ready for it, eager to return to a place he loved where he had friends and could freely move about. She desperately hoped that there wouldn't be any reason for him to have to return from his school year to a house that wasn't even a home. Was it possible that they could find somewhere safe and permanent before he finished his year? That they could even get to return to the home they left behind in Hogsmeade? Even if she'd spent a great deal of her time lately dreaming about running away, she couldn't deny that they had an actual home in Hogsmeade. Returning to it wouldn't be the worst fates.

"Mum, why is everyone staring at you?"

"Oh, are they? I hadn't noticed."

It was a complete lie, of course. She'd definitely felt the stares the moment they entered the Alley. Everyone was interested in her presence. Maybe they hoped that she was about to prove all of the theories correct about being completely insane. Wouldn't they just adore seeing the terrifying Madam Dolohov collapse into a fit of confusion right on the cobblestones? It was enough to make her roll her eyes and imagine which method of interrogation she would use on each person first if they were in a side-room on Level Eleven with her.

"Do we have everything on the list?"

"Everything except for the dragon-hide gloves."

She winked at her smiling son. Yes, they would both enjoy playing their little trick on Antonin. For the moment, however, she was anxious to leave. There were too many people who were staring and she hated that her son was aware.

"Want to sneak out to Muggle London and get ice cream?"

It didn't take much encouragement to get him to agree. While she knew that Antonin wouldn't be thrilled about her taking their son out of the protection of Diagon Alley, she planned on making certain they stayed around large numbers of Muggles. No one, not even Rodolphus Lestrange, would risk exposure by attacking her amongst the clueless Muggles.

Just outside of the Wizarding district, she considered her son's question again about why everyone seemed to be staring at his mother. He was too sharp to miss it. She decided that it was only fair that she tell him the truth. Slowing her steps down so they could easily hear each other, she was pleased to see him match hers.

"The reason they were staring at me, Ollie, is because on the day of the Dark Lord's funeral… I had a very public _episode_. I was very confused and thought that I was at a different funeral many years ago."

They weren't far from Diagon Alley's entrance when a figure crossed in front of them, stopping them from walking any further. Expecting at first to see the wizard she was afraid was capable of controlling her mind at his whim, Hermione almost relaxed when she saw Ginny Weasley staring back at her. Blessedly alone, she was glad that Oliver wouldn't have to meet the unstable William Wood and learn the secret of his name.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?"

Without thinking, but as an instinctive move, Hermione wrapped her non-wand arm around Oliver's shoulders. She reached into her pocket with her free hand to feel the handle of her wand. Just in case.

"It's a public street, Hermione. I can go where I please."

It was impossible to not notice how Ginny stared at Oliver. With a warm smile that Hermione hadn't seen on her face in years, the younger witch actually seemed _pleased_ to see her son. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. The Resistance Leader was an unknown variable. Wanting nothing more than to pick up the promised ice cream and rush back to Augustus' home, she found it difficult to move her feet forward. _Something_ about Ginny unnerved her, tickled her suspicions. While she didn't feel like either one of them was in any danger, it was unsettling.

"This must be Oliver. Very handsome young wizard. You look just like your father, don't you? I bet you even have his dimples when you smile."

Ginny walked away from them only moments later, never explaining her true purpose for stopping them on the street.


	232. August 19th

August 19th

The feel of the mattress dipping down beside her woke Hermione out of a deep sleep. It was very late or maybe very early. When she turned over to look at her freshly showered husband try to settle in carefully under the covers, Antonin cursed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's all right."

And she meant it. While she wasn't yet to the point where she was comfortable pointing out to the man she married that she was generally more relaxed and secure when she knew he was nearby, she was. Out of fear that he might take what she said as a hope that she wanted nothing more than a future with him, she didn't feel comfortable telling him that she only truly felt safe when he was next to her. How else could the man take such a statement? Besides, she didn't mind being pulled from her dreams. Every night since the last of the charms were removed she'd been so inundated with images and possible memories she was overwhelmed.

"Are you still having dreams?"

"Yes."

Antonin opened his arm, inviting her to lay against him. She did so without hesitation. His skin was rapidly cooling off following his hot shower. The sensation was nice against her cheek. She wondered if it had been this easy to be alone with her husband in the past if they might've been much happier together. Perhaps it was best that she not allow herself to even entertain such notions. Wasn't their situation perilous enough without the addition of confusing feelings and emotions? They needed to worry about surviving first. Everything else could be figured out later.

"Any that you want to talk about? Sometimes that helps.

"Do you really want to listen to me tell you about all of the stolen moments with Rodolphus when you weren't looking?"

"If it would help you to talk about them, I would listen."

She knew he was telling her the truth. With the final removal of all of the spells affecting her and after she was brutally honest with him about the details of her blocked memories, there had been a noticeable shift in their relationship. If he'd refused to speak to her again after learning about her longterm affair with Rodolphus, she wouldn't have blamed him in the slightest. Whether it was a strength of character or an act of self-flagellation on his part to agree to listen was yet to be determined. As much as she hated burdening him with tales of her misdeeds, it _did_ help to share.

"Did you know that Mr. Akingbade and your brother tested my potions? _All_ of them?"

"No. What do you mean by 'all of them'?"

"They tested the two you've given me: the strawberry flavored one and the other you gave me when I was really confused. But they also tested the _other_ one I used to always take."

His deep sigh of frustration didn't surprise Hermione whatsoever. They'd had many disagreements and outright fights over the years about her potions habit. He'd begged her to stop numerous times, shamed her into remembering their son and a number of other ineffective methods. Addiction was not easily conquered or dismissed. When she allowed herself to think of some of her lowest points in her quest for another vial, she was ashamed. Before she was affected herself, she always thought only weak, stupid people allowed themselves to get addicted to substances that were harmful. How very wrong she'd been.

"How did they get a vial of that? I was under the impression you haven't been taking that anymore."

"I _haven't_. Not since Ollie's eleventh birthday, I swear."

"And yet you still had some? Why?"

"I don't know, honestly. I had an entire drawer in my desk at the Ministry full, but I destroyed them the day I killed Nott. But those weren't all of them. I had more hidden around the house."

She could tell by the change in his breathing that he was angry and struggling to keep his composure. Not that she could blame him. In her recklessness, she could've easily exposed their son to the harmful substance. As curious a child as he was, it would've been easy for him to find hidden vials if he started looking. The clarity that came with no longer being under their influence revealed to her in even more ways what a reckless, awful mother she'd been. She supposed that she had nowhere to go but up as a mother.

"I destroyed all of them but the one I gave to Mr. Akingbade to test. I don't… I don't ever want to be like I used to be, Antonin. I'm still struggling, but I don't want to be dependent on them again."

The gentle squeeze of his arm around her back and his deep exhale proved her words and assurances helped calm him. And, for once, she actually meant what she said. It wasn't just some false promise she made to get him to leave her alone. She desired to be a better person. Mr. Akingbade seemed to believe she wasn't without hope. Maybe he was right.

"Why were they testing them?"

"To make sure they were really what they were supposed to be."

"And the ones I gave you?"

"Were perfectly fine. I didn't actually doubt that, Antonin. Maybe in the beginning when you first gave them to me, but I've known for awhile now that you were only trying to help."

He pressed his lips against the top of her head by way of thanks. Suddenly uncomfortable by her admission, Hermione moved on to the other potion. She didn't want to give him the opportunity to reinforce the fact that he cared so much about her.

"But they discovered something wrong with the third. It had been mixed with a rage potion and a…" She didn't want to tell him everything, but was exhausted of keeping secrets. "…a lust potion that will apparently cause a person to go mad with prolonged use. I suppose we now understand what some of my other problems were."

"Did you always get potions from the same place?"

"Yes… Rabastan."

Even without saying a word, she knew he was thinking about how foolish and reckless she'd been over the years. To trust Rabastan with _anything_ was asking for trouble. She was thankful that she hadn't gotten as hurt as she could've been.

"So what reason would Rabastan have to add a rage and a lust potion to it? I don't understand unless it was to make sure your actions were even more erratic and unpredictable."

"Maybe."

It was impossible to uncover without a shadow of a doubt exactly what Rabastan was up to. He played the long game in every move he made. While it seemed at times that he was careless of acting purely on instinct, she knew better. There was always a plan. Evidently, his older brother was the same.

"I'm concerned more about the lust potion than I am the rage. At the very least, I'm pleased to know there's a logical explanation for your volatile anger. I confess I was scared for you many times and… _of_ you. But, the lust potion, I don't understand. Why? Did Rabastan add it to force you?"

"No, he never forced me. He's a horrible, disgusting man, but no, I've only ever gone to him willingly."

"And what about any others? You weren't…"

"No, Antonin! Never. I can say with total confidence that I've only ever been with those I wanted to be with… even when I was taking the potions I still knew how to say 'no'."

She wasn't sure if that was a relief to her husband or not. Maybe a small hope rested within him that her lascivious behavior, that no doubt humiliated him, was a result of factors behind her control, that it wasn't simply because she didn't want to be with him. Of course nothing in her life could ever be simple.

"There has to be a reason why Rabastan put those extra potions in the vial. And I can't help but suspect that Rodolphus is the one giving him orders. He's always controlled his brother. Even in Azkaban. Everyone always assumed that it was Bellatrix that held all of the power in their marriage because he was so quiet, but that wasn't true."

"Why do you think Rodolphus was so obsessed with me? What were his plans for me?"

Nothing about what Rodolphus did to her made the least bit of sense. If he was simply attracted to her and wanted to have an affair with her, she proved she was willing without the manipulations. Did he have plans to use her as a weapon? She almost killed Antonin only minutes after he blocked her memories. Had that been the plan? Was Rodolphus interested in being the next Dark Lord? She couldn't imagine that was the truth, not with his ties to the Resistance. But, she had to remind herself of his own words.

 _"_ _I'm not_ not _part of the Resistance though."_

He spoke in riddles, never explaining his true purpose for living like a domesticated dog inside the Resistance's village. It was possible they would never know what he meant to do until it was too late. Sensing she was steadily getting more upset, Antonin pulled Hermione tighter against his chest.

"Maybe he fancies himself in love with you and he wanted to control you. He wasn't blameless in what happened to Bellatrix. She wasn't always insane. You reminded a lot of us of her when she was young, before she lost her mind. It's possible he thought he could remake you to be more like she was before Azkaban."

Her body shivered at the thought of turning into that wretched woman. Or was it because she could already see what it was he meant? Maybe the process was complete and she could do nothing to reverse it.

"But, really, Hermione, I think we're just going to drive ourselves mad if we try to piece his mind together. Let's not. He no longer has control over you. Let's be thankful for that."

Except she couldn't be certain whether or not that was true. Without knowing the full scope of his plans, it was entirely possible that he still had the power to force her to his will. Even more frightening than just worrying about it was understanding that she wouldn't be able to test out whether or not he could control her until they were in the same room together. She hoped to never be that close to him again.

"How was Diagon Alley? Were there any problems?"

Hermione forced her mind to stop thinking about Rodolphus long enough to answer Antonin's question. There would be plenty of time to worry about the horrible wizard later. Focusing on the trip she made to London with Oliver would be the perfect distraction.

"No problems. It was as you suspected. Lots of curious people wanting to know if I was going to attack them or maybe lay down in the middle of the cobblestones and start drooling."

He didn't appreciate her attempt at humor, but didn't address it. It was late after all. Both of them were struggling to cover up their yawns.

"We did see Ginny Weasley though. That was interesting."

Every muscle in Antonin's body tensed at the mention of the red-haired witch. He'd been on the wrong end of Ginny's wand a time or two. As much respect as he had for his dangerous foe, he probably didn't like learning that his wife and son were in her proximity. Enemies were everywhere.

"But don't worry. She didn't try anything. I didn't even see her reach for her wand, but I had my hand on mine the entire time."

"What did she want?"

"Just to say hello, it seemed. She did stare at Ollie for longer than I was comfortable with. Said that he looked just like you, even had your dimples. Then she walked away."

"How odd."

Something in his tone felt off to Hermione, but she didn't want to prolong their discussion any longer than they already had. Morning would be there soon enough. She snuggled into Antonin's side, content to lay in his embrace a little while longer.


	233. August 20th

August 20th

Once upon a time Mondays actually meant something to Hermione. When she was working in the Ministry interrogating their most notorious criminals and enemies of the regime, she had a sense of purpose, a reason to hop out of bed early in the morning. She was a creature who appreciated routines and rituals. It helped to keep her life ordered and manageable. No longer having the need for a schedule was frustrating, but a small sacrifice to ensure that she and her small family were safe.

She lingered in bed longer than she ever would've dreamed about doing in her previous life. Antonin was already gone, his side of the bed cool to the touch. Though he wouldn't give her details until he was certain that his plans would be successful, she knew that he'd been working in the background with potential allies trying to figure out the next movements of their enemies. Their world had grown deceptively quiet. It was only a matter of time before another explosion rocked them all to the core.

Every day in Hermione's life, Monday or not, now felt much like the one before. She knew that it wouldn't be this way forever. Perhaps she should just relish in the relative calm in the moment. Too soon they would likely be on the run again or worse, caught up in the violence that marred her adolescence. If she could be content for the time being simply relaxing and recharging, maybe she would even have an advantage over those who meant her harm. She knew that the Lestrange brothers hadn't stopped their maneuvering for a single moment. A second not spent in the execution of their final plans was a waste.

Forcing herself to get out of bed before she allowed her mood to become any worse, she dressed quickly for another day spent wasting around and waiting. She didn't hear any noise outside of her bedroom in the rest of the house. Likely the remaining inhabitants were taking advantage of a quiet day themselves. Exiting her bedroom, she made the decision that a cup of tea was likely just what she needed to help chase some of her blues away. At the very least, it gave her a goal, a mission to complete, even if for just a few minutes.

Hermione was surprised to find Augustus seated at the kitchen table when she entered. Nibbling at a piece of toast, his attention was so focused on his copy of that morning's Daily Prophet that he didn't even hear her walk into the room. It had been weeks since she last read an edition of the newspaper. None of the so-called news held within its pages likely had any value whatsoever. Her curiosity, however, got the better of her.

"Anything interesting happening out there?"

The sound of her voice startled Augustus out of his reading. Looking up at the new arrival into his kitchen with wide eyes, he carefully folded up the newspaper and tried unsuccessfully to pretend like she hadn't just caught him unaware. She found his behavior to be odd, but so had most of his actions since her family moved into his house. It was a bizarre situation to be in to begin with. Any normal human being would've felt much the same way.

"You seem awfully engrossed in the paper this morning. Must be exciting. I haven't even glanced at a copy since before the Dark Lord's death."

He cleared his throat, attempting again to seem like he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How could he be so successful at keeping a secret as big as the fact that he was actively working with her husband for months and yet allow all of his emotion to show on his face when he was caught off-guard? She found him to be a fascinating and contradictory specimen. Maybe that's why they were attracted to each other. They were similar in many ways.

"Oh, have you not? Well, I can assure you, dear… _Hermione_ , that there's nothing interesting within these pages whatsoever."

"Sometimes you're an excellent liar, Augie. _This_ is not one of those times."

Before he could stop her, Hermione had the folded up newspaper in her hands. Part of him seemed to be at war within himself as to whether he should fight to get it back or not. She didn't understand why the horrible newspaper was such a big deal. It wasn't as if she didn't know that the words written within couldn't be trusted. That was a fact that hadn't been changed since she was a fifth year in the year the Ministry of Magic tried so hard to keep the fact that Lord Voldemort was alive quiet. Finally, the wizard's shoulders slumped and he sighed.

"Antonin has been keeping all of the newspapers away from you and Ollie for a reason. I should've been more careful and read it in my bedroom."

"My husband often thinks that he's working in my best interests, but I am _not_ a child. If he wants to keep the newspapers away from our son, I will support that, but not me. Kindly remind him I'm not his child the next time he insists you do something for 'my protection'."

There was a lot more that she knew she could say on that subject, but chose to hold her tongue. Antonin had a very old-fashioned way about him that drove her absolutely mad. Perhaps it used to be common for the wizard who was the Head of the family to protect those in his care by keeping them ignorant. Just because that was how things were once done didn't mean they had to stay that way indefinitely. If he wanted to have any shot at a future with his family intact, Antonin was going to have to learn that he couldn't just make all of the decisions for his family himself. They had to be partners or they would never make it.

It didn't take her long to figure out the reasoning behind Antonin's decision to shield his wife and child from the contents of the newspaper. Spread across the front page in bold print was a headline announcing that the "Notorious Madam Dolohov" had been seen out in public for the first time since her rather public meltdown at the Dark Lord's funeral. A picture of her walking down Diagon Alley with an excited Oliver at her side accompanied the words. Apparently, there had been some speculation following the incident that she had been carted away to a private room in St. Mungo's, conceivably for the duration of her miserable life. It wasn't a surprise at all to see the reporter's name at the top of the dreadful piece. Rita Skeeter would never get over what she'd done to her when she was a teenager.

She looked up from the disgusting words to level Augustus with a glare. How much worse had the previous articles been, she wondered? Considering what she'd heard from Skeeter's columns before, the mention of taking her son to shop for school supplies was relatively mild. Her ex-lover didn't appreciate the stare, but he was no coward, and he had a long history himself with the witch across the table.

"How bad have they been?"

"Awful enough that Antonin didn't want them even in the house. I told him that I couldn't cancel my subscription. Not without it seeming suspicious. You know there's a record of subscriptions. Alecto works there. She could see that I cancelled it and I have no doubt she would want to know why."

"Did you keep the previous newspapers?"

He sighed in defeat. It was a question that she didn't even need to ask. She already knew the answer. Of course he did. Knowing that there would come a time when her husband was no longer able to keep the truth of the libelous rubbish in the newspaper from his wife, Augustus would've saved any article that mentioned Hermione for her to read later. She even had a good idea where he might've kept them. Without saying another word, she crossed the kitchen to a small broom cupboard. When he started to stand to his feet to stop her, she knew she was right.

Even with a disillusionment spell cast on them, she was able to easily find the stack of newspapers hidden on the top shelf. A bucket that might have once been used to hold a mop a generation or two earlier when his mother still lived in the house made a poor excuse for a barricade. It was the same place he used to hide gifts for her. He always thought that he was being clever, but it hadn't taken her long to discover the secret.

"I knew I shouldn't have stayed at the table. I thought you'd be having yourself a lie-in again this morning and I would have plenty of time to read in peace."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Augie."

She settled the stack of newspapers on top of the table to look through. While she was certain that she wouldn't want to read every single disgusting word that was printed about her, she needed to have at least some idea of what was being said. She had to know what she was up against. It didn't take her long at all to see how right Augustus had been. They _were_ awful. Much worse than the articles the same newspaper printed about Harry Potter over twenty years earlier, it was evident that they were doing whatever they could to discredit and humiliate her. Antonin would be caught up in the same avalanche of lies and rumors because he was her husband. Truthfully, she never understood how anyone could stomach a career in journalism. It was a nasty business with even nastier people involved. She wouldn't have wished to be in it for even a day.

"I think it's safe to say based on what he has allowed to be printed in The Daily Prophet that Albert Runcorn is not on our side."

"No, I'd imagine not. If he'd printed this kind of rubbish with Antonin in charge, he would no longer have his head on his neck."

"I've been trying to figure out in my own way who is on our side, but it's not been easy. Most are reluctant to talk to me because…"

Hermione set the paper she was staring at down on the table to look him in the eye. He seemed uncomfortable by how their conversation was going. Funny how he was a fearsome wizard capable of bringing many an enemy to their knees, but he could be unnerved by a woman he loved.

"Because of me?"

"Well, yes. Our past relationship makes it so no one wants to talk to me about you or even Antonin for that matter. Of course, it would seem to me that if there was _anyone_ who was in favor of overthrowing Antonin and ending his life, it would be me, but no one with half a brain has ever asked me."

He'd said too much. It was one thing to have fantasies about seeing the husband of the woman he was convinced he was in love with dead and it was quite another to actually speak the words out loud. Augustus cleared his throat and dropped his eyes from hers to rest on the stack of newspapers.

"It's why I've been pursuing a relationship with Alecto. She loves to talk, especially about you. My dear, she _hates_ you with a passion I didn't know was possible."

"I wish I could say that I was surprised by that, but after all that I've learned since having the memory charms removed, I believe it."

"She has been helpful in giving me a lot of information."

The subject of Alecto Carrow hadn't yet been brought up between them since the night she came barging into his home. It was awkward, to be sure, but necessary that they finally get all of it out. He needed to understand that she wasn't judging him for doing what he had to do. Besides, she meant it months earlier when she let him go. Augustus wasn't hers and he never would be again. She couldn't bear breaking his heart one more time. What he did with his time and with whom he spent it was none of her business. Seducing an informant was a common tactic in espionage. Hermione had done it more than she wanted to admit to. There was a reason why it was employed so often… it was effective.

"I hate doing it. I hate being with her. She's… she's just awful, but until I've learned everything I can…"

"You have to keep at it."


	234. August 21st

August 21st

The sun wasn't even out of the sky yet when the front door to the safe house opened to admit a smiling Antonin. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading, surprised that her husband was actually going to be home at a decent hour. Most nights he stumbled in just as his family was getting ready for bed or already snuggled into their beds asleep. His associates, the ones that he hoped would be convinced to fight in the upcoming war on his side, preferred to meet under the cover of darkness. There was too much at stake in their lives to be seen with a notorious figure like Antonin Dolohov alone. Suspicion, evidently, was choking the remnants of the regime.

"This is a surprise. It's not even dark out yet."

Antonin's response to his wife's remark was to simply kiss her firmly on the mouth. Without care that they had an audience of their disgusted son and their uncomfortable host, he put all of his emotion into the kiss. Hermione was caught off-guard, but didn't have anything to complain about. Only the tactful clearing of Augustus' throat encouraged them to break it off. How the man managed to stay so composed when he was daily faced with watching the woman he believed himself to be in love with with her husband was a mystery. Antonin argued in the privacy of their bedroom that it was proof that his feelings for Hermione weren't as strong as they used to be. As much as she hoped he was right, she wasn't prepared to believe his theory quite yet.

"What has you in such a good mood?"

"Can a man not just be excited to come home and see his family?"

She tried her hardest to imitate the same facial expression that he passed down to their son, but was unable to raise only a single eyebrow. Both of them inevitably moved at the same time when she tried. Regardless of her failure, he was able to understand her silent refusal to believe his answer. Laughing, he pecked her lips once more, breaking it off before there was another admonition from their host, of course.

"I just came from Corban and Mafalda's house."

"I really wish you wouldn't get so close to our old house, Antonin. Not when we know it's being watched."

"There's no need to worry about me, darling. As you can see, I'm perfectly all right."

It was an argument they could have later when they were alone. Her curiosity over what would have him in such a good mood kept her from continuing down that line of thinking. Hadn't Antonin proven over the decades of his life that he was perfectly capable of protecting himself? Though she knew that one day he wouldn't be able to escape his fate, this wasn't the time to nag him about taking more precautions with his safety.

"Corban told me something in confidence that hasn't yet made the newspapers."

Hermione glanced quickly in Augustus' direction at the mention of the horrible newspaper that had continued its almost daily aspersions on her character and sanity. He hadn't been as careful with the daily editions as he promised Antonin he would be following the morning he accidentally let her steal his first paper. There was an unspoken agreement between them. When he was finished with the day's newspaper that he now chose to read only inside of his bedroom, he would add it to the stack of old papers in the cupboard in the kitchen. It was a small rebellion against the wishes of her husband. She didn't care. If she was to be stuck in the safe house, she needed to know at least some of what was happening outside.

"The Ministry of Magic _appears_ to be working just like usual, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has abolished the Trace on all of-age citizens. They are no longer tracking everyone's magic."

If that was true, it was a big deal. So many of the witches and wizards living under the harsh regime felt powerless because they were constantly being scrutinized. Using the wrong sort of magic was punished. Using magic in the wrong place was punished. On and on and on the restrictions went. There were many who tried to use their magic as little as possible just to be on the safe side of the law. Too many people were shipped off to Azkaban or even executed because of the Trace. Before the Resistance learned how to cloak their magic, they were frequently caught in their seditious activities.

"Corban said that the entire tracking division in the DMLE had been disbanded. Some of them lost their jobs, but you'll forgive me if I admit to not giving a rat's arse what happens to them."

"So what does this mean exactly?"

Augustus wasn't prepared to join in the celebration with his old friend. Not until he could understand why the man was so excited to begin with. Hermione assumed that his confusion had something to do with the fact that he spent most of the last twenty years tucked away in France. He hadn't been affected like the rest of them who remained. Up until the day that he was recalled from France a few weeks earlier, supposedly by the ailing Dark Lord, he'd only come back for a few days or weeks at a time for over thirteen years. Once his request to marry Hermione was denied, he was shipped off to France to serve as something like an ambassador for the regime. He hadn't even been a part of her life again until she was on the run from Antonin. There was still a great deal he had to learn about what he missed out on.

"It means, Gus, that the war is about to begin… for _real_ this time."

"How do you figure?"

"It would be rather difficult to fight if your movements were continually being watched and tracked, wouldn't you say? No one is going to be held back by the damned Trace any longer. Soon, you'll see what I mean. It'll start."

So excited was he about the potential for violence, Antonin didn't even notice how wide-eyed his son grew. Tucked away in the corner by the fireplace with one of his new school books, Hermione wasn't certain that her husband was aware that Oliver was even in the room. There wasn't excitement on her son's face. No, nothing but sheer terror marred his features. What he must have been imagining had to have been frightening. She tried to catch Antonin's eye to silently plead with him to stop, but he was too happy about the idea of fighting in another war to notice.

"It probably won't happen all at once, of course. Most aren't even aware the Trace is gone. News will get out soon enough though. I imagine those who lost their jobs haven't been silent about what happened. When it's common knowledge, _someone_ will finally make the first move."

The sound of Oliver's book crashing to the hardwood floor startled everyone in the room into silence. Antonin spun around to see his son rushing towards the attic staircase. Too wrapped up in what he saw as the beginning of the very thing they were all fearing, he didn't even notice how much he was upsetting their son. Clearly, Hermione wasn't the only parent who could forget Oliver was in the room. While that thought should've made her feel the tiniest bit better about her failures as a mother, all she could think of was how scared her son must be.

She set her own book down on the sofa to chase after Oliver. Few times in his twelve years had she ever felt the urge to comfort him. A lot had changed in her life in just a short time. Glaring at Antonin to show her displeasure, she rushed up the narrow staircase to the attic bedroom. Expecting to find her son laying on his bed in tears, she was surprised to see him standing in the window that overlooked the ocean. Staring at him from behind, she was amazed by how much he looked like his father already. He wouldn't be a child for much longer.

"Oliver, are you all right?"

Her son didn't turn away from the window at the sound her voice. No doubt he must have found it strange to know that she followed him. It was something that usually was done by his father if anyone bothered to do it at all. She felt her heart clench at the reminder of all of the failures she'd made in his life. Was there enough time to make up for them? Or was she doomed to never be able to atone for her many mistakes? She had to push aside the thoughts of the day she told Rodolphus she was pregnant and wanted to keep it. There had been so much hope inside of her that day. Surprised that she'd been _excited_ to learn she was pregnant again, she took it as a sign that she needed to try to make her marriage work. The blocked memory came bursting forth days after she learned about the truth of the staircase incident. She'd woken up in tears. Damn Rodolphus for his treachery! If her daughter had lived and they were able to become a stronger family, maybe all of their lives would've been better. Sadly, she would never know if that was the truth.

"Why does Papa want to fight so much? I don't understand."

Hermione moved to stand next to him, but didn't reach out to touch him. They were still building their relationship, still finding their place together. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable or startle him with too much too soon.

"Your father feels helpless, Ollie. Like he can't keep his family safe. Standing around waiting for something to happen is driving him mad. He sees the fighting beginning as a way for him to be able to do _something_."

"I don't want him to fight. I don't want you to either. It's been nice having the three of us together."

"I agree. It has been. Maybe you'll understand better when you're older, but sometimes you have to do unpleasant tasks, like fighting, to survive and make sure your family is safe."

He turned away from the window to finally look his mother in the face. Hermione hated how sad and frightened he seemed. She remembered all too well what it was like to be his age and afraid.

"Can't we just run away? Go somewhere else where no one who wants to hurt us can ever find us? That way no one has to fight?"

Hermione wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Almost immediately he sighed and some of the tension escaped his growing body. It seemed that all three members of the Dolohov family were interested in running. Perhaps it was a family trait. She was tempted to suggest that they all pack their bags again and leave. Only knowing that leaving while there was still so much uncertainty in their world was a bad idea kept her from acting on her wishes. Running from a problem was rarely the right solution.

"You don't think you'd miss Hogwarts? You couldn't go there again if we left."

"You could teach me magic."

It was such a sweet, naïve remark that Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. She envied him his innocence.

"I would be a terrible teacher. You'd hate me after a single lesson. Your father would be a much better teacher."

"Then Papa could teach me. I don't care. I just want us to be together and I don't want either of you to die. Hogwarts isn't more important than that."

She pulled her son into an embrace that he didn't reject. Holding him tight, she repeated assurances that they would do whatever was necessary to keep him protected and safe. For once, she meant it when she spoke those words. Whatever happened, if the fighting and the war _did_ begin soon, she was going to do what was necessary to keep her son out of it.


	235. August 22nd

**_Author's Note : Thank you again to all of you lovely people who take the time to review. You can't even begin to understand how much I appreciate and need your encouragement. When I'm ready to quit this story, your kind words give me the strength to keep pushing on. I literally wouldn't be able to do this without you._**

* * *

August 22nd

Somehow Hermione was able to calm her son down with her assurances that he didn't have to fear what was coming. She could hardly convince herself of that lie, but he was still innocent enough to believe his mother when she made him a promise. With Oliver still held in her arms, she looked up to find a concerned Antonin watching them from just outside the door. As much as she wanted to chastise her husband for being so careless with his words where their son could hear them, she couldn't. She was just as guilty at times of doing the same. All they could do was try to be better in the future to make up for their past failures.

Antonin requested a few minutes to speak with Oliver alone that Hermione gladly provided. Their relationship had always been much closer. She had no doubt that her husband would know exactly what to say to make up for his mistake. Hopefully, this would not be a situation they had to repeat. As much as she continued to worry that Hogwarts wasn't going to be as safe as she was promised, she knew it would be better than wherever his parents ended up. Augustus' house was only temporary. They couldn't stay forever. She didn't want to be there any longer than she already had been.

By the next night after Oliver's dramatic exit to his room, the safe house was much calmer. Whatever Antonin said to their son helped. Hermione was grateful that they had a special and close relationship. There was nothing Antonin wouldn't do for Oliver, including throwing the woman he loved with a fiery passion for twenty years out on her arse if she became a danger to his safety. It helped her relax somewhat knowing what a staunch protector their son had. He would be all right. No matter what happened in the war that was sure to come, he would be safe and come out of it unharmed. She _had_ to believe that was true or she feared she might go mad with worry.

The announcement that the magic of adults was no longer under the scrutiny of the Trace gave Hermione a great deal to think about. While the three wizards were engrossed in listening to a Quidditch match on the wizarding wireless, all she could think about was how she wasn't sure that was the truth. For years, well over a decade and a half, the wizarding population of Great Britain knew that the Ministry of Magic was tracking their every move. Suspicious spells cast were often met with an investigative team from the Ministry to determine what the average citizen was up to. Many ended up in Azkaban with their lives irrevocably changed. While Hermione knew that the magic of the Death Eaters was also subject to the same scrutiny, as evidenced by the impressive temper tantrum Antonin threw the day he was ordered to register, there had always been allowances made for the Dark Lord's most faithful followers. A record might have been kept of their spells and activities, but it wasn't used against them unless a case could be made for treason against the regime.

She didn't trust that her magic wouldn't continue to be tracked. Maybe with the disbanding of the department responsible for monitoring the use of magic and her husband's current status within the regime, Antonin wasn't able to track her, but that didn't mean she believed no one else was. Until she knew she was safe, she vowed to continue cloaking her magic when she was alone and in hiding. It seemed safer that way.

"Remember when you took me to the Wimbourne Wasps match last summer, Papa?"

Antonin turned his attention away from the wireless to smile at his son. Quidditch had always been something they enjoyed. Hermione usually had to be dragged to important events like the Quidditch World Cup against her will, but Oliver and Antonin took the time to share in their excitement together.

"Of course I remember, Ollie. One of the best matches I've ever seen. Almost a perfect day. Only would've been better if your mum had been there too."

She tried to ignore the guilt she felt at being reminded that the previous summer she was on the run. Probably around the time her husband took their son to a Quidditch match to get his mind off of his mother almost killing his father, she was holed up in Kingsley Shacklebolt's flat trying not to die from potions withdrawal. Hardly a memory she wanted to relive.

The commentary on the Quidditch match continued blasting from the the wireless while Hermione's mind travelled back to the previous summer. Yet again she was grateful that she'd been found in her delirium by someone who didn't wish her ill. Before she could progress very far in her depressing reminiscences, a loud knock at the door startled them all. Knowing it could only be one other person, and one she hated at that, Hermione's lip curled up in a scowl.

"Really wish your girlfriend would owl before she just popped over, Gus."

"So do I. She's probably trying to catch me doing something I'm not supposed to."

Antonin led his family up the narrow staircase to Oliver's bedroom. They had to rush to get the room sealed before Augustus opened the door. Unlike the last time that they were in the room together, no one bothered to press the panel on the wall that revealed what was happening downstairs. Either Antonin wasn't interested in knowing what was happening or he was concerned that his son would see more than he should. Either way didn't matter to Hermione. She certainly didn't want to repeat what happened the last time Alecto came to visit. As _interesting_ as the night had become, it was awkward.

"I suppose it's late enough that we could just get in bed."

Her husband's suggestion sounded just fine to Hermione. It _was_ late after all. Staring at the second bed, she decided that she wouldn't sleep in it again just the way it was. Both of them had woken up with stiff limbs. A simple spell enlarged the bed enough that they could sleep comfortably side by side instead of on top of each other. Seeing what she was doing, Antonin slipped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear.

"I thought the bed was rather cozy the way it was before."

"Oh, yes, very cozy right up until the moment you elbowed me in the stomach."

The sound of their chuckles made their son's eyes roll. He could be terribly dramatic at times. Throwing himself down on top of the bed with a groan, Oliver made his displeasure at being torn away from his Quidditch match clear.

"Why does Gus have a friend over when it's so late?"

Hermione caught her husband's eye, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. He was struggling with the same urge. At least they were able to find some humor in a difficult situation. It helped to keep their minds off of the very real fact that they were in danger if Alecto knew they were just up the hidden staircase. Of course, that was assuming that any of the three adults allowed her to leave the house alive. The odds of that happening weren't great. Alecto might have been effective against terrified children and teenagers when she was forced to be the Muggle Studies professor for one year, but she'd grown complacent and weak. Too much time spent in a comfortable position with the Daily Prophet and rarely going out on raids or missions kept her out of practice. Only when she thought she could trust her voice without chuckling did Hermione try to answer her son's question.

"Well, Ollie, sometimes when adults care about each other very much…"

"Mum, I know all about sex. You don't have to explain it to me."

It was impossible to keep her laughter under control after being shocked by Oliver's response. Evidently, a lot more had changed in their home when she was away than she realized. Perhaps it wasn't the right response to have under the circumstances, but no one had ever claimed Hermione was a great mum. Or even a halfway decent one. Maybe better mothers wouldn't laugh in such a situation at what their child said. She really didn't have the first clue.

"And where the devil did you learn about that? I'd like to see what books you've been reading when we're not around."

"Papa explained it to me ages ago when I was ten. What he didn't tell me I heard about from some of the third years."

"Don't listen to them. They don't have the first clue what they're talking about."

If he was learning what she learned as a first year from the third years in her House, he wasn't learning anything that was correct or true. She had to conduct her own independent research in the medical books in her father's study when she was home between terms to discover they were wrong. Of course, considering the third years were Fred and George Weasley and their best friend Lee Jordan, it was highly probable that they only told the younger students in their House what they did as a joke. One never could tell with the Weasley twins.

"Why couldn't he go over to her house instead?"

It was a question that none of them had the answer to. Deciding it was too late to stay up any longer, Antonin suggested they all try to get some sleep. Annoyed that she didn't have her pajamas with her upstairs to change into, Hermione kicked her shoes off and climbed under the covers of their bed with a grumpy expression on her face. How could one horrible woman like Alecto bring so much discomfort and aggravation everywhere she went? She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that their friendship had been a complete lie from the very beginning. They'd shared so many late nights where they sat up talking about _everything_. Alecto was one of the first women that ever wanted to be Hermione's friend. Perhaps that should've been a sign that something was amiss.

"What's the matter, my darling?"

"That horrible woman. We were having such a lovely evening. Now we're stuck up here and I don't even have anything decent to wear to bed. If she keeps this up, we may as well just move up here permanently with Ollie."

He dropped his voice to a whisper as he climbed into bed behind her.

"That's a terrible idea. I like our privacy."

His kiss did not go unnoticed by their son. Making a gagging sound and asking them to stop being so gross, Oliver rolled over onto his side to not have to look at his parents. Through his laughter, Antonin cast silencing charms around their son's bed so they could have a private conversation while he tried to fall asleep.

"I'm sorry we're having to spend another night up here."

"It's not your fault. It's that horrible cow Alecto's fault."

"Are you _jealous_ of Carrow?"

"Yes, but not in the way that you're thinking."

She worried that even though she'd already confessed that she didn't want to marry Augustus and likely never had, that Antonin was still afraid that she would run off with the man downstairs given half a chance. It was a ridiculous fear, but she couldn't exactly blame him for feeling how he did. The entire situation they were in was bizarre. She knew that she should've chosen her words more carefully.

"And in what way do you think I'm thinking?"

"You think I'm jealous that she's downstairs doing god only knows what with Augie."

"Well, _yeah_. Aren't you?"

"I'd rather she never touch him, but no, I'm not jealous for that reason. I know why he's doing what he's doing. We talked about it. It's not because he's in love with her. He just needs information."

Somehow admitting that she talked to her ex-lover about the woman he was currently engaged in a sexual relationship with was not what Antonin wanted to hear. He rolled over on his back, no longer snuggled up behind her. It was a terrible sign that their conversation wasn't going to go well. The silencing spells around Oliver's bed would only go so far. She knew that if he was truly angry, her husband would let her know without concern that their son might witness the scene.

"Don't get angry with me, Antonin. We're all living in this house and it's bound to be awkward at times. He told me that he was only with her for information and I told him I understood."

"So you gave him false hope? Told him that you forgave him for betraying you?"

"You're being unreasonable. _No_ , I did not give him false hope or any hope at all. He was uncomfortable that I knew about them. Probably even knew that we _watched_ them together."

She was exhausted. Even if she wasn't when they first sought their escape in the attic bedroom, she was after having the same tired row with her husband. Would he never get over his jealousy? Augustus would likely have to die before he finally believed he was no longer a threat to his marriage.

"I'm jealous of Alecto because she gets to go home whenever she wants and sleep in her own bed. I'm angry because we can't even sleep in our borrowed bed downstairs because of the wretched bitch. _That_ is why I'm jealous. It has nothing to do with Augie."

No longer wishing to continue their conversation out of fear that it would never end, Hermione rolled over onto her side to close her eyes and _try_ to get to sleep.


	236. August 23rd

August 23rd

The first moment that the Dolohovs could leave the attic bedroom after Augustus' late-night guest left, Antonin took advantage of it. Early in the morning before the sun even up, he made his escape to their usual bedroom to shower and dress. Hermione tried not to take offense to his clear desire to be away from her, but it was difficult. A man's hurt pride was often a hindrance to a peaceful home.

It had never been her intention to upset her husband. If she was perfectly honest, she wasn't even entirely sure _why_ he was so upset. How many times did she have to tell him she didn't want a future with Augustus before he would actually believe her? Of course, she could hear that obnoxious little voice in the back of her head reminding her that she never assured her husband that she wanted a future with _him_ either. All she'd said was they weren't even guaranteed a future so why should they worry about it and waste the present? Hardly a romantic gesture on her part to tell him he was fine for now, just maybe not in the future. She could understand why he was so sensitive about her desires for the rest of her life. In truth, Hermione wasn't even sure she saw Antonin as her future. No doubt he could tell. That had to hurt.

No one really got to choose who they loved. It was one of life's great cruelties. Sometimes a person could be completely genuine in their feelings and actions toward the one they loved and still be rejected.

Love also didn't always make sense. Antonin admitted to her once in a drunken stupor that he fell in love with her only _days_ after she moved into his house. The protective instinct he possessed in abundance desired nothing more than to keep her safe and sheltered from the ugliness of the world she was made a part of against her will. Though she didn't know it at the time, it was why he wanted to guard her cupboard. Hadn't her life been turned upside down enough without the fear of additional trauma inflicted upon her? It had been a kind gesture, one she wouldn't have expected out of the fearsome Death Eater notorious for his love of torturing Muggles. When she announced her desire to become a Death Eater herself, he'd begged her to reconsider, promised her that he would keep her safe. She was tired of relying on other people to keep her safe, tired of feeling weak. Becoming a Death Eater and more than just the Dark Lord's prized pet gave her the opportunity to have her own power. She didn't feel weak with his Mark on her arm.

She had been unkind to him over the course of their marriage. When she considered not just the physical violence she'd inflicted on the man, but the cruel emotional and verbal abuse, she struggled to believe why any sane man would still love her, still desire to have a future with her. Not that he was perfect. Far from it. Her memories might have been manipulated to lead her to believe that _he'd_ been the abusive one, but that didn't make him a saint. Antonin had done his share of bad and hurtful in their marriage. Perhaps to be in love, one had to first be a little bit insane. Or perhaps he believed that after all of the terrible acts he'd committed over the course of his lifetime, loving an abusive woman was his due punishment. She _hated_ that she had to classify herself as such. Considering the way she acted under the influence of the illegal potions and her own blood thirst, it wasn't as if Hermione could deny it was the truth. Not now that her head was finally clear after years of being choked in the shadows.

When Antonin stormed out of the safe house shortly after dressing, she no longer had any desire to remain inside. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, suffocating her. A long walk along the beach was exactly what she needed. Fresh ocean air would hopefully clear and lift her spirits. She wasn't even halfway out the kitchen door when the sound of her son's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Are you going outside? Can I come?"

It seemed cruel to deny him the fresh air just because she was in a petulant mood. With a smile and a nod of her head, Hermione made her son's morning. Oliver rushed out the door with her, eager to be outside. They made their way to the water's edge without speaking, simply enjoying the morning air. When they'd been out for maybe a quarter of an hour, her son finally spoke the first word between them.

"Was Papa mad this morning?"

She sighed. How could she possibly answer that without getting too complicated? Nothing was ever very simple in her life. Considering her words before she replied, she couldn't help but smile when Oliver hooked his arm with hers. Their relationship was slowly developing. It crept along at a snail's pace, but there was a definite improvement from where it had been even since she returned to Hogsmeade on his twelfth birthday. As strange as it still was, Hermione discovered she rather enjoyed her son's company.

"Your father has a lot on his mind right now and I fear I may have upset him without meaning to."

"Does that happen a lot when people are married?"

"It can. Some marriages more than others."

"Sometimes I make Emmy angry and I don't even know what I did."

Hermione bit back a smile. She didn't want to embarrass her son. Emmy Rowle was Thorfinn and Hannah's middle daughter. A year older than Oliver, even Hermione had noticed how her son's eyes lit up when the pretty, quiet girl entered a room. His first love was so innocent and pure that she envied him the experience. Had she ever been so innocent? It was impossible to remember.

"I'm afraid that can happen sometimes."

They continued their walk in silence again. Oliver didn't release his hold on his mother and she found she quite liked the affectionate gesture. Each moment he didn't pull away from her warmed her heart just a little bit more and gave her hope that perhaps all was not lost between them.

"In Diagon Alley you told me that you had an _episode_. What did you mean by that?"

Hermione's first instinct was to shield her son from the full truth. Yes, he knew bits and pieces from their previous conversation when she explained that Rodolphus couldn't be trusted because of the spells he used on her mind, but she didn't tell him everything. Part of her began to understand why Antonin was so determined to shield the ugliness of the truth from her. She didn't want to frighten Oliver or have him concerned about her well-being. Wasn't he allowed to just be a child? His childhood would be over so soon. It was tempting to carry the burden entirely on her shoulders, but considering how infuriated with Antonin she got for doing the same to her, she just couldn't bring herself to keep it hidden.

"I already told you I got confused. I thought I was back in my sixth year of Hogwarts when Headmaster Albus Dumbledore died. Do you recognize the name?"

He nodded, but didn't say anything else. Over twenty years after his death the legacy of the wizard had been tarnished by Lord Voldemort's regime. Some still remembered him for the good he once did. An entire generation had grown up hearing nothing but lies and rubbish about her former Headmaster. Now, though Hermione's own feelings about the wizard were complicated, she couldn't completely ignore the positive to only focus on the negative. History was always rewritten by the victors. She wondered what else would change as the regime she helped build continued to crumble. If history books mentioned her name, she highly doubted she would be remembered fondly.

"Albus Dumbledore was a complicated man. I disagree with a lot of what he did when I was older and better able to understand how harmful his tactics really were. When he died, it was terrible. The school was attacked."

"By Papa?"

"No, he wasn't a part of that attack."

It struck her once again that her son knew more than she realized. With such a prodigious curiosity, it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would seek out everything he could learn about his parents' pasts. A day would come when the Dolohov family had to sit down and be completely honest. As much as she might have dreaded that day, it was only fair.

"We were devastated by the Headmaster's death. His funeral was quite elaborate. When your father and I went to the Dark Lord's funeral, I had a terrible headache. I got very dizzy and confused. Somehow I fell out of my chair into the grass. Caused quite a scene. Everyone was looking at me. When I looked up and saw your father, I thought he was there to kill me. I thought I was back at the Headmaster's funeral and we were under attack. I screamed that the Death Eaters were there and we should all run. Then I called out for Harry Potter."

Oliver's eyes widened at the mention of the name no one was brave enough to speak out loud.

"The Minister for Magic actually had to stun me because I started kicking and scratching your father. When I was stunned, he carried me home. It was an embarrassing scandal, I'm afraid."

"Is that why the newspaper keeps printing articles saying you've lost your mind?"

"How do you know about that?"

Realizing he'd said too much, Oliver's cheeks flushed red and he suddenly found the ground at their feet terribly fascinating. Hermione wanted to laugh, but managed to keep her composure. Staring at him with a serious expression, he broke under the pressure. With a heavy sigh he confessed his dark secret.

"Gus is really terrible at hiding the newspapers Papa doesn't want us to see."

Unable to hold it in any longer, Hermione burst out into loud laughter. Understanding that she wasn't upset with him, Oliver joined in. She shouldn't have been surprised at all to learn her son found the newspapers. He was like her in so many ways or rather, who she _used_ to be. A part of the girl who died in the broom cupboard was reborn in her son.

"You're absolutely right. He's terrible. Did you read anything that shocked you or you have any questions about?"

"I know most of what's in there is complete tosh. At least that's what Papa says, but… it said that you seemed afraid that Papa was trying to kill you _again_. Has he… has he tried to kill you before?"

There seemed no reason to lie to him. In only a few years he would be the same age she was when she broke into the Department of Mysteries, the _first_ time Antonin tried, and mercifully failed, to kill her.

"Yes, your father's tried to kill me at least twice. Almost succeeded the first time. I suppose after what I did at your birthday party, he and I are even now."

The topic of his eleventh birthday had not yet come up between them. Like his parents' violent pasts and her moments of public confusion, it was only ever going to be a matter of time before they eventually had to discuss the truth. It was better in her opinion that they do it sooner rather than later to prevent him from hearing wrong information elsewhere.

"Did you mean to kill Papa that day? Or was it just the potions and the spells in your head that made you do it?"

She felt a burning in her eyes that she wasn't used to. It had been so long since she allowed herself to cry regularly that when errant tears popped up in her eyes, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. Rubbing at them, she sighed and tried to think how she was going to broach such a difficult topic.

"Yes, I believe it was. I think Rodolphus Lestrange wanted me to attack your father, but I'm not sure why."

They ended their walk along the water a short time later. Oliver knew the barest of details, the broadest of outlines. While neither of his parents came away looking very good after she explained to him the reasons why they'd both attacked each other in the past, she knew it was a necessary conversation for them to have. For the rest of the day, she watched him lost in his own thoughts, waiting for the next questions she was sure would come.


	237. August 24th

August 24th

It frustrated Hermione to no end that she had trouble falling asleep when she was alone in the bed she usually shared with her husband. When did that happen? Even before she ran off after nearly managing to kill him at their son's birthday for an entire year, she spent countless nights on her own, perfectly content to sleep without the sound of Antonin's steady breathing centimeters away. In fact, there were plenty of times that she knew she slept better because he wasn't even in the same house. Part of her wanted to get back to those days.

Well after midnight, probably closer to two in the morning, she still hadn't heard the squeaky front door open to admit the wretched man. She might have dozed off a time or two for a few minutes, but it certainly wasn't restful sleep. It was hard to even tell that she'd been asleep at all. Maybe she didn't have a job to go to the next morning, but it was the principle of the whole situation. Where was he? _Why_ was he not at home? Or, their temporary home at least?

Punching her pillow in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position that _might_ allow her to finally relax, she cursed the man's name under her breath. Mostly because she could finally understand why he'd been so concerned about her running away again. Being on the other side wasn't fun at all. Always fearful that he was going to get himself into trouble or hurt. Worried that something catastrophic would happen to him before he found his way home. It was enough to drive a person mad.

Realizing that laying in bed wasn't going to help her relax at all, Hermione rose and crossed to the window. Moonlight lit up the countryside. It would be the Full Moon soon. Just days away. She wondered how Fenrir was faring. Months had passed since she'd had any contact with the werewolf. That was likely for the best. She could only imagine how uncomfortable Antonin's return visit to his cottage was days after he almost caught her tied up on his bedroom floor. Even if he was an ally they could rely on in the coming fight, she didn't think her husband would be interested in cultivating that relationship. Only in desperation would he seek out the werewolf for his assistance or ask his wife to do so on his behalf.

She hated to admit, even just to herself, that she was worried about Antonin. So much had changed between them. It might not be a forever plan to remain with him, but in the moment, she knew that he was her best chance at survival. Remembering that she'd seriously considered taking Rabastan up on his offer to join his faction made her physically sick to her stomach. What would that have actually entailed? Beyond betraying her husband when he wasn't the monster her sick mind made him out to be for years, such a decision would've put her on the same side as the horrible man who'd been manipulating her mind for _years_. And to what purpose? She still didn't understand the man's motivations.

The sound of the bedroom door being quietly pushed open roused Hermione from her worsening thoughts. She was thankful for the reason to stop thinking about the Lestrange brothers. Seeing Antonin over her shoulder slipping into their dark bedroom, the knot in her stomach began to untwist itself. At least for the present, for _that_ moment in time, he wasn't harmed.

"Why are you still awake?"

There wasn't any anger in his voice, only concern. She moved across the room without giving him an explanation. Maybe their argument wasn't over yet, but for the briefest of seconds, she just wanted to relax. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she laid her head on his chest. He didn't push her away, only moved his arms around her back to return the affection.

"I can't sleep when you're not here."

Kissing the top of her head, he begged her to allow him the chance to take a quick shower before he crawled under the covers with her. It wasn't a difficult request to make. She understood all too well the desire to cleanse her own body when she'd been out in the world completing unpleasant tasks. Whatever kept him away from her, whether it was his anger and jealousy or his mysterious tasks to seek out more allies, he didn't want to bring that into bed with him. Sometimes she knew that they both refused to get into their marital bed without showering because they didn't want to bring the filth of their affairs with them.

She waited for him in bed, unafraid that she would fall asleep before he climbed in next to her. There was a conversation they needed to have. No matter what, she had to convince him once and for all that Augustus was not a rival. Not any longer. All she felt for the former Unspeakable was warm affection, _not_ love. Her feelings for her husband, confusing and infuriating as they might be at times, were definitely more powerful than what she felt for her ex-lover. Maybe the tiny flicker had the chance to turn into a spark that fanned into a flame, but she couldn't see the future for certain. Her relationship with Augustus, however, she _could_ see as being nothing more than a friendship.

Antonin made good on his promise to be quick in the shower. With his hair still dripping and his body steaming, he lifted the blankets on his side of the bed to slide in. She didn't wait for an invitation to lay her head against his chest. Not that she would've been denied. He was ready to open his arms when she moved.

"I was worried about you."

He kissed the top of her head. It wasn't a confession she'd been comfortable making even just a short time in the past. Their relationship was ever-evolving. It was the truth though. All day after her conversation with Oliver on the beach, she could think of nothing else but her husband. She _hated_ how upset he'd been, especially since she couldn't even really understand why he was to begin with. Emotions were high in the safe house. Being in such close quarters with his oldest and most fierce rival for his wife's affections couldn't have been very easy. She would have to try harder not to lose her temper. What if the situation was reversed and she was forced to take refuge with Andromeda Tonks? She felt her lip curl up in disgust at the very thought and was almost grateful that she'd already dispatched of the woman.

"I'm sorry to worry you. I needed some time to calm down. I owe you an apology."

"Is the rest of our lives going to be the two of us exchanging apologies back and forth until we're dead?"

His chuckle made her smile.

"It's very likely. I suppose there are worse futures."

She hadn't meant to give him false hope, but at least for the short time they were in bed together talking, she allowed herself to imagine that she'd already made her decision. Imagining a future with Antonin didn't fill her with dread as it once did. They were both different people. Time and the fucking Lestranges changed them.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Antonin. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one that should be sorry. I think we're all getting a little stir-crazy cooped up in this house. Maybe it would be easier if it was our own home."

"At least you've been able to get out. Where did you go?"

It also wasn't her intention to sound so petulant. Antonin released a deep sigh. She wondered if it would ever get easier for the two of them to talk about what was difficult. Some days she had hope that they could, others none at all.

"I've explained that I can't tell you where I've been going just yet, Hermione. It's too delicate of a process right now. _When_ I can be sure that we have friends and allies who will help us, then I can tell you."

"So you weren't just escaping the house to get away from me?"

"Do you want me to tell you the truth?"

"Of course I do. I _always_ want you to tell me the truth."

She could feel him staring down at her even in the darkness. Did he not believe her when she said that she wanted the truth? Their entire relationship, starting even before there was ever any indication that they would one day be married, had been filled with secrets and half-truths. In the past, it didn't frustrate her as much as it did in the present. For the most part, forgetting about the pesky Draco problem, she had been honest with him about everything. Sometimes even when it might have been better to keep a bit to herself. Antonin was seemingly desirous of them remaining together and having some sort of idyllic future together where they could behave like a normal married couple. How could that even be possible if they continued to lie to each other? She didn't want a life filled with secrecy any longer.

"Then yes, all right? I needed to get away from you. Just for a little while to calm down. I can't bloody think properly when you're around me, Hermione. I get so… it's not your fault. It's never been your fault how I act and feel around you and I'm not trying to blame you. I just… knowing that you are talking to Gus about his _sex_ life of all things just makes me furious. Makes me wonder if I haven't been wasting my time."

"I don't know how many times I can tell you the same thing, Antonin, but there is _nothing_ going on between Augie and me. _Nothing_."

He sighed again and rubbed his free hand over his face. Some of the tension that was present in his body began to lessen. She could feel the subtle change as he began to calm down.

"I know, darling. I _know_. In my head I know that you're telling me the truth, but it's not always easy to ignore that fear that you'll go back to him if he gave you the slightest encouragement."

Hermione leaned up on her elbow to meet her husband's face. The room was dark, but enough light came in through the window from the moon that their eyes were able to adjust in the darkness. She wanted to look at him while she repeated herself. Just so maybe he would finally believe her. She understood irrational jealousy all too well.

"If you must know, Augie _has_ given me more than just slight encouragement. Not since we've been living here, mind you, but before. He begged me months ago to run away with him to France or to go just about anywhere else. Thought that we could finally be together. Do you know what I told him?"

Antonin frowned, embarrassed that they'd allowed their conversation to travel so far down the path neither of them wanted to go.

"I told him 'no'. Over and over again, I told him 'no'. Augie is _not_ my future. He was a lovely and maddening part of my past. It was wrong of me to come back here when I was running. It gave him false hope and I never intended for him to think that there was something between us when there wasn't."

"We shouldn't have watched him that night with Alecto."

" _No_ , we shouldn't have. You and I can definitely agree on that. I think it only inflamed your jealousy."

She settled back down against his side with her head on his chest. He tightened his arm around her back. What had seemed wrong in the moment didn't magically get better later. They would need to leave Augustus' house very soon. Too much longer there and it would just get worse. As appreciative as they both were to him offering his home for their refuge, it wasn't right to continue to take advantage.

"Is Augie really learning a lot from Alecto?"

"Yes, he is. She likes to talk when she's comfortable. He's been making a list of potential allies."

"How is it looking for us?"

"I won't lie to you. It's not looking good, but I'm not worried yet. Rabastan seems to have focused almost entirely on Death Eaters. He might have the bulk of those ready to join his side, but there are more people than just Death Eaters who have a reason to fight. We just need to expand our circle."

Mentioning the Resistance was on the tip of her tongue, but Hermione stopped herself. The Resistance loathed the very ground she walked on. Even after saving Aberforth Dumbledore from his torture and execution, she would never be trusted by that organization again. They wouldn't be willing to help, especially not if Antonin was involved. Old wounds were deep. As she drifted off to sleep in her husband's protective embrace, she tried not to worry about the future.


	238. August 25th

_Author's Note : Some of you lovely readers have expressed interest in fancasts for this story. I do, in fact, have an album. I try to update it each time another character of any significance enters the story. I usually try to announce when I update it on the Spoilers Thread for this story in the FB DEE group, but I know not everyone is in that group and most of you who are, don't follow that thread. Today I updated it and even added a few characters that we haven't seen yet, but will soon._

 **Canimallow DOT Tumblr DOT Com SLASH Fancasts**

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August 25th

The last week before the school year began at Hogwarts arrived with very little fanfare. Only three of the inhabitants of the safe house were seated around the breakfast table enjoying the meal provided by Antonin. Augustus thought it more prudent to visit Alecto's flat late the night before to prevent her from getting any ideas about spending a weekend away in Cornwall. The entire Dolohov family appreciated his sacrifice for the opportunity to feel like a regular family again.

"Did you get everything on your list when you went to Diagon Alley with your mum, Ollie?"

Oliver caught his mother's eye, failing to keep a smirk off of his face. Hermione hid her own smile behind her teacup.

"We forgot to get new dragonhide gloves."

A deep sigh proved that Antonin was put out by the admission. There was simply no way that a student could hope to do well in Herbology without possessing the proper gloves. Somehow he would need to get a new pair before he returned to school or his parents would have to owl them to him when he was already there.

"Then I suppose we must make another trip to Diagon Alley today."

"Yes, Papa, I'm afraid we _must_."

"Put your plate in the sink and go upstairs to get your shoes."

He didn't need to be told twice. Oliver's plate was in the soapy hot water and he was up the stairs in seconds. Hermione continued to sip at her tea, pretending she wasn't aware that there had been a plan to ensure this very moment happened. When she caught her husband smiling at her with a single raised eyebrow, she knew that the subterfuge had been discovered.

"Whose idea was it to _conveniently_ leave those off the list? Yours or his?"

"Mine. He was so disappointed that you weren't able to go with us the first time that I suggested we forget something he need."

"A conspiracy against me in my own home from my wife and son? There _must_ be some form of punishment for your boldness."

Hermione picked up her own plate to carry it to the sink. Passing by her husband, she lowered her voice and spoke just outside his ear in what she knew to be a sultry whisper.

"I have every faith that you will think of something particularly _creative_ to punish me for my insolence."

"Oh, you can be sure of that."

He gently tugged on her collar to bring her lips to his. A stirring in Hermione's belly proved that she was looking forward to whatever punishment he had in mind. No doubt it would be something pleasurable they would both benefit from. After the promise from his heated kiss was made, she resumed her trek to the sink. She wasn't even able to drop the plate in the water before Antonin was standing behind her, his arms around her waist and his own proof that he too was looking forward to making her pay for her part in planning the conspiracy pressing into her lower back.

"You are in an excellent mood this morning, Antonin. I think I like it."

"I am and I hope that I may finally have some good news to give you very soon about our current situation."

After their tense conversation in the middle of the night the day before, he'd made his excuses when they woke up to leave the house again. She didn't _think_ it was to get away from her again, but she never could be completely certain. Though back in their temporary home long before his wife was getting ready for bed, it still bothered her that he was gone. There had been little information provided and she knew better than to demand. He would tell her when he was ready and nothing she did would encourage him to do it sooner.

"I have someone with a great deal of influence who has an alternative plan to me becoming the Dark Lord. Something that I think will make all of us happy."

"Who is this influential person?"

If he was ready to tell her, she wasn't sure. Oliver entered the room before another word could be said. Forgoing the usual Muggle method of washing dishes that he preferred, Antonin cast a quick spell to clean and dry everything in the sink. As the dishes floated to their proper cupboards, Antonin suggested that they not waste another moment. He put on a stern expression that Hermione knew was just for show to tell their son that he wanted to get the rest of his school shopping done as quickly as possible.

Even if they didn't say so, all three Dolohovs were nervous about being in Diagon Alley. It was the last Saturday before September 1st. The next Saturday was supposedly the day in which a truce had been made between the major players of the upcoming revolution that no violence would be allowed. Hermione still had her doubts about that, but kept her thoughts to herself. Bustling with energy, she couldn't help noticing the wide-eyed stares in her direction continued. Leaving the country entirely would be the best course of action. None of them would ever be able to go anywhere again without experiencing the same reaction.

"I'm afraid that I need to step into Gringott's."

"That's all right. Oliver and I can wait for you outside."

The arrangement suited Hermione and her son at least. Thanks to her antics on the horcrux hunt twenty years earlier, she was given a lifetime ban. Despite her allegiance to the Dark Lord and her high position within the regime, the goblins would not be budged in their decision. Anyone who was known to be a thief wasn't allowed. The fact that she also aided in the theft of their dragon was an additional strike against her. Oliver was relieved that he didn't have to go inside with his father. Since he was a small boy he'd found the creatures that ran the wizarding bank unnerving.

"Why do you never go in with Papa?"

"Oh, well, something to do with a lifetime ban, I'm afraid."

His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't ask for details. That was a story that she hoped she could go a few more years before telling. All her impressionable Gryffindor son needed was to know that his mother once stole and rode on the back of a dragon. She could just see him trying to recreate the same moment with Hugo Weasley. _That_ was a fear she didn't need to have.

She turned her attention to the unfriendly faces passing them as they stood on the front steps of the bank. No one offered her even the tiniest of smiles. Either they believed what was written in the Daily Prophet or her position under the regime was finally catching up to her. When the last of Lord Voldemort's influences were removed, she had no doubt that she would be too. Her reputation as being one of the most feared people in their society was no longer secure. At best, she would be seen as a joke, a remnant of the past that was better left forgotten. At worst, she would be made to suffer the same pain and indignities that her victims had. While she knew that she should fear that outcome, she also knew it was what she deserved. Perhaps even less than what she deserved. In an attempt to get her mind off of those worsening thoughts, Hermione turned to speak to her son.

"Do you think that…"

Unable to finish her question, Hermione's stomach twisted into a panicked knot when she couldn't see her son anywhere. He had _just_ been standing next to her on the steps. How could he be gone in just moments? Frantically scanning the large crowd, she couldn't see him anywhere she looked. She wasn't sure what to do. The wards on the bank wouldn't even allow her to enter the front door and even if they did, Antonin was likely already in a cart well on his way to their family vault. Waiting for him to return could be too late. What if Rodolphus seized the opportunity to snatch her son when she wasn't looking?

She knew she couldn't stand still, not with the fear that she'd lost her son choking her lungs. Trying to imagine where he might've gone, Hermione pushed into the crowd of shoppers, her eyes never ceasing scanning the faces for one that was familiar and friendly. As she passed The Junk Shop, she saw Teddy Lupin standing just inside the doorway holding the door open for an elderly witch. Her desperation allowed her to push aside any concerns that he might reject her plea for help.

"My son is missing. Have you seen him? He's maybe an inch or two shorter than I am, has dark brown hair just like his father. You know my husband, don't you?"

Teddy nodded that he did. Of course he did. No doubt Antonin was a major part of his own childhood. She didn't allow the bitterness to take root. That was something that she could think about later when Oliver was safe.

"I haven't seen him, Madam Dolohov. I'm sorry. Would you like some help?"

She might have been an enemy, might have been the woman responsible for ripping the last relative he had from his life, but the proof that the Lupins' son possessed their same giving, warm heart was evident. Shaking her head, she apologized for disturbing him and continued her search alone. All manner of fears were swirling around in her battered brain. If Rodolphus had him, he wouldn't hesitate to use him against her. It would be just the motivation she needed to allow the evil man close enough to her to resume his terroristic activities on her mind.

The delicious breakfast her husband prepared for them that morning churned in her gut. Once when he was very small, Oliver wandered away from them when they were in Diagon Alley. Antonin had been with her and scared out of his mind. Thanks to her detachment from their son and the potions that she took to numb herself to the horror of the world they lived in, she was able to keep a cool head when he was losing his. They'd found him standing in front of The Magical Menagerie fascinated by the collection of owls in the window. Relieved that he was unharmed, Antonin almost wept in public. Without care that he was being watched by the fellow shoppers, he grabbed their son and held him tight against his chest until he could calm down. She remembered being embarrassed by his emotional display. What would the _peasants_ think of seeing them behave like that? Their child or not, she didn't understand what the fuss was about. In that moment, however, she finally understood exactly what her husband was afraid of that day so long ago.

Standing just outside the damned Quidditch store with his nose pressed up the glass with a boy who could only be a Weasley, Oliver was completely oblivious of the terror that he put his mother through. Hermione felt her heart-rate begin to return to normal as she caught her breath. He was safe, he was whole. Tempted to do exactly what Antonin did to him when he was small, she managed to resist the urge.

"Oliver!"

She didn't mean for her voice to show how panicked she'd been. Turning away from the window, Oliver's expression proved that he knew he was in trouble. Before she could lecture him about the dangers of running away from her in such dangerous times, she looked up to see Ron Weasley smiling down at her. They hadn't spoken since Theodore Nott Senior's wretched wedding reception. To her surprise, her old friend actually seemed pleased to see her again.

"Are you all right, Hermione? Your cheeks are a bit flushed."

"Thank you, Ron. I'm all right _now_ that I know where my son ran off to."

"Oh, bugger. I'm so sorry. I thought Oliver had your permission to join us. At least that's what Hugo said."

Both of their sons had identical guilt splashed across their faces at being caught in a lie. As much as she wanted to impose upon her son the severity of his reckless action, the two of them reminded her so much of their parents at that age that she found she couldn't form the words. She gestured to the window display of the newest brooms.

"Well, go on then and look. The damage has already been done."

They smiled and resumed their gawking at the newest model of the Firebolt. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"How have you been, Hermione? I've been worried about you since the funeral."

Ron's statement caught her completely off-guard. They were not friends. Not anymore. Their paths diverged years earlier. While she didn't see a hint of insincerity in his face, she still wasn't sure what to believe.

"It brought up a lot of memories, didn't it?"

She was surprised that he seemed sad. What was happening? Had everyone changed since the Dark Lord was murdered by her husband? She didn't know what to think. Ron stepped closer and lowered his voice so only she could hear the next words he spoke.

"I don't believe what's been written about you in the newspapers. Not a single word. It's all too similar to what happened to Harry to actually be real, isn't it?"

The fact that he brought up their former best friend at all was incredible. For twenty years, they had never allowed themselves to speak about the boy they'd both cared so much about. Not only was it dangerous to even mention his name, it was too painful. With her eyes wide, she simply stared at the redheaded man, unsure how to respond.

"You're always welcome on our side, Hermione. What's coming isn't going to be good, but you could fight with us. If you wanted, you could even bring your husband. He'd be welcome too."

His offer only produced even more confusion. It couldn't possibly be genuine. Rodolphus and Rabastan would _never_ allow Antonin as an ally. They would kill him and his entire family first. What game was Ron playing at? She had a dozen different questions on her tongue, but the abrupt arrival of her confused and aggravated husband cut them off.


	239. August 26th

Author's Note _: Yes, the last several chapters have been fairly slow and not a lot has been revealed. More questions than answers. I get that it can be a little frustrating. They ARE, however, pushing the plot forward. Remember how I said that not every chapter will be super exciting because no one lives a life where something exciting happens every single day? Still true. Relationship and character development isn't filler. It's just as important as action. ;) Bear with me. I promise that answers are coming._

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August 26th

Oliver was able to get out of his punishment for wandering away from his mother without permission with a stern lecture from his father when they returned home and his repeated promises that he would never do it again. Though he didn't wish to scare his son, Antonin knew that it was important to press on him the seriousness of his actions. Yes, _that_ day in Diagon Alley had turned out all right, but the next time he wasn't careful, he might not be so fortunate. With orders that he was to remain in his room for the rest of the day to think about his actions, his father descended the attic staircase with a heavy heart. He never liked the discipline part of parenting. Neither did Hermione. She was thankful that her husband was the one to handle most of the issues in the past. When he was finished with the odious task, Antonin kissed his wife and made his excuses to leave again.

She knew trying to sleep without him back in the house was futile. Even with Augustus asleep in the next room, Hermione felt ill at ease without Antonin there. It was a feeling she was going to need to learn to get over. There was likely going to be a day when she moved on from her husband forever. If she allowed herself to get to the point that she couldn't even feel comfortable enough to rest without him beside her, she would drive herself mad. Depending on other people was no way to live. She'd learned the hard lesson years earlier that she couldn't afford to depend on other people.

He returned a little after midnight, tired and ready for bed. Only his desire to wash the dirt from his body kept him from sliding in next to his wife seconds after entering their bedroom. Making a split-second decision when she heard the sound of the taps being turned in the bathroom connected to their room, Hermione threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. She had her nightgown over her head and on the floor even before she stepped into the bathroom. Antonin was already under the spray of hot water with his eyes closed as he allowed the heat to loosen his tired muscles. His wife could tell with a quick glance that he needed sleep. Maybe she should slip him one of the potions he always insisted she take just so she could be certain that he finally rested enough to satisfy his tired body.

So lost in his own thoughts was he that Antonin didn't even hear the shower curtain be gently pulled back. Nor did he realize he had a visitor until Hermione's slim arms wrapped around his middle from behind. Startled at first, he jumped and then chuckled softly.

"I'm afraid I'm too tired to put in much of an effort this evening."

"How very disappointing."

"Besides, I'm an old man, love. Making love in a shower is a young man's game."

Her snort made him laugh. She found the sound comforting. Carefully turning around on the slick tiles, Antonin faced his wife to kiss her. It was soft and short with hardly any of the heat that she'd come to expect from him since the renewal of their sexual relationship shortly after she returned to his life. An old man he might claim to be, but he had the stamina and the passion of one much younger when he desired.

"You are _not_ an old man, Antonin."

"If I were a Muggle, I'd be forced to rely on one of those little blue pills you told me about just to satisfy my wife."

"Then thank the gods you aren't a Muggle."

His second kiss was more heated, more passionate. Even doing nothing but moving their mouths over each other, they were soon short of breath. Their hearts raced as she broke it off to take a deep breath. How easy it was to lose themselves when they were together. She didn't know if that was a sign that they should've been more to each other or not. Never, not even when they were in the worst years of their marriage, could either of them deny that they had chemistry.

"I was beginning to fear that you were so tired because you were with another woman."

It was meant as a playful tease, but Antonin's brow furrowed. Clearly, he didn't appreciate the attempt at humor. Kissing her firmly once more on the mouth and then breaking the connection, he moved so he wasn't blocking all of the water.

"I haven't been with anyone else since before you showed back up in Hogsmeade."

She didn't know what prompted him to make such a confession. Maybe he was hoping that she would tell him the same, but she had too much respect for him to continue lying. At least about that. It was better that she just not admit to the two men she'd been with since she returned. One of them she would always regret, the other she was less sure every passing day how she actually felt. Part of her had given up hope that she would ever understand her fascination with Draco. Even after he betrayed her to Rodolphus, she still worried about him, still wondered where he was and what he was doing.

"Let's finish up in here and see if you have enough energy on a flat surface. You still haven't _punished_ me yet for the conspiracy."

"Ahh, yes, you're right. I have been looking forward to that."

"Then hurry up in here."

There was no reason for her to remain in the shower if they weren't going to take advantage of the steamy location. She'd already taken a bath long before he got home. Once outside of the bathroom, Hermione didn't even bother to pick up her nightgown off of the floor. If he was able to do as she desired when he'd finished washing the soap off of his body, she wouldn't need it. Slipping under the covers, she hoped that she hadn't made it too obvious that she wasn't willing to tell her husband the same about her activities since returning to Hogsmeade. All it would do was hurt him and hadn't she done enough of that lately?

She only had to wait a few minutes for Antonin to step back into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist. Stepping over her discarded nightgown with a smirk, he dropped his towel on top of it and crossed the room to the bed. Even for being an old man like he claimed to be, her husband was still in top physical condition. She could always admire how well he took care of his body even when she hated the very ground he stood upon. At least her master ordered her to marry an attractive man. That made her sentence a little easier. Maybe it was a shallow thought, but she didn't care. It was the truth.

"I meant what I said earlier when I said that I might be too tired to put in much of an effort."

"Then maybe a suitable punishment for my actions would be for me to do all of the hard work."

Only half a second after climbing into bed, Hermione straddled her husband's hips. Neither of them minded when she took the lead in the bedroom. It made for a nice change of pace. Lasting just long enough to satisfy their cravings, when it was over, she collapsed onto her husband's chest to catch her breath. Antonin moved them so she was on her normal side of the bed and he could snuggle up behind her. Holding her in his arms, neither one of them rushed to break the stillness with speaking. They had been learning to simply enjoy the silences together when they had the opportunity. Even Hermione had to admit that she was beginning to look forward to those moments when they were alone in bed.

"I was surprised to see you speaking with Ron Weasley this afternoon."

"You're not afraid that some of the old feelings I used to have for him when I was a teenager have returned, are you?"

She couldn't resist the urge to tease him just a little bit to soften the awkwardness of the conversation. His snort of laughter appeared to indicate that he wasn't the least bit worried. Her friendship with Ron ended at the same time that the girl she used to be died in the broom cupboard. It was too hard to try to forge anything resembling what they used to have with the gaping hole between them that should've contained Harry. Maybe if he'd lived they would've been able to continue their friendship or even become more than that. Without Harry, however, it was impossible. They could hardly stand to be in the same room together.

"No, of course not. I just couldn't help noticing that you two appeared to be in the middle of an intense conversation. Am I wrong?"

"Not at all. It was… _bizarre_. I still haven't quite figured out what to make of it all."

Keeping secrets from her husband hadn't worked out well for her in the past. She wanted to be his partner at the very least in the upcoming struggle. At least until she knew where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do, she knew it would be best to stay at Antonin's side. He'd already proven that he was willing to do _anything_ to keep his family safe. And, if she had to be completely honest, she _did_ care for the man in her own way. He needed to have as much information as possible if he wanted to survive. Wasn't it frustrating for her when he refused to tell her what he knew? She didn't want to do the same to him.

"He was concerned about me. Asked how I've been doing and he told me that he didn't believe anything that he'd read in the papers."

"What was he…?"

"Don't act innocent, Antonin. I _know_ what they've been printing about me. He said that it was too similar to what they did with Harry to believe."

There had only been a handful of times in their entire marriage that she mentioned her friend by name. Sure, he knew about the antics she got up to when she was in Hogwarts, but she usually just mentioned "her boys", never Harry and Ron. It was easier to not say their names. At the sound of Harry's name, she felt his arms tighten ever so slightly around her body.

"He also said that I would be welcome to fight on their side if I wished."

"Well, of course he would say that. No doubt Rabastan or Rodolphus put him up to it."

"No, see that's just it. He said that _you_ could join us too."

He didn't know what to say to that revelation. Of course their first instinct was to think that he was lying, trying to do whatever possible to get her to put her trust in him. Rabastan had been his mentor, after all. Ron knew all about underhanded tactics and dirty deals. But, she couldn't shake off the feeling that he hadn't been lying. _Something_ in the sound of his voice was so like the boy he used to be that she wanted to believe he could be trusted.

"That's interesting. Maybe he's not with Rabastan after all. Did he say anything else?"

"No, you walked up right then. All of these secret alliances are making my head hurt. You don't know who you can trust and who you can't. Why can't everyone just be honest about their allegiances?"

"I think there are more factions out there than we realize. No one is stepping up to make the first move because I believe they're waiting and hoping that if they're patient enough, the others will take care of each other. It's why I haven't wanted to make a move. I want to see who is really working together, who really is motivated."

"I'll be happy when this is all over. I'm tired of not knowing who I can trust or what's going to happen."

Snuggling back into his arms, they ended their conversation to give in to their exhaustion.


	240. August 27th

August 27th

Hermione grew to love Cornwall. Despite the countless times she'd visited that part of the country before, she'd never given it much thought before moving into Augustus' safe house. For one of the few times in her life, she felt like she could actually breathe there. Maybe it was a magical place. Or, perhaps more logically, she felt so at peace there because for the first time in more years than she knew she was actually clear-headed and unencumbered by dangerous potions and memory charms. Wherever they ended up after Rodolphus pushed them out of their home could've been just as comforting, just as peaceful.

No one stopped her when she announced she wanted to take a long walk after dinner. Following a pleasant meal shared by the four inhabitants of the house by the sea, she wanted a chance to stretch her legs. If her son wanted to join her, his father kept him from insisting. His mother needed her space. She was still healing, still learning to move on from the ordeal that colored much of her life. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Hermione knew deep down that it was likely she wasn't done with the ramifications of Rodolphus' actions. He wasn't a man who gave up on his plans easily. Even if he had to wait patiently for several more years, eventually a time would come when he would seek her out again. Trying not to allow herself to dwell on the worst of her fears was made possible by the rambling walks along the water.

Bits and pieces of a conversation she had earlier in the day with Antonin replayed themselves over and over in her mind as she walked. Still unwilling, or possibly _unable_ , to give her all of the details she wished, he'd told her in the privacy of their bedroom that he was moving in on closing a deal with a powerful ally. Someone that didn't want their involvement to be known just yet. Someone who was more comfortable operating out of the shadows in the beginning. While he was excited and his mood buoyed by the news, she didn't allow herself to get carried away in his anticipation. There was still so much that could go wrong. If his potential ally wasn't willing to expose themselves to the heat of the battle just yet, it was always possible that they never would. He could be just grasping at straws, willing to take the offered scraps.

Everything would've been different if he desired to be the next Dark Lord. There were those who would follow him to the very top of the regime if he asked. Obsessed with power and privilege, if their former brothers and sisters from the Inner Circle believed they would be rewarded for their loyalty when the ascension was complete, they wouldn't hesitate. Considering he changed his plans to instead be nothing more than a concerned father and husband who wanted nothing to do with ruling, he had fewer friends. Where was the benefit in following a man who didn't seek or desire power? They could all end up dead for nothing. Their own families would be left unprotected to be picked over by the one who was strong enough, ambitious enough to claw their way to the top. That person, to Hermione's great relief, would not be her husband.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been outside when she made the decision to direct her steps back to the house. An hour, at least. All she knew was she such calmer than she had been when she stepped outside to begin with. Yes, she made up her mind. Wherever she ended up in the future, it had to be by water. A slight chill in the air reminded her that it wouldn't be much longer before summer was over. How was it possible that the year had gone by so quickly? An unsettling began in her gut the more the thought about the year. It hadn't been a normal one and she doubted that that would change. Everything was apt to be extraordinary if the first half of the year was to be believed. She didn't want to consider the reasons why she would be so unnerved. Maybe the future she was trying so hard to plan wasn't even going to be an option.

Being alone was playing tricks on her mind. Hermione needed to reenter the house and surround herself with people. It was too difficult to dwell on the negative when she was focused on other people, those that she cared about. Taking a final deep, calming breath, she reached for the doorknob on the front door to push it open.

It was impossible to tell who was more startled by her abrupt appearance: Augustus or the half-naked Alecto straddling his hips on his sofa. As much as she might have wished to run back out the door like she'd never been there, it was too late. She'd been spotted. Alecto rushed to pull her discarded clothing back on, laughing the entire time. At least one of the three found the intrusion to be amusing. Hermione didn't care for the woman's laughter. It always made her feel like she was just moments away from falling into some elaborate trap.

If she was going to get out of the horrible situation, Hermione knew that she had to be smart about her next actions. She was fully aware of the fact that if it came down to her life being in jeopardy, both Augustus and Antonin would be at her defense. As tempting as it was to just curse Alecto and be done with it, she knew that she had to play the game. That's all any of them were doing really. Playing some long, drawn-out, horrible game where the winners got to continue living and playing while the losers no longer had to worry about their next moves.

"Augie, what the _fuck_ is this bitch doing here?"

To his credit, Augustus was able to pick up on Hermione's plans within seconds. With an expression of faux confusion and outrage, he tried to stutter out some plausible excuse to explain why he might have a half-naked witch in his lap. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring at them both. Just to be safe, her wand was clutched tightly in her hand, the threat of it clear and on display.

"Hermione, darling, we weren't supposed to see each other tonight."

"I should've known that the two of you were still sneaking around." Alecto laughed, seemingly unbothered by the revelation that the wizard she'd been engaged in a sexual relationship with for some time hadn't been faithful. "I'm going to tell Antonin. Won't he just find that _interesting_?"

"Not that it is _any_ of your concern, Allie, but I'm sure my husband probably already knows. He's not an idiot."

She cut her eyes up to the secret window that she knew he would be standing in. Glad to see that the enchantment was strong enough that she couldn't even see any indication of its existence, Hermione returned her glare to the two on the couch, secure in the fact that Antonin was there if anything became too dangerous. Having him on her side was a comfort she didn't fully appreciate until she needed him.

"I can't believe you, Augie. Of all of the slags in the world, you choose _her_?"

"Hermione, it's not what you think."

Alecto's continued laughter began to grate on her nerves. How could she find this situation the least bit amusing? Any normal woman would be humiliated.

"Why don't you run along to whatever hole you've been hiding in with your disgusting husband, Hermione? You're not needed here."

"You realize he's just using you, don't you? That he's not going to fall in love with someone as pathetic as you."

"Oh, love, I know perfectly well what he's using me for. Clearly, he's been unable to find _satisfaction_ with you alone. Not that I'm surprised to learn that."

Hermione wanted nothing more than to turn right back around and leave. Fighting with Alecto over Augustus, even just for show, made her sick to her stomach. She didn't want to be anywhere near the witch. Narrowing her eyes to glare at Augustus to show how furious she was at what she walked in on, she spun on her heel to make her escape. She wasn't even able to get a step away before Alecto's words stopped her in there tracks.

"Rodolphus is looking for you. He's not done with you yet. Not even close."

Only Alecto's warning was enough of an incentive to force her to stop and turn back around to face the scene on the sofa. The older witch had an almost feral grin, evidently excited to be able to tell her what she did.

"I should've known that you were working with him. What's the plan, Alecto?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I won't be telling you that, but yes, I have been working with him. For a while now. We used to laugh and laugh when I would tell him everything you told me when you thought you were just confiding in me. What a silly little twit you were. As if I would _ever_ be friends with you after what you did to my brother."

Over the years that the older woman pretended to be her friend, Hermione often wondered how she could forgive her for the open secret that she murdered Amycus Carrow. Though he would've done the same to her if given the chance, she'd enjoyed what she did to the horrible man. While it made her a little paranoid in the beginning to wonder why Alecto continued to be friendly with her, she knew that the life of a Death Eater was complicated. Alliances were often made with people they loathed just for a little bit of extra power or influence. Alecto's behavior hadn't been that strange.

"You can tell Rodolphus that I'm not afraid of him."

"No one believes that."

She took a step out into the darkness.

"Hermione, don't go. You could stay with us. There's no reason that we can't put everything aside for an evening."

Augustus' suggestion paired with his wink left nothing to the imagination. Convinced that Alecto would be horrified by such an idea, Hermione was surprised to find the other witch eyeing her in much the same manner with a smirk. She didn't know what game Augustus was playing at in his effort to make it all seem real, but she didn't like it. More than ever it was important that she leave.

"Yes, Hermione, you can stay. At least this once. Remember that night in my flat when we drank too much wine?"

She felt her cheeks burn with the memory. Yes, of course she did. Even with the large number of vials of that damned potion she was in the habit of consuming, she wouldn't forget that night as long as she lived. Augustus' amused chuckles made her feel all the more exposed.

"Now _that's_ a story I'd like to hear."

"Maybe you'd prefer if we just reenacted it instead, Augie."

Hermione's eye twitched at Alecto's use of her nickname for the wizard. There wasn't enough lust potion in the world to encourage her to go down that path again. Sending one final glare at both of them, she slammed the door on her way out. She needed to get as far away from them as she could. Until the wretched woman was gone, she'd have to bide her time in the grove of trees. At least she knew the ground was soft enough she could get some sleep if she was out there too long. Cursing Alecto and Augustus too, she stormed away from the house.


	241. August 28th

August 28th

It was humiliating sitting in the darkness waiting for Alecto to leave Augustus' house. Hermione hated every single moment of it. There was simply no way they were going to be able to stay in his house any longer. She made the decision as she stewed in her own anger that as soon as Oliver was on the Hogwarts Express, she and Antonin would move somewhere else. Even if it wasn't as safe and secure as the home she'd come to feel comfortable in in Cornwall, she couldn't bear to be around that wretched woman another second. Besides, now that it was known by someone who wished her ill that she was in the habit of going there, it wouldn't be long before Rodolphus or Rabastan or one of their other wretched allies tried to catch her there again.

Frustrated and angry with the entire trajectory of her life, Hermione sat down in the grass with her back up against a tree trunk. She hated feeling helpless. For too much of her life she felt like she had no control over anything. That was the main reason why she decided to become a Death Eater even when Antonin begged her and begged her to reconsider. With the Dark Lord dead, she had no more power. She was back to being the helpless, afraid weakling that she despised. Remaining there, _hiding_ in Augustus' home was getting her nowhere. Maybe she didn't want to fight in a war or become the next leader of the regime or even see another single drop of blood, but she couldn't just sit there _waiting_. Her life was passing her by.

She kept thinking about those days she spent in Draco's flat against her better judgment. For a brief period of time, she'd been able to ignore the outside world. At least for a little while she wasn't afraid or worried or planning her next move. Well, that is until she came up with the reckless decision to return to Hogsmeade to free an old man from a prison he deserved to be in. It might have been her mistake that got Aberforth arrested, but it wasn't as if the wizard hadn't already spent over twenty years fighting against the regime. His arrest was bound to happen sooner or later. Or so she tried to justify to herself when she couldn't make up her mind to help him or not.

Where was Draco? She'd told him to go away, to leave her alone after he all but admitted that he betrayed her to Rodolphus, but did that mean he actually listened? And what was his role in the whole ordeal to begin with? Rodolphus considered him family even though there were no blood ties. He cultivated an alliance with the Malfoys when no one else in their society even wanted to look down their noses at them. Desperation could turn even the most docile of animals into dangerous enemies. Someone along the road should've considered the very real possibility that the Malfoys could become a problem if they were ignored and humiliated for long enough.

Hermione didn't know who to trust. The secret alliances that she knew about and the ones she suspected were enough to make her head burn with agony. _Why_ couldn't one of these ridiculous factions interested in taking over the authority left behind by the Dark Lord's murder just get on with it? While she could understand the reasoning behind waiting around in hopes that another less-capable group would get the job of eliminating their enemies out of the way, it didn't make the waiting around any less infuriating. The entire country felt like a powder keg waiting to blow. It was enough to drive anyone mad and she hadn't been at her peak mental performance in longer than she cared to acknowledge.

Somehow, even in the midst of her anger, she was able to drift off to sleep. The countryside was peaceful enough that it really shouldn't have been much of a surprise. She was startled awake by the feel of an arm being wrapped around her shoulders. Opening her eyes in sudden fear, she relaxed when she realized that arm belonged to Antonin. He was seated next to her in the grass, leaning his back up against the same trunk. Pleased that it wasn't an enemy intent to do her harm, Hermione laid her head on him and allowed his arm to pull her tighter to his body.

"What time is it?"

"Just a little after midnight. Alecto just left. Gus thinks she's running off to tell Rodolphus what she knows."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Neither one of them said the words aloud that they were both thinking. They were no longer safe in Cornwall. When they first moved in they knew it would only be a matter of time before they had to leave again. With Rodolphus aware that she was known to visit Augustus' home, it wouldn't take long before the entire area was under surveillance. She tried to ignore the chilling words Alecto spoke about Rodolphus not being done with her yet, but it was difficult. Likely they would continue to haunt her for some time yet. Bringing a voice to their concerns, however, would ruin their temporary serenity. There was no hurry.

"You couldn't have given me a little bit of warning that she was in there? When I left for my walk, Augie said he didn't have plans to see her tonight and it would be perfectly fine."

"I'm sorry about that. She arrived so quickly that Ollie and I were only just able to get upstairs."

"I'm not a Seer, you know. I can't be expected to just _know_ that there's an enemy inside the house. It's _supposed_ to be safe after all."

She was exhausted and falling asleep against the tree didn't help matters. All she wanted was the freedom to go on a walk along the water to clear her mind. Why was that too much to ask for? Evidently, they needed to have a better system put in place so that never happened again. Or, even better, they could just find somewhere else to be. Since Alecto started making her trips there it hadn't felt like a place she wanted to linger long in. Antonin and Augustus _should_ have figured out a way to get a warning to her. He could've also just taken the wretched slag straight to his bedroom. If her ex-lover put in half as much effort with Alecto as he used to with her, Alecto would've been too distracted to hear the front door open. That could've given Antonin enough time to slip out of the secret staircase and pull her upstairs. But, _no_ , Augustus had to just keep on with his filthy actions right there where everyone could see it. Merlin save her from horny wizards thinking about nothing beyond their own cocks!

"You put on quite a convincing show in there, love."

"Don't start with me, Antonin. It's late and I don't have the energy to fight."

"Who said anything about fighting? I was impressed. Think Gus might've been a little _too_ enthusiastic in playing his part. Propositioning my wife when he _knew_ I could hear him?"

Antonin's chuckle seemed to indicate that he wasn't upset by the performance, but Hermione knew him better than that. It must have been maddening for him to be standing upstairs watching the action unfold and unable to do anything. Likely he was only moments away from storming out of the hidden room to curse Alecto and Augustus at the same time. It was an amusing enough thought that Hermione found herself chuckling right along with him. At least they could pretend for the briefest of moments that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"And what would you have done if I said 'yes'?"

"I never doubted you would reject his filthy offer for a second."

"But what if I did?"

"Then there would be two cooling bodies on the floor in Gus' house and I would've carried you back to our bedroom to show you, using very _effective_ methods, just how wrong you were to make that decision."

She couldn't help but laugh at his violent and _creative_ solution. So few people ever got to see the side of her husband that she did. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she showed him a dramatic roll of her eyes.

"You're such a Neanderthal."

"Only when it comes to you, my love. I can hardly think straight when you're in my presence. You have thoroughly bewitched me."

The tension in the air grew thick around them as it always did every time they skirted around discussions about their true feelings. Antonin was a difficult man, a _dangerous_ man, but he hadn't held back since she returned to Hogsmeade about how he felt for her. Not since the night he walked up behind her in the kitchen and made her a promise that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up to her for his failures as a husband. She allowed herself to believe him too. Even knowing that traveling down that road left her open for all sorts of pain and heartache, she found herself interested in the journey. Maybe it wouldn't end in the failure that she always imagined it would.

He was staring down at her with an expression that could only be described as expectant, hopeful, _pleading_. Nothing he desired more in that moment was for her to reciprocate, to declare her love for him. This wasn't the first time in the twenty years that they'd been in constant close quarters that she witnessed what she was seeing. For a man who could be mysterious and secretive when it suited his purposes, there were times when he was alone with her that he couldn't tell a single lie. The truth was always splashed across his handsome face. She couldn't bear to break his heart, not again. It was better that she remain silent or change the subject than to tell him a lie.

"We can't stay here any longer. Not with Alecto blabbing to Rodolphus that I've been here. It'll only be a matter of time before he comes looking for me here."

"You're right. We can't."

His sigh held a great deal of meaning and frustration. Not just about the topic of their conversation, but about what they _weren't_ talking about. As guilty as she felt, Hermione knew that she couldn't lead him on or even allow herself to feel the guilt she already did. There was too much at stake. Proving that he'd already given their predicament some thought, Antonin continued.

"It would probably be best to wait for Ollie to leave for Hogwarts first. I know of a place we could go, but it's not ready yet. We can spend just a few more days here. It'll take Rodolphus and his idiots some time to come up with a suitable strategy to approach the house. I believe that we should move all of our belongings up into the attic and spend our nights there."

"I think you're right. We'll just have to be much more careful until we can get him on the Hogwarts Express."

"The war is about to start, Hermione. Can you feel it?"

"I'm afraid I can."

They returned to a companionable silence, neither wishing to expand upon their feelings. There was always an eerie calm before a major storm. The idleness of the weeks since the Dark Lord was murdered was just a preparation for when the action truly began. Part of Hermione wished to just get it over with, to find out one way or another how it would all end up. Mostly, however, she didn't want to be a part of it at all. Maybe some would call her a coward or tell her that she was weak, but she didn't care. They could go fuck themselves. This was _her_ life, _her_ decision. Hadn't she spent enough of her life fighting a never-ending war? When would she finally be allowed to rest? To recover from the wounds that hadn't ever really healed?

"So… you and Alecto, huh?"

Hermione appreciated Antonin's attempt to lighten the mood. It was growing far too dark for her tastes. Realizing how he was shifting the conversation, she snorted and rolled her eyes again. His lips tilted up into a smirk. At least some of the earlier tension was gone. They would return to it later, no doubt. In that moment, however, she was glad for something else to discuss.

"It was a long time ago, Antonin. Before you and I were even married."

"How much wine are we talking about? I've seen you drink an entire bottle by yourself and…"

She playfully smacked his chest with her palm only making him laugh harder.

"You know, I never would've imagined that you and I would've ever been with the same witch, love. Should I be jealous?"

"Maybe. It was quite memorable."

"Well…"

In a single swift movement Antonin had Hermione away from the tree's trunk and laying on the soft grass. His powerful, gentle hands divested her lower body of any pesky clothing article that would get in his way. She could hardly breathe in anticipation of what she knew was going to happen next when he settled her bare thighs on his shoulders.

"… then I suppose I shall have to work very hard to be better."

It didn't take him long to prove to his wife that she'd prefer a night alone with him over a thousand drunken nights with her former friend every single time. There truly was no competition.


	242. August 29th

August 29th

If Oliver found it odd that his parents moved into his attic bedroom with him, he didn't say so. Of course Hermione knew that their son was far more aware of what was going on than they realized. As much as they both attempted to shield him from the ugliness of the reality of their world, they were only human. Mistakes were often made. Besides, he was fortunate enough to inherit intelligence from both of his parents. It was only going to be a matter of time before he started putting that insight and deduction to good use.

With only two more days until they took their son to King's Cross station, the adults sat up in Augustus' lounge long after Oliver went to bed. Generous with his fire whiskey, Augustus wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when he handed Hermione a glass. She didn't care for the sinking in her gut that told her that the three of them were about to have a conversation she didn't want to have. Since she walked in on Alecto with Augustus, she'd managed to avoid the master of the house. Or, possibly he was avoiding _her_ , she wasn't positive which. It truly was too small a house to continue to have such awkward, uncomfortable experiences. She was anxious to move on to the next place they would be hiding. Under no delusions that it would be easy with her living entirely alone with Antonin again, at least she didn't have to worry about sworn enemies dropping in for a little late-night action. At least she _hoped_ she wouldn't have to worry about that when she was alone with her husband. Stranger events had occurred in her life, however. Best not to get too complacent.

"We can never repay you for allowing us to stay in your home for so long, Gus. It was very kind."

"I'm a selfish man, Antonin. Always have been. You know exactly why I allowed it."

The less they said about his reasons, the better. Hermione sipped at her fire whiskey, wishing that she didn't have to be present for a conversation in which the two men discussed her without actually discussing her out loud. She hated when anyone did that. It made her feel like she was back to being the terrified girl ripped from the broom cupboard unsure what her life was going to be like or how long it was going to last. The feeling of helplessness was exactly why she had become so brutal and dangerous. Not the potions Rabastan got her addicted to or the mental manipulations his brother subjected her mind to. No, she was already a hardened and angry witch long before either one of them spent any length of time in her presence.

She felt like a traitor when her mind would drift to the past in quiet moments. Too often Rodolphus had a starring role in her reminiscences. Especially since all of the memory charms were removed from her mind, trickles of memories and recollections would sneak in when she wasn't focused on anything else. There had been some good times in her past, some moments where she used to imagine what it would be like to turn her back on Antonin permanently to further cultivate her connection to Rodolphus. How much of that was by his design and how much of it was simply because that's what she desired? She would never know for certain. Every moment that he was in her life she questioned. It was best that she not drive herself mad by wondering facts that she would never learn. Even if she could somehow get Rodolphus trapped in a small space and completely at her mercy, she knew he wouldn't tell her everything. He was too secretive, too calculating.

"Regardless, we owe you a debt."

"One which I will never call in, old friend."

It was, perhaps, the most civil conversation she'd ever witnessed the two men have. That was, at least, since the uncomfortable time just after she moved into Antonin's house when it became evident that Augustus had ulterior motives for visiting. Once those days began, their friendship was practically over. She hated that she came between them, but it wasn't exactly her fault. It wasn't as if she was pitting the two wizards against each other for her own gain. No, she was still too green in those days to understand how to fully manipulate others for her own purposes. A few years would pass before she became more confident in that skill.

"I'm going to Alecto's flat this evening. Maybe she'll have something interesting to tell me."

"I hope so. But regardless, we will be leaving as soon as Ollie is on the Hogwarts Express. We've stayed too long."

"I assumed that was the plan. Where will you go?"

Antonin just smiled, in no rush to divulge the secret. He might have trusted Augustus enough to partner with him to use his home as a safe house, but that didn't mean he was going to keep him informed about their future moves. It would be to dangerous for even an ally to know. He wouldn't risk it, not even as a gesture to show that he trusted Augustus. To his credit, the other wizard wasn't offended. He'd been a Death Eater long enough to understand how it all worked.

Hermione didn't want to be in the lounge with them any longer than she had to. Consuming the rest of her glass of fire whiskey in a single swallow, she made her excuses to leave. Standing over the kitchen sink with the empty glass in her hand, she tried, and failed, to push away the fear that was coursing through her entire body. When they weren't discussing running away again she was able to ignore it. The waiting and the uncertainty was going to be the death of her.

A flash of movement outside the kitchen window caught her attention. Fearing that Rodolphus was finally there to make his move, she grasped the end of her wand in her hand, prepared to blast the wretched beast in his face or die trying. Seeing only the pale blond hair that belonged to his honorary nephew, she sighed. Once again Draco stood in the middle of the back garden staring at the house. Thanks to the Fidelius Charm he wouldn't be able to actually see into the windows, but it didn't unnerve Hermione any less. What could he possibly be thinking to approach the house late at night so openly? He was putting a lot of trust in the fact that she would be the one to spot him first instead of someone else.

She didn't know what she wanted to do. When she told him to leave her alone, she meant it. Even meant it when she said she would tell Antonin _everything_ if she had to. Why she was keeping Draco a secret from her husband was something she still wasn't quite sure about, but that would all end if she thought that she was in danger. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? He was a complication that she did not need. Life was difficult and unpredictable enough.

Several minutes passed of her doing nothing but standing in the kitchen window staring at the wizard who hadn't moved. It could all be a trap. Rodolphus and his cohorts could be just out of her line of sight waiting for the moment she made herself vulnerable enough to open the door and step outside. But, as logical as she tried to approach the situation, her intuition began to take over. She didn't _feel_ in danger from the man. Yes, she was aware of how insane that would sound to anyone else's ears. She didn't care. Draco was putting himself in just as much danger by leaving himself so vulnerable and exposed. What if Antonin saw him? Or Augustus?

Standing around waiting for something terrible to happen was no longer an option. Calling to the wizards still talking in the lounge, she announced that she was going to take another walk. Neither of them stopped her. No doubt Antonin was glad to have a few minutes to speak to their host where he couldn't be overheard. Just as she did the last time they met, Hermione rushed out of the back garden towards the grove of trees that would give them some privacy. Even without openly acknowledging Draco's presence, she knew that he would follow her wherever she went.

It was a short walk to the place she knew they could be alone and out of sight of the house. Pushing aside the pleasant reminders of the last time she was there only two nights earlier with Antonin, she spun on her heel to glare at the unwelcome wizard. He held his empty hands out, proving that he wasn't there to harm her.

"I thought I made myself clear that you were to leave me alone, Draco. I don't want you following me."

"I know, I'm sorry, but it's important."

Hermione rolled her eyes, wishing to be just about anywhere than where she was. Somehow being alone with Draco was worse than even being alone with another enemy. He'd actively sought her out for the better part of a year, gradually building her trust, only to betray her to his uncle. Though he hadn't admitted so and likely never would even if she confronted him, she got the impression that the person who sent him on his mission to track her was Rodolphus. He knew what a valuable asset his nephew's tracking skills was and a long time had passed since he'd seen her. She racked her brain and couldn't recall a memory of being in Rodolphus' presence from Oliver's birthday party until she was living in the Resistance village.

"Carrow told Rodolphus that she saw you here."

"I'm not surprised."

He narrowed his grey eyes and tilted his head to the side as if he was examining some unusual and fascinating creature. Clearly he assumed she would be more bothered by his announcement than she was.

"Rodolphus thinks you'll be coming back here at some point to _visit_ Rook." Hermione didn't miss the slight flush of his cheeks. "He ordered the house be watched so he could confront you when you did. I volunteered first so I could warn you that you're not safe."

"Thank you for that, Draco, but I really don't need you watching out for me."

"If your family is in there with you, Hermione, you have to leave. It's not safe."

She didn't trust Draco. And yet she also wasn't afraid of him. When she used to be in his presence before the last of the memory charms were removed, she felt fuzzyheaded around him, like she couldn't focus or concentrate. That was no longer the case. Was he somehow involved in the devious plan with the charms? Deep down, she didn't think so. The night that she recklessly went to his flat in the middle of the night to demand that he take her to Rodolphus, he'd been startled to hear her claims against the man he considered his uncle. He might have been a good actor, but she thought it was genuine. All she knew was that she no longer felt confused in his presence. She was thinking clearly.

"Why are you warning me? I told you that I wanted you to stay away from me."

"I don't want to see you hurt."

There was sincerity in his facial expressions when he answered her question. Reaching out to touch her arm, he stopped himself. His hand hung awkwardly in the air until he pulled it back down. She could tell that he wanted to comfort her, wanted to pull her into his arms. Why? She refused to believe the lie that he thought he was falling in love with her. If that was true, he wouldn't have betrayed her weeks earlier.

"Go home, Draco. Leave me alone."

She didn't wait for him to say another word. Hurrying back to the safety of Augustus' home, she considered his warning. Of course he was right. If it wasn't him watching the house, it would be someone else with less confusing motives. They couldn't stay there. She considered telling Antonin what she learned, but she didn't know how to tell him without exposing Draco's part. For a reason she still couldn't understand, she didn't want her husband to know about Draco.


	243. August 30th

August 30th

Draco had a way of getting under Hermione's skin and staying there that she didn't care for. Seeing him outside of Augustus' house again shouldn't have been a surprise at all considering his pattern, but his presence bothered Hermione tremendously. For the rest of the night and well into the next morning, she could think of little else. It was her fault that she allowed the enigmatic wizard even the slightest hold on her life. She should've done more to push him away, to resist his surprising charm and she should have _never_ allowed him to seduce her.

Sex had been an effective tool that she'd chosen to use in her career as a Death Eater. Well aware of what others said about her behind her back, and even sometimes to her face, due to her choice in utilizing her physical assets, Hermione didn't care. It was her body to use how she wanted. Not only was she able to learn a great deal about both her potential allies and enemies she wouldn't have had the opportunity using other methods, she generally had a good time doing so. She meant what she said when she said to her husband the day she told him about what she found out about her potions. In the twenty years since the war ended and her life changed, she _never_ went to bed with anyone she didn't invite. She'd had to get her hands dirty a few times to prevent unwelcome advances from escalating, but she hadn't minded. Refusing to be a victim, she used what talents she possessed.

Rarely had anyone used the same weapon against her. Ordinarily she was too aware, too paranoid to allow herself to be manipulated through sex. It took talent to do it seamlessly. Most simply couldn't. She hated herself for allowed Draco to get to her using her own devious methods. It was imperative that she not let it happen again. There was too much at stake.

She tried to keep her mind occupied with assisting her son prepare for school. Even just a month in Augustus' house gave Oliver more than enough opportunity to make a complete mess of his temporary bedroom. Helping him find lost socks and scattered books was one way to keep her mind off of Draco.

"I hope you aren't going to take advantage of the house-elves in the castle, Ollie. You must start picking up after yourself."

A dramatic roll of his eyes and an exasperated groan out of her son's mouth was enough to make her laugh even when she knew she shouldn't encourage his behavior. There was still so much she had to learn about being a parent. For the first time in his entire life, she actually _wanted_ to know more about her son, wanted to spend more time with him. It worried her to no end that he was about to go off to the castle in the middle of such uncertain times. She desperately wanted to believe that the truce would be effective and followed to the letter by all parties involved, but she was pragmatic enough to know that truces were often disregarded. After all, she knew better than most what it was like to go to Hogwarts in the middle of a war. As much as the parents might have desired to keep them out of it, children were often dragged in.

It felt strange to Hermione to recognize the fact that she was actually going to _miss_ her son when he left. Too much of his life was spent with her happily shuffling off her parental responsibilities to others more capable and willing. There was a very valid reason why Oliver was much closer to his father. When she was able to, she stayed away from their home in Hogsmeade and often even when she was there, she was too influenced by the damned potions to really even know what was happening. Her legendary temper, exacerbated by the rage potion, made her only child afraid of her. He had a habit of running and hiding when her mood was scary. She _hated_ knowing that fact. She hoped that there would be time to make up for the mistakes she'd made. Oliver was a fascinating young wizard that she discovered she liked a lot. Just like his father, he made her laugh when she least expected it.

"I wish I'd packed my trunk. I didn't know that I wouldn't be at home when you had me pack my bag."

When Antonin insisted they pack the enchanted bags she made them to be prepared to run, Hermione hoped that they wouldn't actually be needed. Part of her didn't allow herself to believe in the possibility that they would abandon their home. It never even occurred to her to make certain that Oliver had his trunk and all of his school supplies tucked away in the magically expanded bag. She could understand his frustration.

"I had Exploding Snap cards in my trunk. And, it's going to look silly when I show up with nothing but a little bag."

At the tender age of twelve, it was very important that a child not feel like they were different from the other students in any way. While there were some blessedly confident children who went their own way without fear of how their peers perceived them, most just wanted to be like everyone else. She remembered feeling that way so strongly at his age. Maybe a trunk didn't seem that important when they were running for their lives, but she knew it was to him.

She made a decision that she was almost certain she would come to regret later. It was the middle of the day and Antonin was gone from the house. No doubt he was off meeting with someone mysterious about joining his side or whatever such nonsense he did all day. In her opinion, his time would've been better used spent trying to figure out a way to get his family safely out of the country and somewhere pleasantly warm and relaxing. Hermione gave her pouting son a warm hug and promised him that she would be back shortly. Down at the bottom of the attic staircase she met Augustus as she exited the fake broom cupboard.

"I'm leaving for a little bit. Do you mind staying here with Ollie until I get back?"

"Of course not."

Augustus winked, and to her great relief, asked no questions. Experience taught him years earlier that she would do what she wished to do no matter what he had to say about the idea. It was a lesson that she desperately wished Antonin would learn one day. While she knew that Antonin cared deeply for her to the point that he was almost constantly afraid that she was going to put herself into danger that he could not get her out of, it was frustrating. As much as she could appreciate what it felt like to be a control freak and how much it angered those they cared about, her patience grew thin.

Even before she stepped across the Anti-Apparition wards surrounding Augustus' property, she had a plan in mind. It might have been a surprise for some people to learn that there were actually times that Gryffindors made plans before they did something rash and dangerous, but they did. She knew her house was being watched by some of Rodolphus' incompetent goons. Maybe he'd been able to secure the loyalty of some of the dimmest Hogsmeade guards. Antonin claimed it took them over an hour to even notice he was in the house when he snuck in before. She wasn't planning on being there nearly that long. Once she had Oliver's trunk in her possession, she had every intention of getting out of there.

She didn't like how eerie and silent her house was. It _felt_ abandoned, discarded. Deep down she knew that they would never live within its walls as a family again. That era of her life was over. She forced away the depressing thoughts lest she get distracted from her very simple mission. No one was in the back garden that she could tell. A quick survey of the familiar space indicated that she was alone. She was glad. Fighting to get inside would've wasted valuable time. It was her plan to get in and get out quickly.

Stepping inside for the first time since Rodolphus' visit was unnerving. She could only feel the barest remnants of Antonin's wards surrounding the house. Mostly left unprotected, Hermione was amazed that it hadn't been vandalized. Surely there were a number of people left in the village who wouldn't mind storming their home to take souvenirs. Perhaps there was still a little bit of fear in their hearts when it came to the Dolohovs. They could use that to their advantage if it became necessary.

Being alone in the house that had been her home for twenty years made Hermione's skin tingle and itch. Every second she was inside, she wished she hadn't made the decision to sneak in for a school trunk. She rushed up the stairs, ignoring the reminder in the back of her head that she might never climb those steps again. Oliver's room was almost as messy as the room in Augustus' attic. Rolling her eyes, she opened his trunk at the foot of his bed with a spell. Another series of spells brought all of his leftover clothing flying through the air to fold themselves neatly into piles inside the trunk. She summoned the rest of his belongings: his books, his old toys, everything. They could sort through it all back at the safe house. Once it was full and nothing else flew through the air at her command, she closed and latched the lid of the trunk. Levitating it in front of her would be the easiest option, but it would leave her potentially vulnerable if someone chose that moment to attack. Shrinking the trunk to a size small enough to fit in her pocket, she also added a charm to make it as light as a feather. Tucking her son's trunk with all of his remaining worldly possessions in her pocket, she gave one last look around the room that had been his since the day he was brought home from St. Mungo's.

She knew it was foolish to take another look at the bedroom she shared with Antonin, but she couldn't help herself. If this was to be her last opportunity, she wanted to take advantage of it. She stood in the doorway and stared at the empty room. It looked just like they had only been in it minutes before and had every intention of returning. Except she knew they wouldn't. Taking another deep breath, she turned her back on the space.

At the bottom of the stairs, her eyes fell on a framed picture still sitting on one of the side tables. Taken years earlier when the Dolohovs were on a camping trip, the three of them actually looked happy. How was it possible that the frame was overlooked when they were packing? Hermione put it in her pocket with Oliver's trunk, worried that she'd lingered too long. Less than a quarter of an hour had passed since she arrived, but she had the unnerving feeling that she was no longer alone in the house.

The door to the kitchen opened right as she allowed the upsetting thought to cross her mind. Hoping that it was a furious Antonin come to berate her for being reckless and foolish, Hermione's stomach sank when she saw the smirk on Rodolphus' face. She should've known that no matter how short she made her visit, it wouldn't go unnoticed by the monster. Preparing herself to fight, she pointed her wand in the man's face. His response was simply to hold up his empty hands, proving that he wasn't about to engage her in a duel.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Like I would trust a single word that came out of your mouth."

"I've _never_ wanted to hurt you, Hermione. Your family? Well, maybe a little."

Knowing what she knew about the man and what he was capable of frightened her to her very bones. He was dangerous, unpredictable. But, alone with him for the moment, she couldn't help it that her curiosity got the better of her. It usually did. Maybe he would be willing to answer some questions as long as he didn't have an audience. Somehow she knew without needing to verify with her own eyes that he didn't feel the need to bring anyone else with him. She knew him well enough to know that he could get cocky when he believed he had the upper hand.

"I know what you did to me, Roddy. I know about the spells and the charms. While I don't know _how_ you managed to accomplish it, I know that you're the reason I almost killed Antonin at our son's birthday party. _Why_?"

His laughter sent chills up her arms. It was an awful sound. Once upon a time she enjoyed it when he was relaxed enough to laugh. Now, she despised it and wanted to curse his mouth shut.

"I wanted you to kill Antonin so he wouldn't be a problem for us in the future and so your son would hate you."

"Why? Oliver is an innocent in all of this."

"I never could abide that brat. Didn't want him around."

Yet once more in her life she shouldn't have been surprised by the cruelty of the man, but she was. Of course it made sense. He would be killing two birds with one stone as the proverb would say. Antonin would be out of the picture and her son would never want to speak to her again. There was a sort of sick brilliance to the plan that she might have once admired.

"Go on and run back to whatever hole you have your family hidden, love, but just remember that I'll find you again when I'm ready for you."

He was out of the house moments later. She followed him out to the back garden where he Disapparated away. Never was she more grateful to see Augustus' house when her feet landed in Cornwall again.


	244. August 31st

August 31st

So much could have gone very wrong when Hermione made her quick trip to Hogsmeade. After her unexpected conversation with Rodolphus in the lounge of her abandoned home, she had been rattled, unable to focus long on anything. She was glad that she had Oliver's trunk to give her something to do in order to cover up how distracted she was. The rest of the day was spent sorting out his belongings, deciding what to take with him to Hogwarts, and what to store in his enchanted leather bag until they knew for certain where they would end up.

Antonin was frustrated when he learned she'd gone to Hogsmeade for a trunk, of all things. While he didn't let his temper get the better of him, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that he didn't approve. She shot back with a reminder that she wasn't his prisoner. After he sighed and conceded that she was right, he kissed her and begged her not to go back alone ever again. If she wanted to go, he wanted to be at her side. It was too dangerous otherwise. She promised only under the condition that he wouldn't go without her either. They would be partners or they would be nothing. Reluctantly, he agreed.

But, she didn't tell him about Rodolphus. Not even when they were alone. She knew it was wrong to keep secrets from her husband, especially whey they were both trying so hard to improve their marriage. Some secrets, she decided, were unavoidable in their current situation. All telling Antonin about Rodolphus would do was make him angry and scared and have him upset with her for being reckless. She already knew what she did was foolish. There was no reason to belabor a point that had already been made.

Even getting Oliver completely packed didn't keep Hermione's mind off of all of the horrible outcomes her trip to Hogsmeade could've had. Rodolphus' words echoed in her mind on a frustrating loop. He wasn't done with her by any means. When he was ready to include her in whatever his diabolical plans were, he would come find her whether she wanted to participate or not. All she could hope was that Babajide Akingbade had indeed been successful in removing all of Rodolphus' spellwork from her mind. Just the thought of the horrible wizard being able to control her in any way frightened her beyond measure. She might have made some wrong choices in her life, but they had been _her_ decision. Imagining no longer having her own will was terrifying. What could Rodolphus make her do? Would he have her finish the job she started on Antonin in their kitchen? Or, worse, would he make her do something so he no longer had to "abide that brat" he hated? None of the possibilities were good.

Her dreams were impacted by her fears. A dizzying maelstrom of violence and confusion, she woke up early the morning after her trip to Hogwarts with a racing heart. Trying to catch her breath, she almost didn't notice Antonin's arms tighten around her from behind. He kissed her curls, offering her comfort without her even needing to ask. It was hardly the first time she'd woken up from a nightmare with him lying next to her in bed. They both had been afflicted over the years.

"It was just a dream, my darling. You're here in my arms."

His whispered assurances helped. Feeling her heart-rate return to normal, she allowed herself to relax. Afraid that she'd woken up their son in the bed only a short distance away, she checked to make sure that he wasn't disturbed. Antonin kissed her again with promises that they were all safe and staying that way. Hermione appreciated his comforting lies at times, especially when she needed to hear them. Seeing her check on their son once more, Antonin put her fears to rest.

"I already put a silencing spell around our bed when I first thought you might be having a nightmare."

"Thank you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. Already the images in her mind were losing their power. Talking about them would only make them real again. In that moment, however, she knew she couldn't keep the secret about Rodolphus any longer. She had too much respect for Antonin to not tell him and Rodolphus wasn't only threatening her. He had a right to know what dangers his family might face.

"I didn't tell you everything that happened yesterday. Rodolphus confronted me in our home."

His initial silence wasn't a good sign that Antonin was all right with her announcement. Neither was him releasing his hold on her to lay on his back. The loss of his touch was profound. She missed it instantly. What was going to come next wasn't good, but she didn't regret being honest. Something in her had indeed changed in recent months. Lies and deception didn't come as easily as they once did. Maybe they never would again. Hermione wasn't sure if she minded that or not.

"Well, you're not dead or kidnapped, so I suppose I should be happy about that."

"I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to worry you."

"It's too late for that. I'm already worried. Every single bloody second of every single bloody day I worry about you and I worry about Ollie. Every single second. Even when I hold you in my arms, I'm worried about you. Even when the three of us are sleeping in this tiny, hidden, Untraceable room together, I'm still worried."

Hermione knew he would work himself up into quite a state if he continued. Leaning across the too-small bed, she covered his lips with hers to still his rambling. It was a trick he used to great success when she was afflicted with the same anxious condition. Almost immediately he calmed down. Antonin took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Rodolphus yesterday. He didn't hurt me or even try to touch me. It was wrong not to tell you, but because he didn't do anything, I didn't see the need."

She wasn't ready to tell him about the horrible plan for Hermione to kill him at Oliver's birthday party. It was best not to bring up that sore topic. Over and done with, there seemed no point to discuss it except to continue to torture themselves. Maybe a day would come when she would tell him the full truth, but not yet. Not when the wounds were still too fresh and too raw.

"Why did he confront you if he didn't do anything? Was he alone?"

"Yes, he was alone. I think… I think he just wanted to prove to me that he could find me when he wished."

There was no sense in trying to decipher the meaning in any of the wizard's actions. It was impossible. She didn't know how she could convincingly explain that she didn't feel like he wanted to harm her _yet_. And maybe he never really did? She kept going back to that one sentence he said where he claimed that he never wanted to hurt her. The man truly was too confusing.

"Come here."

Antonin held his arm open, inviting her to lay her head on his chest. It had become a comfortable position for the both of them when they were having deep conversations in bed. She found an enormous amount of comfort in the small gesture. As she laid her cheek on his chest and felt his arm wrap around her back, Hermione calmed. At least it seemed for the moment he wasn't angry with her for keeping the secret. She didn't realize how much she needed that confirmation until he was holding her again. Physical touch had always been something that she enjoyed, but the added intimacy of their interactions the previous few weeks meant more to her than she realized. If they had been able to reach the same place they were in earlier in their marriage, she had no doubt that they would've been happier. Whether it was still too late for them wasn't clear yet. Likely they wouldn't even be able to consider the possibilities of a future together until their present was more certain.

"Are you angry with me for opening the kitchen door to Rodolphus the night we had to run here?"

Hermione did not know where that question came from. It just seemed to bubble out of her mouth without thought. Clearly, it was an issue that bothered her even an entire month later. While she didn't know what would've happened if she'd refused to open the door at Rodolphus' demand to talk to him, she didn't think it would be good. While she knew that it didn't do any of them any good to dwell on what could not be changed, she couldn't help it. Sensing the turmoil within his wife, Antonin pulled her tighter against him.

"Of course I'm not angry about that. Why would you even ask that, Hermione?"

"Because maybe we would've been safe inside the house. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to get in and maybe we could've spent the last month at home instead of here."

"And _maybe_ Rodolphus would've made good on his promise to tear down the wards and come inside our house forcefully. There's a lot about the man that I despise, but he has always been prickly about his honor as a Lestrange. If he made you a promise on his 'word as a Lestrange' that he wouldn't harm Ollie if you opened the door to him, you did the right thing. He wouldn't have hurt Ollie. At least not at _that_ time, but there would have been plenty of opportunity for me to get there in time to stop it."

His words helped settle the nerves in the pit of her stomach. For a month she'd been holding on to that fear. While he hadn't come right out and told her that he was angry that she lifted the wards long enough for her to step outside before putting them back up to speak to the horrible man, she feared that he was. She knew that he would put Oliver's safety at the very top of his priorities, as he should. It wasn't that long ago that she would've been happy if he threw her out of his life and told her to never come back, but so much had changed. Hermione wasn't the same person she was the day she knocked on her front door after being on the run for a year. She still wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing or not. Only time would tell.

"I always suspected that our enemies would strike our home when I wasn't there. My paranoia actually served its purpose in this case. Every inch of our property was coated in spells that would tell me when someone crossed onto the barrier. While I couldn't tell _who_ was there, I got concerned when more than two passed through the invisible wards. That told me that it wasn't just Alain and Mr. Akingbade. I'm so grateful they were there in time to keep you both from harm."

"So am I."

"I rushed back home as quickly as I could. Startled the ones I was meeting with, I can tell you. They didn't know what happened to me. Had to go back to apologize the next day, but they're good people. They understood."

Part of her wanted to interrupt his story to ask just who the mysterious people he was meeting with were, but she knew better. Antonin would tell her when he was ready for her to know and not a moment too soon.

"I was able to cover Alain long enough that he could Disapparate away with Ollie."

"Then you had to go in for the damn cat."

Both of them chuckled at the reminder of his rash act. Evidently one didn't live with a Gryffindor for twenty years without at least some of their tendencies rubbing off on them. Antonin had his own foolish Gryffindoric moments just like the other two members of the small Dolohov family. Didn't even matter that he was a hatstall between Slytherin and Ravenclaw when he was eleven.

"Yes, I had to go back in for the damn cat. Couldn't bear to upset our son any further than he already was."

"You're a good man, Antonin."

He kissed the top of her head.

"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but thank you, love."

"Well, comparatively speaking, I mean. Maybe not for a Muggle or a regular wizard, but for a Death Eater, you're a saint."

Their mutual laughter dispelled the last of the tension from their discussion. Hermione drifted back to sleep without any further nightmares.


	245. September 1st

September 1st

The first day of September arrived too soon. At least that's how Antonin and Hermione Dolohov felt about the day. Dreading the moment they would watch their son ride away on the Hogwarts Express, when it dawned, neither one of them was pleased. Relying on a truce to keep their son out of harm was one of the more difficult tasks they'd ever had to endure. While Antonin remained resolute and confident that the agreement would hold, his wife believed that he was simply putting on a brave front for her sake and to convince himself.

Breakfast was a muted affair. Though he wouldn't come right out and admit so where the boy could hear, Augustus was going to miss having Oliver in his home. Perhaps not his parents, but he enjoyed the experience of having one so young in his house again. Azkaban, and his poor decisions, robbed him of the chance of getting to really know his sons. When it was time for the Dolohovs to take their leave, Augustus almost cried when Oliver's arms wrapped around his middle. Knowing that he was about to return to a solitary existence without the bright light he'd enjoyed for a month couldn't have been easy. He was more composed when Hermione kissed his cheek and Antonin shook his hand.

"We can't thank you enough, Gus."

"Where will you go now?"

Antonin simply smiled at his bitter rival turned partner. He wasn't going to give up the secret of the next place he and Hermione were going to take refuge in so easily. The secret hadn't even been revealed yet to Hermione. She wondered if her husband was afraid that she would tell Augustus where they were going if she knew. Why was Antonin being so mysterious and untrusting? Hadn't Augustus proven himself as a good friend and an ally they could trust? Some jealousies and offenses would likely never be smoothed over.

Only Oliver was excited about the significance of the day. His mother envied him for his youth and innocence. She remembered what it felt like to go back to Hogwarts after a summer away. Though there might have been some uncertainty in him about what was up ahead, he was hiding it well. Hermione desperately hoped that he was more worried about his upcoming lessons than he was about his safety or the safety of his parents. He should be allowed to just be a child. Adult problems could wait for him for a few more years.

One step inside the chaotic barrier at Platform 9 3/4, Hermione was afraid she would suffocate. Over twenty years had come and gone since the last time she had reason to be in the station on September 1st. Had it always been so mad? She couldn't remember. Seeing the crush of people, Antonin tightened his grip on her hand. She couldn't even remember reaching for it in the first place. Caught up in the excitement and seemingly oblivious to the danger he was potentially in, Oliver practically hopped from foot to foot trying to see if the friends he'd made the year before were around.  
"There seems to be more people here than last year."

Hermione ignored the choking emotion that appeared in her throat when Antonin's whisper reminded her that she'd not been a part of her son's first Hogwarts Express experience. So much of his life was missed because she was selfish and out of control. A tiny part of her resented Antonin for killing Lord Voldemort and robbing her of the chance to do it herself. At least Rodolphus and Rabastan were still alive. She might even get a chance to end their sorry existences. And Alecto's too. Her husband might worry that she was incapable of returning to the same cold-blooded killer she once made herself become, and she _mostly_ agreed with him, but she believed she'd be able to summon up enough hatred to kill those three. Likely she'd even enjoy it.

"Maybe with the Dark Lord gone more parents feel safe sending their children to Hogwarts. There might be some from Wales or even the Resistance."

"Possibly. I just wish it wasn't so crowded."

Hermione couldn't disagree with Antonin about the crowd. With so many excited children and their parents milling around the platform, it was hard to see who was actually around them. Were they in danger? A truce might have been put in place, but she didn't care for some of the looks that were being sent their way. The Dolohovs weren't welcome. She only hoped that their son wouldn't be subject to cruelty and ignorance in the castle because of who his parents were. It wasn't as if he had any choice in the matter after all. Children could be awful to each other.

"Look! There's Hugo!"

Oliver pushed his way through the crush of people to a large group of redheads. Though some of their children had black hair like Romilda's, it was easy to tell they were all Weasleys. Antonin and Hermione had to hurry to keep up with their son. As much as Hermione would've rather chewed on glass than to be polite and socialize with Ron and his wife, especially in public, she put on a warm smile for her son's sake. Uncomfortable pleasantries and stiff handshakes were exchanged by the adults. Hermione almost envied Romilda for her ability to use her large brood of children as an excuse to keep interrupting their awkward small talk. With six children ranging in age from fourteen to just under two and another set to make its entrance into the world any day, Romilda had her hands full.

After only a couple of minutes of inane conversations between their husbands that seemed to last much longer, Ron scanned the immediate area. Lowering his voice, the Dolohov adults had to strain their ears to hear him speak over the noise.

"Remember what I told you in Diagon Alley, Hermione." He turned his full attention to Antonin. "I meant what I said. You would _both_ be welcome."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Thorfinn, Hannah, and their girls. Even Oliver was able to turn his attention away from Hugo to shyly greet an unimpressed Emmy Rowle. Hannah hugged Antonin tightly just as Hermione felt Thorfinn's arms wrap around her frame.

"We've been so worried about you, Princess."

He released her to shake Antonin's hand and clap him roughly on the back. Hannah's beautiful blue eyes were brimming with tears when she moved to hug Hermione. They hadn't seen each other since Oliver's eleventh birthday party. When Hermione returned to Hogsmeade, she isolated herself within their home and Hannah had never been one to pry into her privacy. Though the sweet Hufflepuff had always been willing to be her old classmate's friend, Hermione pushed her away. As she returned Hannah's embrace, she wondered why.

"I'm glad to see you doing so well, Hermione."

"Thank you."

Hannah released her grip. Before she stepped back, she held Hermione's hand long enough to slip a tiny slip of parchment inside. When Hermione moved to look at it, the other witch calmly touched her hand and urged her to read it later, _after_ the train was gone. Confused by her odd behavior, she slipped it into her pocket and watched as the Rowles greeted their son. Antonin smiled. If he witnessed the secretive slip in her hand from Hannah, he didn't seem bothered. She hated that her curiosity was so overpowering at times. All she wanted to do was sate it and go against Hannah's wishes.

But the entrance of the Lestrange family consumed her thoughts instead. Quite without thinking about what she was doing, Hermione grabbed Antonin's hand again. She needed to feel his presence to keep her calm. When did that development happen? With the smug grin that he rarely took off of his face, Rabastan held the hand of his youngest daughter as he led his other three children and his wife through the barrier. Catching sight of them almost at once, the horrible man directed his steps to where they were standing.

"Hermione! Antonin! It has been a long time. How have you both been since we last saw each other?"

If Rabastan's five year old daughter Gwendoline wasn't still clutching his hand, Hermione would've had some colorful words for the horrible man. It was evident that he specifically sought them out simply to taunt and harass them, knowing that they wouldn't harm him because of both the truce and his innocent child. Evidently uncomfortable about approaching the Dolohovs, Gemma Lestrange didn't want to follow her husband's footsteps. Under the best of circumstances, she struggled to hold her tongue in Hermione's presence. The two women loathed the sight of the other. Knowing that she'd had an ongoing affair with her husband, Hermione hated the woman even more. Antonin cleared his throat, trying not to be rude but also not wishing to actually speak to his former mistress in front of his wife.

"Our department has been terribly lonely without you in it. When should we expect your return?"

"I don't really have the energy for this, Rabastan. _Never_. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

His laughter coupled with Gemma's pleased grin at the knowledge her husband would no longer be working in such close quarters with Hermione made her very angry. She wanted out of there. Glancing up at the large clock on the platform, she was pleased to see that it would only be another ten minutes before the train departed. As much as she wasn't ready to see Oliver go, she wasn't sure she would be able to stand much more of the torture.

Seeing Rodolphus pass through the barrier made it all more worse than she could've imagined. Feeling her chest tighten, she gripped Antonin's hand much harder than she intended. Worried about the sudden pressure in his hand, he started to ask if she was all right when his own eyes landed on the man responsible for so much heartache in their lives. Hermione could only imagine how much her husband desired to kill the man who murdered their unborn daughter and almost killed his wife in the process. He started to drop her hand, but she wouldn't let go. She was afraid of what he would do. Aware of the small struggle happening between the Dolohovs, Rodolphus burst out into his loud laughter.

"Nuh uh uh, Antonin. You were one of the most vocal proponents of the truce today. What sort of message would that send?"

Hermione didn't have the slightest doubt that Rodolphus was there only to try to provoke her husband into violence. He wasn't a stupid man. He understood the power that he possessed over them.

"What are you even doing here, Lestrange?"

"Can a proud uncle not come see his beloved niece and nephews off to Hogwarts? It's Julia's seventh year and I wouldn't miss my chance to wish her well."

Squeezing his hand even tighter, Hermione was afraid she might accidentally break some of the bones in Antonin's hand. He didn't seem to mind. Perhaps the pain was giving him something to focus on other than an Avada straight to the conman's chest. Seeming to grasp that he wouldn't get the reaction he wanted out of Antonin, Rodolphus turned his attention to Hermione instead.

"You are looking well today, my dear. Such a pity that we didn't get to spend much time together the other day in Hogsmeade. There was so much more I wished to _discuss_ with you. Not to worry, I'm sure we will have plenty of opportunities very soon to catch up."

She had to remind herself to take a breath when Rodolphus walked away with the rest of the Lestrange family. Antonin squeezed her hand, gently encouraging her to release her grip. When she did, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side and kissing her temple. She could feel her hands trembling. How was it possible that she used to be able to be alone with that horrible man and actually _enjoy_ his presence?

Oliver was blessedly oblivious to the tense situation his parents were in. When it was time to leave, he ran back to them to hug them tightly one last time. They stood together on the platform watching him wave from his compartment until they could no longer see the end of the train. Antonin kissed the top of her head again.

"All right, love. Take a look at the parchment Hannah gave you and let's get out of here."

Forgetting about the odd scrap of parchment she'd been given in the excitement of Rodolphus' entrance, Hermione pulled it out of her pocket. Unfolding it, she could see an address written in Hannah's tight, neat scrawl.

 _The Dolohov home is located at…_

She was only just able to read the full address before Antonin Disapparated them both away from the station.


	246. September 2nd

September 2nd

Learning that Hannah Rowle neé Abbott was the Secret Keeper for their new safe house was only the first in a series of surprises that Hermione discovered when she was Disapparated away from the train station by her husband. Landing in front of a ramshackle cottage tucked back on an overgrown lot, she wasn't sure what to think about their new location. Yes, Augustus' home was no longer safe now that Rodolphus expected her to come back to visit her ex-lover, but surely there was somewhere, _anywhere_ else that was better than where they were. Confused and a little frightened that he was about to take her into a house less luxurious than the Shrieking Shack, she turned to scowl at her amused husband. He simply laughed.

"Think about what you just read."

She rolled her eyes, not finding any amusement in the situation in the slightest. Doing as he suggested, she thought about the address written on the parchment. Almost immediately the complicated enchantments hiding the true façade seemed to melt away. Revealed in its place was a charming, little cottage surrounded by a garden even Fenrir Greyback would be proud to call his own. In fact, the location looked so similar to his little piece of the world that she felt her chest grow heavy with thoughts about the werewolf. Where was he? How was he faring in the uncertainty of their current time? She had to push away the thoughts when her husband asked her what she thought.

"It seems nice. Where are we?"

"My grandparents, on my mother's side, of course, left this cottage to my youngest brother when they died. They tried to be equitable in what they left to all of their grandchildren, but as you can see, Grandmother loved Aubin just a little bit more than the rest of us."

Though he said it was a chuckle, Hermione knew that it was a sore subject with her husband. From all accounts, his Fawley grandparents were unkind and miserable people. She was thankful that Antonin never asked her to go with him to visit while they were alive. Most of their wrath seemed to be directed at their eldest grandson, as if it was his fault that he was conceived when their proper Pureblood daughter drank too much and allowed herself to be seduced by the Russian wizard they never cared for. Some of the stories that he would tell about the Fawleys, including his own mother, were terrible. Even during the worst parts of their marriage when she all but hated Antonin, she hated his relatives more for being so cruel. When he was dragged off to Azkaban, the shame supposedly led to his grandfather's fatal heart attack. Or at least that's what his grandmother would say to guilt him up until the very day that she died just weeks after Oliver was born. Not even the sight of her first great-grandchild gave the terrible woman any joy right before she passed.

Hermione didn't like the idea of staying in a house that was owned by Antonin's youngest brother. He was, without question, her least favorite of all of the brothers. Elspeth Fawley Dolohov had a love for terrible French romance novels. Likely, that was _exactly_ the reason why she ended up in the back of a wedding reception with her robes up above her waist and a handsome Russian beneath them. She probably saw Vadim Dolohov as the ultimate mysterious, foreign stranger that she'd read about in a dozen variations of the same novel. All four of her sons were named after ridiculous heroes in the sappy volumes. Why she chose to only pick names that began with the letter 'A' was unknown. She was an odd woman, to say the least. Vadim Dolohov didn't care what their children were named or even if they were all his to begin with. Marrying into a proud Sacred Twenty-Eight family had been his goal all along. Once he succeeded, he was content to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his manipulations.

Aubin Dolohov was born fifteen years after his eldest brother. Born with light blond hair that was almost white, it was rumored for many years that he might actually be Abraxas Malfoy's son. Hermione would believe it. He possessed many of the same mannerisms and expressions as his suspected elder brother Lucius. Certainly every time that she'd had the misfortune to be in his presence, Aubin sneered down his nose at her like she was filth. No one in the Fawley family had the same color hair and Elspeth wasn't exactly known for being a virtuous and faithful wife. Partially because of the manner in which he treated his wife, but also for an entire lifetime of reasons that it was best not to dwell on for very long, Antonin and his youngest brother didn't have much use for each other.

"Why are we staying here, Antonin? I can't imagine your brother is thrilled with the idea of his Mudblood sister-in-law polluting his precious sheets."

He narrowed his eyes at the slur. Even in jest, he despised when anyone, including Hermione herself, called his wife that word.

"I asked him if I could borrow it months ago. He spends all of his time in Italy as it is. I don't think he's even been back in three years. Not since…"

"Not since that Christmas he called me a whore and then asked me how much I would charge him by the hour."

Antonin cleared his throat. It had been a _memorable_ holiday to say the least. She'd almost murdered her brother-in-law. Part of her was convinced that no one, including her husband, would've minded if she did. Except Alexandre, third in the line of brothers between Alain and Aubin, was fast enough to cast a shield charm between them. She hated to admit that she still carried a little bit of resentment around for the quiet man who inexplicably loved his baby brother.

"Yes, well, no one will suspect we're here, and as only one other person knows we will be living here, it should be safe."

"Is that why you didn't want to tell Augie where we were going?"

"I _couldn't_ tell Gus. Hannah agreed to help me cast the Fidelius Charm and be our Secret Keeper. Only she is able to tell anyone where we are, and I trust her not only with my life, but more importantly, with your life and Ollie's."

She knew it was no small gesture to trust Hannah with the Secret. And she had to admit that she could see the genius in the plan. No one would suspect Hannah of being their Secret Keeper. Usually quiet and unassuming like most of the Hufflepuffs Hermione had the privilege of knowing, few in their society appreciated how fiercely loyal and protective she could be. Hannah would never betray them even if someone was clever enough to suspect her. And she highly doubted anyone actually was.

It didn't take them long to settle in to the snug cottage. At half the size of even their home in Hogsmeade, there wasn't much to it. But, it was nice and comfortable. Hermione could see little thoughtful touches all over the small house that were further proof that Hannah had a part in ensuring they lacked for nothing. It was one more reason to make her feel guilty for not being a better friend to the Hufflepuff over the years. At least she could take solace in the fact that she never seduced her husband… _after_ they were married, of course. There would've been no point in trying really. Thorfinn didn't even look at other women. Hannah and his girls were his entire world.

Still, despite the cupboards filled with food and her husband's assurances that they would be safe living in his brother's rarely used cottage, Hermione still would've preferred sleeping outside under a bridge. She didn't trust Aubin. Anything connected with the cretin should be treated with suspicion. Even in the worst days of her potions addiction, she never allowed her son to be alone with his uncle. Not that she suspected he would try to harm Oliver in any way, physically or otherwise, but because she didn't want him to poison their son against his parents, his mother especially. If Aubin had been a Death Eater, he would've fit right in with the likes of Theodore Nott Senior. He probably would've even laughed at Nott's disgusting reminder that Hermione was nothing more than "entertainment". Likely would've even been willing to show her exactly what he meant _personally_.

"Let's just try to make the most of it. Our options were limited."

Hermione knew she was frustrating her husband with her concerns about his brother's house, but she couldn't help it. Aubin had no loyalty to anyone but himself. When Antonin's parents died, Aubin was sent to live with their Fawley grandparents. While Alexandre was also still underage when the Dolohovs met their mysterious end in Russia, he was already sixteen and spent most of the year at Hogwarts. Aubin was only ten and easily influenced by the nasty, proud Fawleys. Why Vadim Dolohov was so insistent on wedging his way into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, Hermione would never understand.

"All right, Antonin, I'm sorry. I trust you. Your brother however…"

Antonin was smart enough to cut her next words off with a searing kiss that she couldn't ignore. All of the tension she'd been holding on to since seeing their son off to Hogwarts and being confronted by Rodolphus began to melt away. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she found more than a little satisfaction in desecrating the sanctity of Aubin's personal bed with her husband. He certainly had an effective way to help her forget her fears.

Part of her was afraid that once they settled in to the new safe house that Antonin would immediately run off on another mysterious errand he was reluctant to talk about. She had her suspicions that he might be meeting with a private contact within the Resistance organization, but couldn't be certain. To her great relief, Antonin didn't run off. Following their very _thorough_ christening of the new bed, he stayed there for the rest of the night and well into the next morning. In fact, they even both lingered in bed until the sun was up, practically unheard of during most of their marriage. There was no reason to rush off.

"How do you think Ollie's first night back in the castle was?"

Antonin pulled Hermione into his arms. If he was pleased that she seemed to finally be taking an interest in their son, he didn't say so out loud. She knew it made him happy though. Even living in her ex-lover's house on the run from those who meant them harm, they'd been the happiest together as a family that they'd ever been in thirteen years of marriage. She knew she had the absence of potions and memory charms to thank for that development.

"I'm sure he ate entirely too much at the Welcoming Feast and stayed up way too late with his little mates in the common room."

"Do you think that some of the other students will be mean to him?"

"Were any of the other students mean to you when you were in school?"

She sighed, hating how cruel children could be to each other. Of course, most of them were only imitating the terrible adults in their lives.

"I'm sure there will be some that will be unkind, but Ollie is a likable kid on his own. Most of them will come around."

"I had no idea he was so funny."

It hurt her to realize how little she knew about her own son. He was nothing like she remembered or imagined. She wasn't sure she would ever forgive herself for her failures as a mother.

"He does take after his papa, after all, and I'm hilarious."

Hermione couldn't stop the amused snort that came out at her husband's statement. It was a side of him very few were privileged to see. She kissed him and laughed.

"You're not nearly as funny as you _think_ you are."

"Oh, I highly doubt that. If anything, I'm probably even funnier than I give myself credit for."

All worries about how their son was faring in the castle were pushed aside temporarily to the back of their minds as they laughed and enjoyed simply being in each other's company.


	247. September 3rd

September 3rd

Their new safe house was quiet, _very_ quiet. Sometimes _too_ quiet. Hermione wasn't aware of how easily she'd gotten used to the sound of the ocean waves just a stone's throw away from her bedroom window in Cornwall. The cadence of the waves lulled her to sleep and gave her something to focus on when her mind drifted aimlessly from topic to topic. Tucked away in the cottage in the middle of the countryside somewhere in the Cotswolds, she missed the ambient sounds she'd become used to. Birdsong annoyed her more often than it soothed her. The rustling of leaves in the slight breezes didn't help much either.

Her mind wandered too far when she didn't have much to do. Forcing herself to stop worrying about Oliver and how he was doing since returning to the castle, a task she knew would ultimately prove impossible, she sat in one of the oversized chairs in the main room of the cottage going over the events of two days earlier. It was all she'd been able to think about since it happened. Rodolphus' abrupt arrival _shouldn't_ have been a surprise, but it was. Likely he was there in an effort to get some sort of reaction out of Antonin. Her husband's desire to find the wretched man the night he attacked Rabastan and Marcus Flint would've gotten back to the ringleader of their group at some point. No doubt he wanted to say something that would force Antonin to disregard the truce that had been set up to protect the students and their parents that day. Not only would it show Antonin as being unstable and untrustworthy and therefore, not someone they should follow, it would have also given the Lestranges an excuse to get rid of her husband once and for all.

She hated how devious the whole plan was. Maybe once upon a time she enjoyed the intrigue of plotting and planning, but no longer. If she could go the rest of her life without getting involved in something dangerous, she would be happy. But, of course, she also considered the words that Ron Weasley spoke to them both in a hushed whisper. He was inviting them _both_ to join whatever faction he'd joined. As much as she was initially tempted to tell her old friend to bugger off with his rebellious group, the more she considered her options, the better she liked the idea of at least finding out what he had to offer. There was a war in another lifetime that they fought side by side. Would she be able to absolve at least _some_ of her guilt for how her life turned out if she could fight once more on a side that was good? She didn't know if that was what Ron was offering though. He'd been able to give her such little information that she couldn't make an informed decision.

"I'm going to check in with Corban for a few hours. Will you be all right here by yourself?"

Antonin's concern for her was sweet, even if it could get a little tiresome. She wasn't some helpless child after all. Once he explained his concerns that she wasn't up to being the same cold-blooded fighter she used to be and he wanted to have the opportunity to be it _for_ her, she'd been able to appreciate more what he was trying to do for her. Unfortunately, protection could often feel like coddling and smothering. He was doing the best that he knew how to do. If he was clumsy and heavy-handed at times, she needed to be patient and understanding, and not be afraid to let him know he was drifting too far over the line. She understood all too well how it felt to be so single-minded, so _focused_ that the feelings and opinions of others, even those she cared about, didn't matter.

"Yes, I'll be fine."

With a swift kiss to her lips, Antonin exited the cottage, leaving her alone once again with the thoughts that were bringing her no comfort whatsoever. Ron encouraged her at Nott's wedding to be sure she didn't pick the losing side again. Did that mean he was confident that he was on the winning one this time? As the other prized pet of the Dark Lord's and eventually, a trusted member of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters, Ron had virtually unlimited access to power and influence. His position within the Auror department in the Ministry of Magic would've also allowed him the opportunity to interact with more serious-minded fighters that rarely crossed Hermione's path. Or Rabastan's, for that matter. Could he be leading an insurgency within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? If so, was Corban Yaxley aware of it? As Head of the Department, he supposedly knew everything that went on in his domain.

Antonin had only been gone about ten minutes when she made her decision to seek out more information. If he could run off and have his own mysterious meetings and missions, so could she. With Oliver safely tucked away at Hogwarts she wasn't under the same oppressive restrictions that she had been with him in the house. All she had to worry about protecting in that moment was herself and wasn't that what she'd been doing for almost thirty-nine years already? Knowing that he would worry if he returned home to find her gone, she scribbled a quick note to her husband to leave on the kitchen table. It was possible that she would be home long before he returned.

Apparating into Hogsmeade wasn't the safest of ideas. She was well aware that there were enemies everywhere in the village. Even those she thought once were her friends could easily turn on her given half a chance. Still, despite the worries and fears that she could be attacked, she focused on the other side of the village than the one she lived in for twenty years, the side with the newer, more fashionable homes. Seconds later, her feet landed in thick grass behind a house she'd seen on her ramblings through the village, but never been inside. It was possible that this would all turn out to be a giant trap. She knew the risks. Ron might have been tasked by Rodolphus via Rabastan to encourage her with just enough tiny, unsatisfying bread crumbs to seek him out in private. She was well aware that the possibility of her walking into an elaborate set-up was likely.

She didn't knock on the front door. Not only was it too exposed to the rest of the neighborhood, but somehow meeting in secret about a rebellion simply called for the back door. Especially since it had been twenty years since she could last call the owner of the house a friend. When it wasn't immediately answered, she grew worried, more and more convinced that she was making a dreadful mistake. Just as she was about to turn around to go back to where she'd just come from, the door to the Weasley kitchen opened.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Ron's expression of surprise was so strong that she knew in an instant that he wasn't planning an ambush or some trap. For the briefest of moments he reminded her so much of the boy he once was that she felt a choking in her throat. Was it possible that they were ever that young? Clearing her throat, she pushed away the echoes of the past. It was better that she not dwell on them.

"You've invited me to join your side twice now. I'd like to ask you some questions."

Scanning the back garden for anyone who might mean them harm, Ron relaxed when he realized she was indeed alone. Stepping back from the door, he invited her inside. It felt strange being there in his home for the first time. There were days in her past when she dreamed of a life where they shared a home together. Foolish dreams of a child really, but powerful nonetheless. The homey smell of baked apples and the leftover scent of the family's breakfast reminded her a great deal of his childhood home. Many nights her dreams were filled with memories of the Burrow.

The sound of small children laughing and playing in the lounge next to the kitchen brought a smile to Ron's face. Hermione could tell that he had been able to find some happiness in his life despite the horrors they were forced to endure. It made her happy for her former friend. Though she wasn't naïve enough to believe that he'd had nothing but joy, she was pleased to learn that he'd been able to carve something worth fighting for out of the ruins of his childhood. He gestured to the large kitchen table for her to take a seat.

"It's been a little quiet around here without the older kids, but I think Romy is glad to have a little bit of a break."

Hermione had to bite back a laugh at Ron's idea of 'quiet'. Evidently he and she had completely different opinions on what that meant exactly.

"She's been exhausted with the baby almost here. A break from all of the madness will be nice."

It felt bizarre for them to be sitting in his kitchen having a polite conversation about his family. Certainly Hermione never expected to have the opportunity or the desire to do so. For twenty years she found it easier to simply ignore the man's existence whenever possible. He represented a lost life that she would never be able to get back, a future that died right along with their best friend. It was too hard to dwell on it.

"I want to know more about this group you're talking about. Who is in it? Is it Rabastan's group?"

"No, it's not. Rabastan and I… well, let's just say that there was a point where we could no longer see eye to eye."

Just as Antonin was ordered to house and train Hermione by the Dark Lord, Rabastan was ordered to do the same with Ron. Up until the day he married Romilda, he'd lived in the Lestrange Manor right alongside his mentor. For all outward appearances, Ron was every bit as loyal to his mentor as he was to the Dark Lord. She was surprised to learn that there had been any dissension whatsoever.

"I'll admit that I've allowed Rabastan to _think_ that I'm still on his side for my own selfish purposes, and because it frightens my wife to imagine him being our enemy, but I've been… _disillusioned_ with him for quite some time now."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Hermione, I know that we're not friends anymore, and I'm not angry about that. Yes, in the beginning, it did hurt me when you didn't want to talk to me, but I get it. I remind you too much of the past. But, even though we're not friends, I've never stopped caring about you. Never stopped wishing you well."

It meant more to her than she realized that he felt that way. She'd tried to ignore his very existence. Certainly she hadn't wished him well over the years.

"I've known there was a plot against you and Antonin for awhile now. Rabastan filled me in on _some_ of the details. I'm not stupid enough to believe that he would tell me everything. But, it's bad, Hermione."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore than she already did, but she knew she had to ask.

"What is the plot?"

"Discrediting you both was the first step. Rabastan's been working on that for quite a while now. There was more…"

The door to the kitchen opened, revealing Romilda carrying one of their younger children on her hip. Surprised to find them alone, Mrs. Weasley gave her husband a quizzical look.

"Sorry, love. We were talking…"

"Rabastan's at the door for you, Ron."

Hermione's stomach clenched in a tight knot. Of course it was just a coincidence and likely a common enough occurrence over the years due to Rabastan's mentorship and friendship with Ron, but she hated knowing that the horrible man was in the same location. Jumping up to her feet, she knew she had to get out of there as quickly as she could.

"Would you tell him that I'll be right there? And invite him inside. Just… just don't tell him you've seen Hermione."

"Of course."

Romilda might not have had much use for Hermione, but it was clear she loved and trusted her husband. She was already out of the room when their first guest reached the back door.

"Come back tomorrow, Hermione. _Please_. I want to talk to you."

She wouldn't give him a definitive answer, just ran out of the back door before she could be spotted by the enemy.


	248. September 4th

September 4th

Hermione's visit to Ron's Hogsmeade home gave her more questions than answers. When she returned to her cottage, hours before Antonin as she suspected she might, she spent the rest of the day dissecting every single moment of the too-short conversation. Much more needed to be said. If Rabastan hadn't interrupted, she might have finally gotten the answers she needed to determine if she wanted to throw her lot in with her former friend or not. It was quickly becoming evident that she would have to pick a side. Trying to remain neutral or just outside the action wasn't going to be an option.

Returning to Hogsmeade as he requested filled her with dread. What if her initial impression was incorrect and he _did_ mean her harm? It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that Rabastan's impromptu visit to his former protege's home could've influenced Ron's plans. Maybe he was able to convince her former friend to be on his side again. Or, maybe Ron was _always_ on Rabastan's side and just lied to try to earn her trust. As she'd already told her husband, all of the secret alliances were wearing on her too-thin nerves. Just trying to imagine unraveling all of the knots of the intricate system hurt her head.

By mid-morning, approximately the same time of day that she visited Hogsmeade the day before, she was still unsure if she wanted to return or not. With Antonin still moving around the house, she was able to use his presence as an excuse to remain. Though she hadn't come right out and asked him since the offer was made to him personally by Ron next to the Hogwarts Express, she didn't think that he was interested in whatever plan might be in motion. It wasn't as if he had a personal relationship with any of the Weasleys in his past. She couldn't blame him for being skeptical when she was skeptical herself.

He made his excuses to leave again way before she was ready for him to go. When she was alone, she couldn't focus on anything else. Finally deciding that she would only drive herself completely mad if she didn't go see for herself what Ron had to say and offer, she sighed and marched out the door of the cottage. Maybe it was all a trap, but she had to know for certain.

In almost an exact repeat of the day before, Ron met her at the kitchen door and led her inside to the table. He seemed pleased that she was there, if a little surprised. Begging her forgiveness, he excused himself for a minute or two to speak to his wife in the other room. Hermione sat at the table, staring at the kitchen cupboards and hoping that she wasn't about to be attacked by either of the Lestrange brothers. When Ron returned with the same warm grin plastered across his fact that she remembered from their youth, she calmed down significantly. She really didn't want to believe that he wished her any harm.

"I'm sorry that we were interrupted yesterday. I really had no idea that Rabastan would be dropping in. He does that a lot. Makes me worry that he's aware that I'm not completely on his side. Maybe he's trying to catch me doing something I shouldn't be."

"Would you tell me more about this plot you knew about?"

Ron sighed deeply, clearly not wishing to revisit the topic. She didn't care. He couldn't just give her bits and pieces of what he knew and then expect her to drop it. If he wasn't willing to tell her the rest, why would he practically beg her to come back the next day? Unless, of course, it was to betray her and Rodolphus was waiting patiently in the next room…

"I knew that Rabastan was spiking your potions. I should've said something, but…"

"We weren't friends and I wouldn't have believed you even if you did."

He nodded, frowning.

"And maybe a part of me was okay with knowing what he was doing to you. We weren't exactly on the best of terms, after all."

She couldn't argue with him about that fact. If the roles were reversed, Hermione couldn't say for certain that she would've done anything differently.

"Rabastan thought it was _funny_ that you almost killed your husband. Said that it was his brother's idea."

The urge to tell him about Rodolphus' treachery was quickly squashed. Not only was she embarrassed by what happened to her mind, she didn't know yet it she could trust Ron again. Nostalgia made her desire nothing more, but she couldn't afford to make a dangerous mistake. Not another one. If Ron wasn't on her side, he could potentially have more information about her than he needed. Hoping to strike a more person note in an effort to test him, she veered the subject of conversation away from what little he knew about Rodolphus' plan. Because no matter how close Ron thought he was to the brothers, she knew that Rodolphus wouldn't have told even Rabastan _everything_.

"I find it interesting that our sons have become such close friends. All I heard this summer was 'Hugo this' and 'Hugo that'. Funny how history repeats itself, isn't it?"

Ron smiled, not bothered in the least to have the subject changed. It wasn't a surprise to Hermione to know he wanted a big family. After losing his mother and two of his brothers to death and then three more siblings to the Resistance, he must've missed the energy and excitement that a large family could bring.

"Ollie told me that Hugo says you drink too much, Ron. You drink too much and you cry about our past."

"Don't you, Hermione? Doesn't all of this just break your fucking heart?"

There was not an ounce of shame in the man at being told she knew what he did in the privacy of his own home. Maybe there was a time when he wouldn't denied it or grown angry, but the world was different since the Dark Lord died. What could've once meant a very public death sentence could be spoken out loud between two former friends. A nod of her head was her only response to his question about her broken heart. It was enough.

"Who are you working with, Ron? Really?"

His reluctance to answer her seemingly simple questions would've been evident to anyone, even someone who hadn't spent the better part of two decades as an interrogator for the regime. She could understand not wanting to divulge all of the details, even if it was a bit obnoxious. Ron had co-conspirators he had to protect. It wasn't as if she'd always been entirely trustworthy. He would've been a fool to tell her everything. Or, if he was too eager to give her details, an unconvincing liar.

"That's all right. You don't have to tell me everyone, but you're not lying about working with Rabastan or Rodolphus?"

"No, I'm not. I used to admire Rabastan, but now, no. I want nothing to do with him. It's too dangerous for me to openly defy him. I have my family to think about. If he knew I wasn't really on his side…"

"He'd have plenty of people to use against you."

"Exactly. I know our family is a bit of a joke. I still remember what Malfoy said to me our first day at Hogwarts when he tried to tell Harry who he should be friends with, but I love each and every one of my children very much and there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep them safe."

For once, Hermione knew exactly what he meant. When her mind was confused and she was more focused on making sure she had another vial or several of the damned potion she relied on to simply get through her dismal existence, she didn't really understand it when parents made that claim about their children. Oliver was mostly an annoyance in her life, a frustrating reminder that she wasn't allowed to make her own choices or determine her own destiny. After only two months in close quarters with her son, especially the last month before he want back to Hogwarts, she began to understand what other parents meant.

"Rabastan would use your children and your wife against you without question. He likes to…"

A knock at the back door startled her, making Hermione forget what she'd been about to say. Who was requesting entrance into his house? Rabastan's unexpected visit the day before could've been a coincidence, but two days in a row after Ron specifically invited her to come back? She had been too trusting, too foolish. What was Ron doing when he walked out of the room and left her alone for over a minute? Sending an owl? And she noticed for the first time the distinct lack of noise in the rest of the house. She'd grown so used to living in a quiet house that she hadn't even realized a Weasley home was never quiet. Not unless no one was there.

Ron's smile did nothing to allay her fears. If anything, they only increased. Rising to her feet so swiftly that she almost knocked her chair backwards, she had her wand out and ready to curse the horrible wizard she once thought she was in love with _and_ his guest. Antonin was going to be so angry with her when he learned what happened. She shouldn't have kept her plans from him. He wouldn't even know where to begin searching if she didn't come home.

"No need for that, Hermione. You're not in any danger. I've invited someone to meet with us."

His assurances that she wasn't about to be harmed didn't make Hermione feel any better. She kept her wand trained on him as he crossed the kitchen to the door. Not insisting on seeing for herself that there weren't enemies in other rooms of the house was a regrettable mistake. He stepped back from the open door to allow the interloper inside.

"Careful now. She's a bit skittish."

"Did you not tell her I was coming?"

Only some of the fear rushing through her body dissipate when she heard the familiar voice of a wizard who'd never seemed to want to do her harm. With the slightest tremble in her hand, Hermione didn't lower her weapon until a somber-faced Percy Weasley entered with his empty hands outstretched to show he was unarmed. Of all of Ron's potential visitors, the older brother he had the least in common with and one of the Resistance's top leaders would've never even been a guess if Hermione had to try to predict him. She didn't have the first clue what was happening. As he made his way to the table to take the seat across from hers, Percy turned to his brother with an expression of sheer exasperation.

"You send Romilda and your children out of the house and don't even warn Hermione you're going to have a visitor? It's a wonder she didn't curse you first and ask questions second."

"Romy went to her mum's. Said she doesn't want to know anything that is happening here."

"My sincere apologies, Hermione. I assumed Ron warned you I'd be popping in."

She didn't know what to say. It had been months since she last saw Percy in Devon in the middle of the Resistance's village. Taking her seat again, she knew she was being awkward and probably making the men uncomfortable. She cleared her throat.

"Hello, Percy. This is quite a surprise. I didn't know you were in contact with your brother."

"Yes, it hasn't been easy, but I've never actually lost contact with him. Not really. He's even been to Belgium to visit my family a few times. My eldest daughter Molly is almost the same age as his eldest Rose."

"I see."

Sitting in Ronald Weasley's kitchen having a civil conversation with Percy wasn't how she thought that day would go when she woke up in the morning. She had so many questions, but didn't even know where to start.

"I was under the impression from Ginny that she didn't have anything to do with Ron."

The brothers caught the other's eye. Ron's cheeks flushed a light red and he stared down at the top of the table. She'd touched upon a sore subject.

"She doesn't know. You know our sister. She can be a bit… _unforgiving_. I encouraged her years ago to patch things up with Ron, but she refused unless he turned his back on You-Know-Who."

"Maybe I should have."

Percy glared at his younger brother.

"And been murdered for betraying him _after_ you witnessed your wife and children be executed? No, it's better that you stayed where you did. You can spend the rest of your life atoning for your crimes, but _no_ , you did what you had to do."

Few times in Hermione's entire acquaintance with the third Weasley son had she ever seen him so passionate about anything apart from the thickness of cauldron bottoms and his position in the Ministry of Magic. To see him come to his brother's defense made her happy. Selfishly, she imagined that maybe there was hope for her as well that her crimes would be forgiven by those who cared about her. Composing himself again, Percy turned his attention back to Hermione.

"I'll admit to being a little suspicious of your motives, Hermione. You didn't seem all that interested when you were in Devon to be a part of anything. And then you getting Aberforth arrested certainly…"

"That was an accident. I never intended any harm to come to him and as I'm sure you're also aware, I risked quite a lot to make sure he escaped."

"Yes, you did. That is the _only_ reason why I'm even entertaining the possibility that you could be an asset to our cause."

He was back to being the snooty Head Boy she remembered. It was grating on her nerves and she fought the urge to stand up and leave. How dare he question her? Wasn't she putting herself in extreme danger even just _talking_ to him?

"Why should we let you _and_ your husband join us? What possible reason could you have for wanting to join a rebellion? Especially as your husband seems to be the favored choice for the next Dark Lord."

"Because Antonin doesn't _want_ to be the Dark Lord. We want nothing more than to take our son safely out of this country and never come back."

"Interesting."

Percy continued to stare down his nose at her for several uncomfortable seconds. Without further explanation or question, he stood back up to his feet and exited the kitchen. Unsure what was going on, she'd had enough. It had all been just one giant mistake. She should never have sought Ron out.


	249. September 5th

September 5th

She'd said too much. Why did she feel like she could be completely honest with Percy Weasley? It wasn't as if they'd ever been close friends or friends of any kind. Sometimes she felt like she was the only person who was friendly to the Weasley brother that never quite seemed to fit in at the Burrow, but that didn't mean Hermione should've told the man who'd been working on the side of her enemies for twenty years something so deeply personal.

Antonin wouldn't appreciate the knowledge that he had no desire to be the Dark Lord to get out. It was the assumption that he was simply biding his time until he chose to take power that kept so much of their society on edge and fearful of him. If it became public knowledge that he was just looking for any excuse to not lead the remnants of the regime, they could be in serious trouble. Once he was no longer considered a serious threat, their enemies might believe that he could be easily dispatched of. As complicated and confusing as her feelings were for her husband, she didn't want him dead.

Hermione wished she hadn't sought Ron Weasley out. It had been a foolish idea. What could he possibly offer her of any value? If Percy used what she said in confidence to him against them… it could be very bad. For the rest of the day and night, she worried that she'd made a mistake that couldn't be undone. She should've remembered that she could never rely on anyone else but herself. Too dangerous. Everyone had their own agenda and if it didn't meet hers exactly, they would only disappoint her.

Trust was not something that was easily gained in the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters. One of her first lessons was to be very careful who she allied herself with. Too bad she made so many errors in judgment. Clearly Rodolphus had been the biggest mistake she could've made. She allowed the man to get too close to her and he used that to his advantage. And she still couldn't explain her issues with Draco. Why did she imagine for even a moment that he could ever be trusted? He had only been using her, manipulating her for his own gains. He hadn't made it a secret that he desired nothing more than a future where he could be proud of his family again. No doubt Rodolphus offered the Malfoys the ability to throw their lot in with him in exchange for the return of their prestige.

"You've been far away for days now. Everything all right?"

Antonin's voice pulled Hermione out of her thoughts. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen sipping at a cold cup of tea, her mind was indeed miles away. Her husband was worried. There seemed to be a perpetual frown on his face when he looked in her direction, a wrinkle in his forehead indicating that he was concerned. She tried to brush it off, but he wasn't a fool. After he asked her a second time, she knew she had to give him some sort of answer.

"Just thinking about Ollie. Worried about him. I'd feel better if he was with us."

Her answer was satisfactory. Sighing, he crossed the kitchen to slide his arms around her waist. She leaned her back against his chest, thankful for the reminder that, at least in that moment, she wasn't alone. If she allowed herself to consider her husband as he desired she would, she might not ever have to worry about being alone again. What should've given her the smallest bit of comfort actually terrified her beyond measure. To be fair, a future of any kind was unsettling to her. There were too many possibilities, too many chances for it to all go very wrong.

"I'd feel better too. Homeschooling him has never seemed like a more attractive option."

"Yes, well, only as long as _you_ are in charge of his lessons. You're the better teacher, Antonin. He'd be miserable with me."

His chuckle and the feel of his lips on the side of her face calmed her down. It _was_ nice to imagine a future where they could be a family away from the horrors and fear of the regime they'd been living under for so long. What would it be like to have nothing more to worry about than whether or not their son was learning all he should in their lessons? Life or death had become so much an integral part of their existence that she wasn't sure that either of the Dolohov adults would even know what to do with themselves if they didn't have to constantly monitor their words and steps for fear of stepping out of line.

A knock at the front and only door of the cottage brought them both crashing back to reality. At least for the present, and possibly for the rest of their lives, they had to treat every single visitor as a potential enemy. Antonin stepped back from her to answer the door. The anxiety in the small house could be strongly felt up until the moment Hannah Rowle was revealed to be standing outside. With a bright smile and a kiss to the witch's cheek, Antonin invited her inside.

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to check to make sure you two had everything you needed and an owl arrived this morning from the castle for Hermione from Ollie."

" _Just_ for Hermione? Four days away and he's already forgotten his papa? I'm hurt."

Antonin's mock pain and outrage made the women laugh. He made his excuses to slip out of the cottage for a little while. Though he might not have admitted it, Hermione got the impression that he liked being inside his little brother's cottage even less than she did. Some wounds from childhood never quite healed. She hated that his horrible mother and his wretched grandparents always made him feel like he wasn't worthy to be a part of their family.

Once completely alone with Hannah, Hermione missed having Antonin there as a buffer. She was still learning how to navigate through social interactions without the crutch of her potions. So many years of her life were spent under their influence that she often didn't know how to act without them. Thankfully, Hannah could understand that it was all a bit awkward. She smiled warmly as she handed over the letter from Oliver.

"Antonin told Ollie before he left for Hogwarts to send any owls to our house. I'll make sure that they get to you."

Hermione appreciated Hannah's thoughtfulness. Curious to discover why her son would be sending just her a letter and not include his father, she sat down in a chair at the tiny table in the kitchen to read it. Maybe it was rude to not wait until Hannah's visit was over, but she couldn't help it. At least her guest didn't seem to mind. She kept herself busy inspecting the cupboards to make certain they weren't about to run out of food and then brewing them a fresh pot of tea.

Oliver wanted her to know that he'd done exactly as she suggested. On his first night back in the castle, he sought out Fred Weasley's ghost. It still made her heart ache to imagine the wizard as nothing but a pale reflection of his former self. Part of her hoped that she would never have to see him in his transparent form. It would be too hard.

Apparently, Hugo hadn't been aware that the newest ghost of Gryffindor House was his uncle. Why that surprised her she wasn't sure. Of course, if it was difficult for _her_ to imagine seeing Fred in that state when she wasn't even family and hardly even his friend, she could only imagine that it was much worse for Ron. If Hugo brought Fred's ghost up, his father probably wouldn't have answered any of his questions.

Already he'd learned a great deal about her past from the talkative ghost. He claimed that Fred wasn't willing to tell them _everything_ about their parents' antics while they were at school, but they knew more than they ever had before. When he asked in his letter if she really thought that the Room of Requirement was completely destroyed after the Battle of Hogwarts, she was glad that she knew it was. Thinking about her son creating his own Defense Against the Dark Arts group with his little mates was terrifying. What had they been thinking when they were young? So much could've turned out poorly.

"Is he enjoying himself already?"

Hannah took the seat across from Hermione when it was offered with a smile. As she folded up the letter, she laughed and said that she was afraid that it was in his blood to enjoy Hogwarts more than he should. The other witch smiled.

"Ollie is a great kid. I'm sure he'll get into the appropriate amount of trouble befitting a true Gryffindor. Personally, I'm glad my girls are both in Hufflepuff. Though I suspect my youngest will likely end up in Slytherin. She's more like her father than the others."

It felt bizarre to be sitting at a table sipping at tea with Hannah discussing their children. Certainly that was an experience she'd yet to have before with other women she knew. Not only because she had no desire to discuss children, hers or anyone else's, but because very few witches in their society had ever been truly accepting and kind to her. Not that she could blame them for their wariness and suspicion. She _had_ seduced many of their husbands for her own gains. The sudden guilt she felt at being such a rubbish friend over the years struck her deeply right in the chest. While she'd been more than aware growing up that there was a large number of people who despised her, she'd learned to almost take solace in being hated as an adult. Madam Dolohov wasn't a feared persona in the regime for no good reason.

"I'm very sorry that I've been a terrible friend to you, Hannah. You have always treated my family and me with such kindness. You didn't deserve that."

Despite knowing full well that Hermione had a history of being uncomfortable with physical touches from her, Hannah reached across the table to place her hand on top of Hermione's. For once, Hermione didn't feel the need to shake her off or run away. It felt _nice_ to have someone be nice to her for once. She still struggled with believing that a person could genuinely want nothing more than to just be friendly and kind. She would've made a terrible Hufflepuff.

"You did what you had to do to survive, Hermione. I understand that all too well. After the final battle… we _all_ had to do what we needed to survive."

They'd never actually discussed what happened to Hannah in the immediate aftermath of the battle being lost by their side. Hermione never thought she wanted to know. It was evidently a subject that wasn't easy to discuss. Once when she brought it up with Antonin when they were alone, he grew very serious and advised her not to ever ask. Some parts of their past were better left undisturbed.

"I didn't want anything to do with Finn at first. Why he chose to approach me at all was something I didn't understand. Eventually, thanks to his persistence, I began to see the benefit in having him as a friend. He protected me when I really needed it even if it hurt my pride. Of course, that was the best decision I've ever made and I will never regret it for as long as I'm alive, but in the beginning, I was only using him. I've had to learn to forgive myself for that and for a few other choices I made while I was simply trying to survive. I hope that one day you can forgive yourself."

She didn't stay long after that. Clearing away the teacups on the table, Hannah claimed that she had to rush back home, but Hermione knew better. They were just scratching the surface of their mutual pain. Some wounds needed to be left alone.


	250. September 6th

September 6th

Being alone with Antonin after so long was an experience that Hermione wasn't sure if she liked or not. Somehow it wasn't quite as awkward when they were back in their Hogsmeade home after she first returned. Maybe because she'd been so focused on getting Aberforth Dumbledore out of Level Eleven that she didn't have energy to worry about anything else. Every day she had a purpose, a reason to get out of the house. Even on the weekends when she wasn't expected to be in her horrible office in the Ministry of Magic, she had to travel to London to check on the polyjuice potion.

With no reason to leave the cottage that had become their refuge and no additional buffer between them in the form of their son, she wasn't even sure how to act around the man at times. Knowing that she had been under the influence of powerful memory charms changed everything. Before they were removed, she was able to look at Antonin as the monster that was abusive and controlled her with his rage. When she knew those memories to be nothing but lies, she didn't know what to think. Especially after learning the truth of his desire to sit outside her cupboard, she would look at her husband and even after twenty years of knowing him, she saw him as a complete stranger.

Rodolphus was going to pay for his meddling. Maybe Antonin was right and they would never be able to figure out his true motivations for placing a network of memory charms in her mind. She knew that she would just drive herself mad if she tried to figure it out. But, that didn't mean she wasn't going to get her revenge. What Rodolphus did to her was inhumane and very cruel. How much of her life could've been different if he hadn't bothered her? Of course, dwelling on 'what-ifs' was just as damaging. Somehow she would need to learn how to move forward and ignore the regrets.

"Corban was in a funny mood yesterday."

They were seated on the only sofa in the small cottage after a simple, edible dinner Hermione somehow managed not to burn. Each of them were trying to cover their yawns up, but neither was in a rush to go to bed yet. Dreams of a disturbing nature had been plaguing Hermione for days. Her worry about meeting with the Weasley brothers was melting into her dreams. Though she knew she likely would've felt better if she told Antonin what she did, she wasn't prepared yet for the consequences of her actions. He might be very angry with her and they were struggling with awkwardness between them as it was already.

"What do you mean? Corban is often in odd moods."

"No, you're right, but something was _off_. He couldn't focus and kept getting distracted. I swear I asked him the same questions over and over again. He would just stare at me without answering them. I didn't know what to make of it."

"I'm sure he's under a lot of pressure at work. Can't be easy to still be working in the Ministry during what sounds to be a very chaotic time."

Corban Yaxley was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If Hermione's suspicions about Ron Weasley were correct, there was likely to be a large number of his aurors that were contemplating their own rebellion. She was glad that she had no reason to be back in the Ministry. Why she ever considered that a enjoyable profession was beyond her. The politics and the red tape and the obnoxious legalities of the entire Ministry were stifling and infuriating. When she was young, before the war was over and she had no choice where her life was going to head, she imagined that she could have a very successful career in the Ministry of Magic. Possibly one day she would even be the Minister for Magic. Now, even just the thought of going back into that world made her stomach churn and her head hurt.

"Maybe, but I don't know. It was strange. The more I'm around him, the more I feel like he doesn't want me anywhere near him."

"I know you don't like to consider the worst case scenarios, Antonin, but it's possible that Corban doesn't want to follow you if you're not planning to become the Dark Lord. He's always enjoyed power and influence. What can you offer him now?"

Antonin sighed. They were both aware that everything would've been much different, and possibly quite a bit easier, if he'd made a swift grab for power right after the Dark Lord was murdered. The sitting around waiting was making him look weak. Of course, she didn't care if he looked weak to those who wanted him to be in power or the ones who wanted to kill him before he could lead the regime. Their opinions didn't matter. She was hoping that whomever was going to take over would just hurry up and do it so they could get out of the country. Deciding that her husband needed a little push in the right direction, she changed the subject.

"What do you think about learning Portuguese?"

Her seemingly random question made him laugh. Some of the tension was broken. At least it gave him the chance to move his thoughts away from more depressing thoughts.

"Well, I think that it's important to learn other languages to expand your education, but I'm not quite sure I understand why Portuguese. Are you wishing to take a holiday trip to Lisbon, my darling?"

"More like Brazil. Think about it. We could find a house near the ocean. It's lovely and warm there too. Warmer than here, anyway. I don't think you'd mind that at all. Think of all of the plants you could study in the rainforest. And Castelobruxo is a very good school. Many of their students specialize in magizoology. Think how much Ollie would like that."

She'd given it a lot of thought. When she used to dream of running away to South America, it hadn't been just a random place. Brazil ticked off most of the boxes on her list of desirable locations to end up. And, if she was honest with herself, she'd also tried to think of places where her husband and her son might find happiness too. Somewhere along the road, she'd decided to run _with_ them instead of away from them. Realizing that she was actually including him in her plans for once, Antonin leaned across the sofa to kiss her. There was a great deal of emotion between the married couple. The evening might have progressed in a much more pleasurable manner if they hadn't been interrupted by a frantic knock on their door.

Only one person knew the Secret of their cottage. Even knowing that only Hannah could possibly be the one on the other side of the door, they couldn't ignore the worry and fear that came with the visit. As late as it was, she wasn't likely there for a friendly visit. Worried that some horrible news was coming from the castle, both of them jumped to their feet and crossed to the front door in mere seconds.

"There's been an attack in Hogsmeade. I think the Yaxleys are…"

Hannah couldn't even finish the sentence. Though she looked as if she was about to burst into tears, she was trying her hardest to remain calm. Hermione didn't even hesitate to step outside. If Antonin acted as if he was going to insist that she remain home, she had every intention of cursing him and going anyway. To his credit, he didn't say anything to that effect. Just stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

Thinking about the Yaxley home, next door to their home of twenty years, Hermione was able to Apparate directly to the scene of the attack in moments. She felt her husband's comforting presence at her side only seconds later. Standing in the middle of the village that had once been their home, she didn't even recognize the street. Chaos reigned. Fire and screaming filled the night air. When she looked over at the space where she knew she would see their home, Hermione grabbed Antonin's arm in a painful grip. It was… _gone_. Nothing but a pillar of black smoke remained where they'd lived for so long.

"Antonin…"

He didn't know what to say to her either. It was clearly a message. The other houses on the street were left alone except for theirs and the Yaxleys. Even the Yaxley home wasn't in as bad a condition. Half of the ground floor of their house was engulfed in flames, but the villagers were working together to put those out. Nothing seemed to be completely lost. Only their home was demolished. Hermione didn't even have to try to guess who was responsible for that. It was just another way for Rodolphus to show that he would destroy them both.

Not wishing to dwell on what happened to their own abandoned home, Antonin grasped Hermione's hand and urged her towards the Yaxleys' back garden. Corban stood over his wife Mafalda's unconscious form lying in the grass. Fearful that the woman was dead, Hermione relaxed when she saw Mafalda's chest move up and down in time with her breathing. Blood trickled from a wound on her head.

"Corban, is she all right? Do we need a Healer?"

Antonin rushed to his dazed friend, grabbed him by the arms and tried to shake him out of the strange stupor he was in. Watching the two men interact, Hermione felt uneasy. Corban wasn't himself. Was he under the influence of some sort of spell? Or maybe he'd been injured in the attack on their house? She could never remember him being anything other than entirely composed and calm. This man was simply a shell of the man he used to be.

"Look, Antonin, she's waking up."

Hermione dropped to her knees to check on Mafalda. The woman appeared to be in a great deal of pain, but otherwise, she seemed all right. Nothing that a day or two in St. Mungo's couldn't cure. She patted the woman's shoulder, encouraging her to not try to move.

"Hermione? What are you… what happened?"

"I don't know, Mafalda. I was hoping you could remember."

She wasn't able to tell them anything beyond that she remembered she was standing in their kitchen washing up after dinner when she heard a loud noise next door. When she looked out the window and saw their house engulfed in a massive conflagration, she screamed for Corban and ran outside. Something hit her in the back and she fell to the ground. Corban couldn't fill in any of the gaps.

"I think it's safe to say that this was Rodolphus."

Antonin helped Hermione to her feet and whispered his theory in her ear. She couldn't disagree. Watching Corban, however, she really began to understand the unease that her husband mentioned earlier. Even with his wife lying on the ground in pain, he was wandering around the back garden confused and unsure what was happening. A team from St. Mungo's arrived with a stretcher to take Mafalda in for an examination. Before they rushed back to the hospital, Antonin pulled one of the emergency mediwizards aside to encourage them to take Corban too. One look at the disoriented wizard and the mediwizard agreed.

"I think we should get back to the cottage quickly. I don't feel safe remaining here any longer."

For once, Hermione didn't want to argue with her husband. Taking one last glance at the ruins of their home, she spun around to return to safety. The violence had begun against those known to be loyal to Antonin. Who would be next?


	251. September 7th

September 7th

With her dreams consisting almost entirely of the blackened hole where her home in Hogsmeade once stood, Hermione wasn't able to sleep well the night after the attack. She kept reliving all of the moments they were at the Yaxleys' home. Nothing made sense. What was wrong with Corban? Who would want to attack Mafalda? She was a kind and generous woman who just happened to fall in love with a Death Eater. That wasn't exactly a fair punishment.

Before the sun was even up, she knew she couldn't linger in bed any longer. She _hated_ feeling helpless. An idea struck her while she lay awake unable to sleep that might make her feel like she was at least doing something. Even if it didn't yield the results she wanted, at least she wouldn't feel completely worthless. Careful not to wake Antonin up, she climbed out of bed and dressed. The acrid smell of smoke clung to their clothes and hair the night before, so before either one of them slid between the sheets, they each showered. Still, she felt gross and unclean.

"Where are you going?"

Antonin's voice was heavy with sleep. He'd seemingly not had any trouble falling asleep the night before and staying that way. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and kissed him.

"I have my own mysterious mission that I can't talk about."

It was meant to be teasing, but she couldn't deny that there was a tiny bit of bitterness in there too. For as long as the power struggle had been going on, she'd felt continually left out of what was happening. Antonin could disappear for days at a time with no explanation. Did he not understand how utterly maddening that was? When he started to demand that she tell him more, she kissed him again.

"Not as much fun being on the other side, is it?"

He ran his hand through her hair and sighed. Of course it wasn't easy for him to just let her walk out of their safe cottage without him. It wasn't easy for her when he did the same thing.

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"I'll be careful."

She sealed her promise with another kiss and left before he could give her a reason to stay. Maybe he was always afraid that when she walked out of the door it would be because she was running away again. It wasn't as if she could blame him for that fear. She'd given him a lot of reasons over the years to suspect that she didn't want to be with him. Truthfully, it seemed like every day she was changing her mind about their future, whether it would be together or separate. She feared that she might not ever have a definitive answer.

Experience as an interrogator taught her that it was best to catch someone off-guard first thing in the morning. Being awoken out of a deep sleep generally made for disoriented subjects. With this knowledge stored away, Hermione Disapparated away from the cottage before the first rays of the morning sun were even visible over the horizon. Landing seconds later in front of a building she'd been in several times over the course of the previous several months, she didn't waste a second heading straight for the uppermost floor. If she talked herself out of what she was about to do, she didn't think she'd have the courage to try again.

Pounding her fists on Draco's flat door, she prepared herself for the moment the wizard would pull the door open. She had to be ready to strike the first second he gave her the opportunity. Within seconds of the sleepy wizard opening the door, Hermione pushed her way into the flat, grabbing his collar in one hand as she pointed her wand under his chin with the other.

"I have some questions for you, Draco. Sit down and don't even _think_ about trying anything."

She was relying on the fact that he never seemed to want to hurt her in the past. Conducting interrogations outside of the safety of Level Eleven required more than just a single person. When she used to do them in the past, she had several at her disposal. Rabastan was often with her too. Funny how there was once a time that she actually felt _safer_ with that horrible man at her back. Now, she couldn't even trust him to be in the same room. So much changed within a short period of time.

Draco seemed reluctant to do as he was ordered. They were on similar levels with their magic. If he wanted to be a bother, he could fight her and possibly even win. She didn't want it to come to that. All she wanted was to have a somewhat civilized conversation with the man. Waking him up before the sun was simply a tactic to make him unsettled. It worked well for her in the past. Likely making the decision that it was too early for a duel and maybe he was even interested in what she had to say, the wizard did as he was told. He took a seat on the luxurious sofa where a few fond memories were made. Clearing her throat, Hermione tried to push those images out of her mind as she sat down next to him, her wand still pointed at him.

"What is all of this about, Hermione? Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I know what time it is. And I am the one asking the questions."

He sighed and quickly stifled a yawn. Evidently he hadn't had nearly enough sleep to satisfy his needs. Perhaps that was another reason he was cooperating. The sooner she got what she needed, the sooner he could go back to bed. Sometimes he could be quite practical.

Now that she was in the same room with the wizard, she didn't know where to even begin. Dozens of questions swirled around in her mind, but none of them seemed like the right one to ask. Draco just stared at her, waiting for her to say something and further making her nervous.

"Did you really mean what you said the last night I was in your flat about thinking you were falling in love with me? Or was that just another manipulation?"

Of all of the potential questions she could've asked, Hermione was surprised by the one that tumbled off her tongue. So was Draco if his rattled expression could be trusted. Opening his mouth to answer, he closed it before a single word came out. It seemed that she wasn't the only one who was caught off-guard by her line of inquiry. He ran his hand through his hair, further mussing it from his sleep. She liked him when he was relaxed and natural. Somehow she got the impression that very few people had ever had the opportunity to see him that way.

"That's a rather interesting question. I didn't expect that."

She stopped herself before she admitted that she didn't expect it either. The damage had already been done. Clearly, even without her realizing it, Draco's feelings for her was the question she most wanted to know the answer to. Everything else could wait.

"Just answer it, Draco. Was it just another manipulation?"

" _No_ , it wasn't. It was the truth."

Even with the words spoken aloud, Hermione didn't know if she could believe them. He wasn't a man that she could easily trust. Hadn't he proven that already? He'd betrayed her to his uncle. Yes, Rodolphus would've likely been able to put the pieces together that Hermione knew something was up with her mind thanks to her husband rushing off to his brother and demanding to know where he was. He was a smart enough wizard to know that the only reason Antonin would be that angry was if he knew what he'd been doing to his wife for so long. But, Draco was the one who actually told him that _she_ was the one who was looking for him. Maybe he didn't realize the significance of his actions. Didn't matter. He'd already proven that he couldn't be trusted.

"I wish everything could be different, Hermione. All of it. I never wanted you to get hurt."

The distance between the two of them on the sofa was closed before she even registered he was moving. What a dreadful interrogator she'd turned out to be. She didn't even notice that he was close enough to kiss her until his lips were already against hers. Never should she have allowed him to get so close to her. If this had happened in an actual interrogation, she would've been in terrible danger. She still wasn't convinced she was safe even as she sighed and opened her mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss.

It was wrong. All of it. Every single passionate second of their heated kiss was wrong. She knew that she had to get control of the situation or she'd end up doing something she regretted and not getting the information she needed. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed the wizard back and away from her. When he moved to kiss her again, she reminded him that she was in charge by sticking the end of her wand under his chin. She needed a few moments to compose herself before they could continue.

"Were you involved in any way with placing the memory charms in my mind with Rodolphus?"

"No, not at all."

His denial was so vehement that she couldn't help but believe him. She was glad to know that he wasn't involved to that extent. Maybe there was some hope for him that he wasn't completely terrible yet.

"I swear it, Hermione. I had no idea what he was doing."

"What did your uncle ask you to do for him?"

"He just wanted me to track you down and report back to him. That's it. I had no idea why he wanted to know where you were, but right at the end of the year he asked me to find you."

She always knew that there was _someone_ who ordered him to track her down. At first she thought it was the Dark Lord and then her husband. Never once did she suspect Rodolphus. Of course up until the sessions where the memory charms were removed, she was under the impression that she hadn't even seen the man for four years until she moved into the Resistance village. That brought up another question she'd been curious about.

"Why did you want me to come to the village?"

"Because Rodolphus and I were worried you weren't going to make it much longer on your own. In the village, at least we knew you'd be safe."

It made sense. She _was_ struggling by the time she made it to the village in Devon. In fact, she'd almost been caught on multiple occasions and she'd gotten very sick in London. If it hadn't been for Augustus, she might've either died on the streets or been dragged back to Hogsmeade against her will. The more she considered her suspicious illness, the more she suspected that Alecto had something to do with it. The timing was odd. She got very sick right after staying the night in her flat. And the horrible woman knew that she would go to the Leaky Cauldron despite her suggestion that she stay far away. Augustus said she hadn't been very subtle in front of Antonin either. Likely she was hoping that her husband would find her in the street sick with fever. When the hateful bitch crossed her path again…

"I don't know if I can trust you, Draco. You've already betrayed me. Every word you've said to me could be nothing more than a lie."

"I could've told Rodolphus you were in Rook's house weeks ago, but I didn't. I could stun you right now and tell him you're here, but I won't."

"What is it that you truly want out of all of this? Prestige? Power?"

He didn't know how to answer the question. Or, perhaps more likely, he just wasn't willing to tell her what he wanted. Deciding that she was done for the moment, Hermione stood to her feet.

"You need to decide whose side you're really on, Draco."

She turned to walk towards the front door, but was stopped by a gentle grasp of her arm. Draco kept her in place long enough to stand to kiss her again. Every bit as passionate as the first kiss, Hermione could tell that he wanted more. They _both_ wanted more. There was a time in the not-so-distant past that she would've gone to bed with him without a second thought.

But, a lot was different. All she could think of as she returned his heated kiss was her husband. Antonin was still back in their temporary home waiting for her, worrying that she wasn't being careful. She pushed Draco away and ran from the flat. She couldn't trust herself around the wizard.


	252. September 8th

September 8th

Even though she knew it had to be killing him to not know _any_ of the details, Hermione wouldn't tell her husband anything about her early morning visit. Antonin didn't like being left out of the loop. As the once righthand to the Dark Lord, he was used to knowing just about everything that was happening within the regime. What was happening within his own family was another matter entirely. When she returned to their borrowed home after being gone for just under thirty minutes, he didn't pry or plead, though she knew he was fighting with himself to do just that.

Her meeting with Draco had been a bust, a mistake. Nothing she learned there was really of any value, not in the grand scheme of things. His personal feelings about her hardly mattered in the upcoming war. Nor did she really need a reminder of what an excellent kisser he really was. All that knowledge did was confuse her more than she already was. Perhaps it was best that she stay away from the man. Clearly her days as a successful interrogator were behind her. So much about their meeting could've gone terribly wrong. If Draco meant her harm, she would've been in a world of trouble.

Possibly out of hopes that she might divulge her activities if he lingered long enough, Antonin didn't rush out of the cottage on any mysterious missions for most of the day as he usually did. He remained very close to his wife, as if there was any other option in the too-small house, waiting to see if she would let anything slip. It would've been amusing if it wasn't also frustrating. By mid-afternoon, he gave up long enough to visit their friends in St. Mungo's. When he asked if she wanted to come with him, Hermione shook her head. Visiting anyone in the hospital was depressing enough, but she feared Rodolphus might have a trap set for her if she tried. Antonin seemed to accept her explanation even if it wasn't that convincing.

Mafalda Yaxley was going to live. No permanent damage was done to her in the attack. Only a serious concussion that the Healers were positive she would recover from. Corban, on the other hand, was still a mystery. Temporarily housed in the Janus Thickey ward, no one was quite sure what was wrong with him. Spell damage to his brain was obvious, but they weren't even sure where to begin their treatments. Specialists had been called in. Somehow Hermione found what was done to him so much worse than just outright killing him. Taking away one of Antonin's fiercest allies, it was a heavy blow indeed.

By the evening after her disastrous visit, the second full night since their home was destroyed and the Yaxleys attacked, Antonin was in a terrible mood. He'd taken the entire attack very personally, exactly as it was meant. If it hadn't been for _him_ , neither of their friends would be stuck in the wizarding hospital. For twenty years, at least, he'd relied on Corban's wise counsel. It was a toss-up between Corban and Thorfinn who was his best friend. Feeling helpless and angry, he sat on the sofa staring into the fire he insisted on having even in the last few weeks of summer drinking straight from a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

Not knowing what to say or do for her husband, Hermione sat next to him to offer her silent support. They took turns passing the bottle back and forth. She hoped with the alcohol in her bloodstream she might feel less stressed and worried, but it didn't help. Not like her potions used to. If she had a vial or two and she hadn't made promises to never use them again, she could be numb, unafraid of what was happening. Some days she worried that she would never stop craving them. Did that make her weak? Or simply a broken human?

Her guilt was threatening to eat her alive. Almost every moment since she left Draco's flat, she'd thought of nothing and no one else. Even as she talked with her husband about their dear friends whose lives were irrevocably changed and possibly ruined because of their association with them, she could only think of how relaxed Draco looked when he was first awake, how his lips felt against hers, how she'd been so tempted to stay. The wizard bewitched her in a way she couldn't recall ever being bewitched. Usually _she_ was the one making her conquests think of nothing else. It was disconcerting to be on the other side.

In an attempt to assuage her guilt and because she didn't know of any other way to distract her husband from his morose mood, Hermione set the bottle of fire whiskey down on a side table. Furrowing his brow in confusion at the act, Antonin hardly had time to react before her lips were pressed against his in a heated kiss. It didn't take him much encouragement to give in to the affection. They both needed a distraction, a tangible purpose. Even for just a short period of time, at least they knew what they could do to push aside the worries and fears of the day.

His mouth tasted strongly of the fire whiskey they'd both been consuming. Likely hers was the same. As her husband dipped his tongue in her mouth to caress hers in a passionate, needy swirling dance, Hermione thought about the first kiss she shared with Draco. That, too, had tasted of fire whiskey. On his sofa, they'd pawed each other like two lust-filled teenagers desperate to feel everything they could as quickly as they could. It was much the same with Antonin.

She tried to push away thoughts of the other man while she was engaged in the beginnings of the sacred act with her husband, but reminders of the one she kissed the morning before kept creeping in to spoil the mood. If Antonin could tell that her mind was elsewhere, he didn't point it out. Nor did he stop. Considering where his mind had been for days, she wouldn't have been surprised to discover his mind was somewhere else too.

Not content to just kiss her mouth for very long, Antonin gently pushed her until her back lay on the cushions. As he hovered over her, alternating between kissing her mouth and the swathes of bare skin his hands were releasing from her restrictive clothing, Hermione closed her eyes to simply enjoy the _feel_ of the act. Feeling his body laying on top of hers, kissing her mouth and drifting down to her sensitive neck, an image of the first night with Draco flashed into her mind. She could almost imagine that he was the one settling between her thighs, spurring on the throaty moans she couldn't stifle. Maybe it wasn't the first time she'd imagined that her husband was another man over the course of their marriage, but it felt very wrong to continue to fantasize about Draco when it wasn't him. Almost like she was physically inviting the man into her marital bed. It wasn't right. Pushing gently on Antonin's chest, Hermione moved to sit up and get him off of her.

"Not here, Antonin."

"All right. I have a better plan for you anyway."

Proving once again that he was still in the prime of his life thanks to his wizarding genes, her husband lifted her off the sofa. Carrying her in his arms, she gasped when he laid her across the top of the kitchen table steps away. A simple non-verbal spell divested her completely of every stitch of clothing she had on. He stared down at her hungrily, a predator about to devour its prey. The dark desire in his eyes excited her, covering every centimeter of her bare flesh in goosebumps. Practically ripping his own clothes off, he was close to the edge of losing control. She never could get enough of her husband when he was in that animalistic, _primal_ state. Even when they hated each other she looked forward to those moments. She wouldn't have denied him for anything.

His strong hands gripped the back of her thighs. There was no need for him to tug them apart, she would've opened them herself if he'd only just waited. But, she never was one to be bothered by a passionate man who took control. Not when she was desperate to feel his touch, to feel _him_. Instead of taking her right there as she expected, Antonin dropped down into one of the chairs, burying his face between her thighs. There had been no teasing, no delightful torture before he sought out his goal. No, there wasn't time for that. He had a purpose. One flick of his tongue drew a scream out of his wife. Spurred on by the sound, he increased the pressure, the intensity.

Draco laid her out on top of a kitchen table on his birthday. With her eyes closed, even knowing it was her husband, all she could imagine was it was the _other_ wizard and she was back in Number Twelve. How wretched of a person was she that she couldn't even enjoy the encounter with Antonin without thinking of Draco? She hated herself. Every second of pleasure that passed, she loathed herself even more. It was wrong. Antonin deserved better than that. In a paltry attempt to make up for her traitorous mind, she made certain that she screamed out her husband's name when she came.

To thank him and in a vain hope that she could get her mind focused on the right wizard, Hermione climbed off the table when her legs could work again to drop to her knees in front of Antonin. For the first few moments, as her husband ran his hand gently through her hair, careful not to snag his fingers on a curl, she was able to remember where she was and who she was with. When his enthusiastic encouragements morphed into mindless moans of pleasure, she thought of the day she knelt on the dusty floor in the musty bedroom the Weasley twins used to share in the Headquarters when a furry creature ran across her foot. Everything kept coming back to Draco. She was a terrible person. If Antonin only knew what was going on in her mind…

She was grateful when he dropped down onto the floor with her to press her against the hardwood floor. Though not good for either one of their backs or joints, he was lost in the heat of the moment. They could worry about the pain later. Neither of them lasted much longer when he slid into her ready and willing body. He deftly pulled another shaking orgasm out of his wife, the internal tremors bringing him right along with her. Collapsing on top of her, they both struggled to catch their breath.

Hermione wiped away the tears that rolled out of her eyes before Antonin could see them and worry that something was wrong. What was the matter with her? Why could she not stop thinking about the wizard that betrayed her? Each passing moment only made her feel worse and worse.


	253. September 9th

**_Author's Note: Guilt is a powerful emotion. Doesn't mean anyone's crazy again or under the influence of spells. ;)_**

* * *

September 9th

Hermione was grateful that Antonin didn't seem to even notice there was anything wrong with her. Or, if he did, he did an excellent job keeping his concerns to himself. Since their passionate experience the night before, she'd been unable to think of anything else but what a terrible wife she was. Would that ever change? Did she want it to? These were questions that plagued her that she didn't know the answers to.

Few times in her almost forty years had she been left so confused. What was happening to her? A stray thought that maybe Draco was able to get in her mind and manipulate her like his uncle tried to take root, but she was able to brush it away. It made no sense. What rational reason could the wizard possibly have for committing such a violation on someone he _claimed_ to be falling in love with? Of course, there seemed to be no rational explanation for Rodolphus' actions either and the steady stream of gradually recovered memories seemed to indicate there was more to her relationship with Rodolphus than she initially realized.

It was an odd, disconcerting feeling to remember events and conversations that had been blocked. Hermione desperately hoped that she was nearing the end of the remembering process. Each day it seemed she was faced with another forgotten memory. Mr. Akingbade had been correct that her dreams would be filled with that which she'd been unable to remember. She wished they would stop. As glad as she was that her head wasn't filled with charms, she almost wished to go back to her ignorance. Her feelings for her husband were less complicated back then. At least she was only worried about herself. Caring about other people caused more heartache.

By mid-morning, Antonin couldn't sit still any longer. He was desperate for any news that might give him hope that Corban would be all right. Neither one of them wanted to admit out loud that they had an excellent idea just which of their enemies was capable of scrambling the man's brain so thoroughly. Rodolphus had been careful with his charms applications to Hermione's mind because in his own bizarre, twisted manner, he cared for her. If he didn't bother with precautions while messing with Corban, it was possible that he might be permanently damaged. Antonin left their cottage to return to St. Mungo's, hoping that the news would be better that day.

Once she was alone, Hermione's thoughts were once again consumed with Draco. She didn't understand the power he had over her. Deciding she would drive herself round the bend if she stayed in their hiding place another minute without trying to put her worries to rest, Hermione ran from the stifling cottage and arrived at Draco's front door only a short time later.

She feared she was being reckless, but as it was a part of her Gryffindor nature she was unable to change, didn't much care. Even if she came face to face with the manipulative monster haunting her dreams in his nephew's flat, at least she would be doing _something_. Inaction was unbearable. She had to take the risk.

The initial hint of surprise on Draco's face at seeing her return was quickly replaced with a pleased smile. As he invited her to enter his home, she considered cursing him and running away. What was she even doing there? She had no plan, no purpose. Only her curiosity and the infuriating manner in which he'd completely consumed her thoughts since her previous visit brought her back.

"I was having a lie-in. Late night, I'm afraid. Are you going to become my regular alarm clock? Because I'm not complaining."

Draco had her back pushed up against his door within seconds of closing it behind them and locking it. She tried to push away the nagging fear that he was locking her _in_ instead of everyone else out. With his hands braced on the piece of wood on either side of her head, the wizard stared down at his captive, his pleased smirk making her heart race. Every physical encounter they'd ever shared had been exciting. If she allowed him to touch her again, would she regret it? Or would she finally get him out of her system and out of her head?

"It's not like you to be so quiet. I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

"Of course not. You can't make me feel _anything_."

Except he could and worse, he _knew_ he could. Deciding that she couldn't possibly be there for another failed attempt at an interrogation, he came to the conclusion that she was there for another reason. With the confidence of man who knew he was desired, Draco kissed her.

She didn't push him away, not in the beginning. As much as she loathed herself for her weakness, Hermione allowed her mouth to fall open in response. It was impossible to tell how much time passed with the two of them doing nothing more than kissing. However long, it was _too_ long. Hating herself for allowing the act to go on, Hermione pushed Draco away just after he pressed his entire body firmly against hers, proving he desired much more than just a simple snog.

"I didn't come here for that."

Frustrated and more than a little annoyed by the turn of events, Draco stepped back and ran his hand through his hair. There was also anger in his eyes that she hadn't had cause to see for a long time. It almost frightened her. Had she been deluding herself all of that time about how the wizard truly felt about her? All of the questions that kept filling up the spaces in her brain were driving her mad. She wanted _answers_ , not more confusing questions.

"If you care about me like you claim you do, Draco, you'll tell me what you and your uncle have been up to."

"Emotional blackmail? Isn't that what it's called?"

There were times she found the sarcastic remarks charming and amusing. That was not one of them. She didn't appreciate how flippant, how dismissive he was being. Maybe she'd wounded his pride by showing him she wasn't there just to be alone with him, but she didn't care. He could deal with his hurt feelings when she was gone. They were on two different sides of a conflict that was escalating to a violent war. She either needed his help or needed to know that he would never offer it.

"What do you know, Draco? What's going to happen next? I know you know about the Yaxleys. It must be in all of the newspapers."

"Yes, it is. Shame about Mrs. Yaxley. She's always been kind, but Corban knew what he was getting himself into by allying himself with your husband."

"Is that what's going on? Your little group is just going to start picking off all of my husband's friends and allies one by one?"

She could tell that he was fighting an internal battle whether or not to answer her question. No doubt if he was indeed working with Rodolphus and those foolish enough to follow the madman, he feared the consequences of his actions. If it became known that he was passing information on to her, Draco would be in a great deal of trouble. Not even his familial relationship with his late aunt's widower would save him. Hermione wanted to call him a coward and storm out of the flat, but she stopped herself. Maybe if she was patient a little while longer he would tell her something. Something compelled her to reach out and gently touch his arm. The simple act jarred the wizard. His shoulders slumped as he conceded.

"First, of all, _I_ had nothing to do with the attack on the Yaxleys. I only found out about it after it was over. But yes, you're right. That's the plan. You were smart enough to figure it out. Roddy's making a list of all of your husband's known supporters. They'll start attacking them one by one until there's no one left. _Then_ they'll kill him when he has no supporters left."

"And what about me?"

It was a selfish question to ask only seconds after hearing that there was a known plot to kill her husband, but she couldn't help it. Only a fool wouldn't worry about their own safety in that climate. She and Antonin were well aware of the fact that either one, or possibly both, of them could be killed in the conflict. After all, that was part of the life as a Death Eater, former or active.

"We have very specific orders that no harm is to come to you whatsoever. Why else do you think Alecto didn't attack you when she saw you at Rook's? Believe me, she wanted to very much."

The reasons behind Rodolphus' protection were unknown. She couldn't imagine what was going on in his warped brain. If she wanted to discover his plans, Hermione knew that there was only one option. She would have to _ask_ him. Considering that idea would quickly become too dangerous, she pushed it aside.

"Can I have the list? Just so I can at least warn those who might be affected? I'm sure I know some of them, but not all."

"I don't have the list."

When she sighed, her hand slipped off of Draco's arm. Instead of allowing it to fall, he grabbed her hand in his. Gently squeezing it, he pulled her towards him.

"But I could probably get it if I was careful."

"Would you?"

"I'll grant your request if you grant mine."

Their bodies were so close again that his lips brushed the outside of her ear. She felt her mind go all fuzzy like it usually did in his presence. What was the power he held over her?

"What do you want, Draco?"

"You… for an entire night alone in my flat. Just like in May."

"And what if Rodolphus found out?"

"I wouldn't be _hurting_ you. At least, not unless you asked me to."

Rarely had she been offered a more effective temptation. And, if she really considered it, it wasn't as if he was asking her for something completely outrageous or dangerous. They'd already been together more times than she could count. If it was while she was still under the influence of the spells cast by his uncle, it wasn't as if he was responsible, was it? She could feel her body long to give in. What would it hurt? One night of pleasure for the chance to save her husband's supporters and possibly, her husband himself?

"Just say the word, Hermione, and I'll get the list."

His lips brushed against hers, further confusing her. She couldn't allow him to manipulate her again. Too many men had already done that. Pushing him away from her, she unlocked his front door and made her escape. Not even his calls for her to stop were heeded. She needed to get somewhere he wasn't to think through her options without distraction.


	254. September 10th

**_Author's Note : Guest - Or it's possible that she's just crazy and nothing her potions or Rodolphus did to her made the slightest difference to her already fucked-up mind. Also could just be a lady-boner for mysterious wizards named Draco who infuriate her. Who knows? We'll find out. ;)_**

* * *

September 10th

Mafalda Yaxley's release from St. Mungo's helped to lighten the mood somewhat in the Dolohov cottage. At least Antonin was feeling slightly less guilty with Mafalda returned to her recently repaired home. Considering there had been ample opportunity for her attacker to kill her in the chaos of that horrible night, it was assumed that what happened to her was only a warning. But, to be safe, the Yaxleys' eldest son returned to live at home to make certain his mother was protected and not alone. A big responsibility for a nineteen year old to be sure, though Hermione always thought the wizard was more mature than his years. He would be all right.

There was no improvement in Corban's condition whatsoever. In fact, there was a very real concern that he was getting worse. Antonin was devastated. Neither of them believed it was a secret who was responsible. Though she might have had a rocky start with her relationship Corban, eventually they'd gotten to a place of mutual respect and affection. Her heart hurt every time she thought of his diminished state. Rodolphus would have a great deal to answer for.

Antonin relaxed his no Daily Prophet rule with Oliver out of the house. While there was a legitimate concern that their son would be able to read all of the lies and propaganda in the castle, they had to trust that he knew his parents well enough to not believe _everything_ that was written about them. Every day since the attack, Antonin came home with at least one newspaper to share. _Some_ of the Daily Prophet's disparaging coverage of the Dolohovs, Hermione especially, dissipated with the excitement of the Yaxleys' attack, but they both knew it was only a matter of time before it started up again at full volume. Albert Runcorn made his loyalty known . They couldn't rely on him or the propaganda machine he was in charge of to help them. Just as well, in Hermione's thoughts. She never much cared for the man.

"I just feel so helpless. No one will convince me that Corban wasn't attacked because of me."

The hour was growing late and they really should've been in bed, but neither of them rushed away from the sofa in the main room. Agitated after another visit to St. Mungo's proved his friend wasn't getting any better, Antonin gulped down glass after glass of fire whiskey. He was desperate for something, _anything_ to take his mind off of what was happening. Too many years of his life were spent first having absolutely no control at all when he was in Azkaban and then too long next to the Dark Lord with almost unlimited power. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be unable to do anything. With the exception of what to do with his wife, he hadn't felt that way in years.

Hermione didn't know what to say to encourage the man. Nothing he said was wrong. Rodolphus' faction was going to continue attacking everyone they perceived to be one of his allies. All of their friends, and possibly the few family members they had remaining between them, were in grave danger. Thorfinn and Hannah were probably high on the list. She hoped that they were aware and weren't being too complacent about their own safety. But, she reminded herself, neither of the Rowles were stupid. Far from it really. They'd know what precautions to take to keep their family safe.

There was another possibility to Corban's attack that Hermione hadn't considered in all of the excitement and then the confusion she felt with Draco. Maybe Corban's attack _wasn't_ Rodolphus at all. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Corban had a lot of power in the Ministry. With all of the chaos and disorder in the Ministry of Magic thanks to the death of the Dark Lord, it was entirely possible, maybe even probable, that there were people within his own department that had something to gain with him no longer in the picture. Hadn't Ron even said that he had a number of allies within the auror department? They couldn't afford to solely focus on one potential suspect or they ran the risk of becoming short-sighted and ineffective.

"I went to Hogsmeade recently… _twice_ , actually, to talk to Ron Weasley."

Once the words were out of her mouth, Hermione knew she had to tell him the truth. He wouldn't be happy to know that she'd gone alone to speak with a man who was very likely playing on the opposite side of the conflict. It was dangerous. Even if she didn't consider how closely Rabastan came to finding her there, every moment she remained in the Weasley house, she could've been harmed. She hoped that the excessive amount of fire whiskey he'd already imbibed would soften the blow. The expression on his face and his wide, unblinking eyes proved otherwise.

"What could you have possibly been thinking, Hermione?"

She didn't appreciate his tone. How many times was she going to have to remind him that she wasn't a child nor a helpless weakling who couldn't take care of herself? She resented the implication that she was incapable of maneuvering through their perilous world without his guidance. He'd been her teacher once, yes, but no longer. _Years_ passed since he last had the authority to command her to do as he wished. She made certain before she allowed him to touch her on their wedding night that he wouldn't be in charge of her. They would be partners or she'd slit his throat while he slept. In her mind, _nothing_ had changed about their arrangement even if seemingly everything else in their world was different.

"I was _thinking_ that it was an excellent opportunity to find out if we could trust him as an ally like he assured us we could or if he was still Rabastan's puppet. We're running out of options, Antonin. You said so yourself."

"But Weasley has always been Rabastan's."

"No, that's not true. He was _mine_ first. We were friends since first year and if the Dark Lord hadn't won…"

She pushed aside the thoughts of what their future might have been if Harry survived and Lord Voldemort didn't. It was too depressing and pointless. But, it _was_ true that Ron was hers long before he was Rabastan's. Maybe that's even what encouraged him to invite her over to his side. Nostalgia was a powerful factor.

"He's not the same person he was when you were friends. How many times have you told me that, Hermione? Rabastan broke him and rebuilt him with what was left."

"The same could be said for me, but you and I both know that's not entirely true. Besides, Ollie told me that Hugo told him that Ron drinks too much and cries about the past. That's hardly the act of someone who is unredeemable."

They were encroaching on dangerous territory. She didn't really want to discuss how different she was or it was even possible that some of who she used to be was still tucked deep down inside of her. Mr. Akingbade seemed to believe the girl she used to be wasn't dead. No one ever said that to her before and part of her was afraid that if it was mentioned, she would be told it wasn't true, that there was _nothing_ good about her left.

"It was still dangerous, love."

"And are you _always_ careful, Antonin? Do you _ever_ meet with someone who might hurt you?"

"That's not the same thing."

"Why? Because I'm a woman? Or because I'm so weak and broken that I'm incapable of taking care of myself?"

Her husband groaned and thew his head against the back of the sofa. One of his biggest pet peeves when it came to the two of them was when she put words in his mouth he never said. Countless arguments began the same way. Antonin rubbed at his eyes and took a fortifying sip of fire whiskey. Hermione wished she hadn't said anything. They'd gone several days without fighting. It was nice.

"You know very well that was not what I meant, Hermione."

"Then what _did_ you mean? Why is it okay for you to run off and have shady meetings with mysterious people, but I can't talk to an old friend after he's already invited us _both_ to his side?"

"Because I'm not meeting with anyone who was ever remotely connected to the damned family that mucked about in your brain. Weasley is widely believed to be a part of them still. Even his…"

She cut him off before he could say anything else that would make her mad. His constant worry about the fragility of her sanity was threatening to push her over the edge. Maybe she was vulnerable before, but she hadn't been able to think so clearly in years. If she felt confident that she was mentally strong enough to play the necessary games to ensure their survival, why couldn't he trust her judgment?

"There's no use arguing about it, Antonin. It's done. Already happened. And, as you can see, I'm perfectly all right."

Antonin was an intelligent enough man to know when to stop. Sighing to prove he was still a little displeased by the whole conversation, he took a deeper gulp. She wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink exactly, but based on the drooping of his eyelids, he wouldn't be awake much longer. If she didn't tell him her theory about another possible explanation for Corban's current condition, she might not get another chance when he was drunk. He liked to talk under the influence and she wanted to hear his opinion while his tongue was unguarded.

"Ron told me that he has allies within the DMLE. What if Corban's attack wasn't from Rodolphus at all, but from within his own department?"

He opened his eyes and sat back up straight at her question. It was an interesting theory. Since her last meeting with Draco, she'd been dissecting and analyzing every word that he said. She found it odd that he never specifically laid the claim of responsibility for the attack on the Yaxleys at Rodolphus' feet. Only said that his plan was to pick off Antonin's friends and supporters one by one. She just assumed, like Antonin, that Rodolphus did it. Maybe they were wrong.

"Did Weasley tell you they were going to hurt Corban?"

"Of course not. Do you really think I wouldn't have said anything if I knew?"

"No, you're right. I'm sorry."

"I just think we need to be careful about assuming that _every_ attack is Rodolphus. While it probably is, we can't afford to ignore other areas of danger."

The thought of the list that Draco promised he would get her in exchange for one night alone with him again returned. While she was still not sure that she was willing to pay the price he demanded, she knew that it would be a powerful tool in their fight against whatever wretched plans Rodolphus had. Was she being selfish to not give in? Or was he being unreasonable? It was an offer she wouldn't have thought twice about in the past. What was so different that she couldn't just jump in and do it?

"No, you're right. I've been so eager to make that bastard pay for what he's done to you, to us, to our family, to our… our _daughter_ that I haven't been thinking clearly."

Once he set his empty glass down on a side table, Antonin leaned across the sofa to gently kiss his wife. He was too tired and drunk to do anything beyond that to her disappointment, but she appreciated that they'd been able to deescalate their discussion before it turned into a row. Life with Antonin since she returned to Hogsmeade in May had been very different. She frequently had to push down the bubble of regret that threatened to consume her when she thought about all that they'd missed out on.

One more peck from Antonin as he rose to his feet to head to bed answered her question. The reason she couldn't just jump into bed with Draco again was because _everything_ was different. No longer was it Hermione versus the rest of the world where she had no thoughts or cares for how anyone else might be affected by her decisions. Her family was an after-thought, an _annoyance_ on most days. When she allowed herself to start caring about them, _really_ caring about them, everything changed. She wasn't sure yet if that was good or bad. Only time would tell.


	255. September 11th

**_Author's Note : Thank you again to all of you lovely readers who take the time to review this story, especially those who make the effort to do so every single day. That's truly amazing. Fanfiction writers get "paid" in reviews, so it's the encouragement we all need to keep going forward with stories. When it gets quiet, we start to worry that our stories suck and everyone is just being too polite to say so. Writing this story and life in general lately has been a pretty rough struggle for me. Your encouragement means more to me than you know and I appreciate each and every one of you._**

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September 11th

Hermione's restless mind kept her from going to bed with Antonin. Long after their conversation ended and he fell into a deep sleep that only too much alcohol could induce, she sat up thinking about the precarious situation she'd allowed herself to become a part of. Part of her missed the days when she was so out of her mind with potions that she didn't even have the mental capacity to think too hard about anything. Certainly she'd worried a lot less back then.

The old Hermione, the one who found joy and fulfillment in being the regime's embodiment of terror as Madam Dolohov, would've laughed off the very idea that she'd come to care very much for her only child and even the man she was forced to marry. There wasn't a lot of room for affection in that horrible woman's heart. All she had to live on were glimpses of past feelings that _might_ have been love from men that didn't really deserve her. Coming to the realization that she'd allowed her heart to open up to at least the _possibility_ of a future with her family was surprising. She never thought she would get to that point.

And she knew that if she wasn't careful, she would lose everything. Even if she could fantasize about running away to Brazil and creating a new life there, she knew that they had to fight the battle that was coming before she could escape. If Rodolphus was as intent on using her for his plans as she knew deep down he was, even an ocean wouldn't keep him away. She would have to spend the rest of her life running. It was no way to live. Looking constantly over her shoulder and never having the opportunity to really settle in wasn't how she wanted to exist.

She couldn't sit around waiting any longer. Checking in on her husband in the bedroom, once she saw with her own eyes that he wasn't likely to be disturbed by anything less than an earthquake for the next several hours, she gulped down a glass of fire whiskey to steady her nerves. What she was about to do was probably foolish, but it beat sitting in the cottage feeling helpless. Knowing that she would talk herself out of it if she took too long, Hermione took a deep breath and left the cottage. Thanks to the wonders of Apparition she was at her destination in no time.

No one answered when she knocked on the front door. Considering it was almost one in the morning, she would've assumed that the inhabitant was home in bed. Or at least on their way. A second knock also yielded no answer. She was prepared to just give up her mission as a foolish idea and return home when she heard the ding of the lift doors behind her. Spinning rapidly around, she watched as a smirking Draco crossed the small space to wrap his arms around her and kiss her without warning.

It was easy to give in to the affectionate embrace. The wizard knew how to kiss. Straight down to her toes she felt it. Rarely had she been so turned on by a simple greeting. Almost as if a switch had been flipped in her head, she felt the familiar confusion return. Whenever she was around her old bully, she couldn't think straight. A part of her worried that it was another spell, something that either Draco or Rodolphus cast on her or the wizard in question to make it so she couldn't think clearly in his presence. The more she considered the absurdity of the theory, the more she realized that wasn't it at all. She was simply caught up in the emotion of being around the wizard that represented so much. If the world was different, he could've been hers. Once they were able to get past the loathing and cruelty they both experienced throughout their school years, it was possible that they might have been able to form an actual relationship, something meaningful. Was she simply regretting the possibility of a future that could never be?

"I can always tell when you're here." Draco pulled his lips away from Hermione's long enough to pepper the sensitive column of her neck with fervent pecks. "I adjusted the wards. Doesn't matter where I'm at, if you're here, I can _feel_ it. I promise to drop _everything_ I'm doing to come here for you."

Hermione could lose herself entirely in the man if she allowed herself. The longer she was there, the harder it was to remember why she was there in the first place. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been so in lust with someone that she couldn't even think straight. When he stopped touching her long enough to open the door and drag her inside with a tug on her arm, she tried to keep her mind on her purpose. She was there to get the list, _not_ to fall back in the man's bed. In order to keep from being seduced, she had to think clearly and rationally. Letting her biological impulses take over would get her nothing but grief.

Inside the privacy of his flat, Draco didn't hold back. In much the same manner as he'd done when she was there previously, he pressed her up against his closed door to put everything he had in his kiss. Every cell in Hermione's body seemed to be shouting at her to let him rip off her clothes and do whatever he wished right then and there. How many times had she allowed her instincts to act instead of her brain? It was ridiculous. Remembering _why_ she was there, Hermione pushed against his chest until he broke the kiss. Evidently disappointed, he moved a half-step back to stare into her face.

"What is your problem, Hermione?"

"I just came here to talk."

He rolled his eyes. Many years had come and gone since she'd last seen him furious, but she got the feeling that all of that was about to change.

"You came to my flat in the middle of the night. What _else_ am I supposed to believe you want?"

Of course it wasn't unusual for him to assume that she was there for more than a simple conversation. Especially after she allowed him to kiss her and she wasn't shy about kissing him back. Following him into his flat and then kissing him again surely didn't leave much doubt that she wanted him.

"I can't trust you, Draco. How do I know that you won't just betray me again if it suits you?"

The shadow across his face seemed to indicate that he was offended by the very idea that he was untrustworthy. It was her turn to roll her eyes. He didn't have the right to be upset that she would suggest such a thing. Hadn't he already done exactly that? Maybe he didn't understand the depths of the depravity and deviousness that Rodolphus stooped to in order to completely fuck with Hermione's mind and life, but that didn't matter. He still betrayed her.

Perhaps realizing that he was being unfair, Draco slid his hand gently against her cheek before kissing her forehead. The anger disappeared. Once again he was the kind, tender man he'd been when they were living together alone in his flat months earlier.

"I will do whatever it takes to prove myself to you, Hermione, and to atone for my past mistake. I shouldn't have said anything to Rodolphus about you. It was wrong."

She desperately wanted to believe that he was sincere. How much easier would her life be if she had another ally she could fully trust and rely on? It was exhausting not knowing who was an enemy and who wasn't. There was a simple way he could prove to her that he meant what he said. If he did as she asked, then maybe, _maybe_ she would start to trust him again.

"Give me the list of who your uncle wants to attack. Let me have a chance to save them, or at least, to _warn_ them before he does. How can I be sure he even knows who is actually working with Antonin? There could be innocent people he just _assumes_ are on Antonin's side. I need to see who he's targeting."

His sudden laughter wasn't what she expected.

"I already told you I'd get you that list, but we had a deal. One night with me and it's yours."

He followed up his reminder with another searing kiss that she felt in her bones. Against her better judgement, she gave in again to the kiss. She wanted him. More than she'd wanted anyone for a very long time. It didn't make the least bit of sense. It wasn't as if she wasn't being sexually satisfied and she was desperate for some sort of human connection. Not in the slightest. Since the renewal of her sexual relationship with her husband, he'd reminded her just how passionate and fulfilling they could be together.

With Draco, it was different. It was something she hadn't quite figured out yet. Maybe when she was alone and scared running from the husband she thought was abusive, she latched on to Draco and she didn't know how to let him go. Her theory about there being some sort of spell or charm attached to him that made her unable to think clearly seemed to make more sense. Perhaps she hadn't fully explored that enough to make a definitive answer. Even her thoughts were contradictory around him.

She was very tempted to give in to his touches. List or not, it didn't matter. But, in the back of her mind, all she could think of was how wrong it was to let another man touch her when her husband was back at home asleep and completely unaware. Just because they'd both been unfaithful to each other in the past didn't mean that they were doomed to always live that way. And just because she'd made the same mistake in the past didn't make the mistakes in the present okay. Remembering what she was there for, she pushed him away again with a little more force.

"This is wrong. We shouldn't be doing this."

"Never bothered you before." He went in to kiss her again, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Don't tell me you're feeling guilty."

It wasn't necessary to respond to his statement verbally. Her feelings were written all over her face. Yes, she absolutely was feeling guilty. The revelation only made Draco laugh again. She was beginning to loathe the sound.

"You are! Don't tell me that you're actually trying to be faithful to your husband. Are you trying to make your marriage work?"

Hermione had had enough. With his laughter still ringing in her ears, she exited the flat and didn't look back.


	256. September 12th

**Author's Note _: Guest, because if you read the entire chapter and didn't skim you DID learn something new. Something that will become very important in the next few days. Some of the clues in this story are very obvious. Most of them are subtle. There's no reason to be rude. If you're not enjoying the story, that's all right. Just find another one to read. I know this story isn't for everyone. But, if you have a legitimate question about the story that you want me to answer, give me a chance to. Sign in or if you still want to be anonymous, send me an Ask on Tumblr._**

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September 12th

A day and a half after she returned from her late-night visit to Draco's flat Hermione was still angry with herself for how it went. How could she allow herself to be taken in by his kisses, even if they were enough to make her lips tingle hours after she left? It was ridiculous. She wasn't a schoolgirl sneaking around with her crush in darkened corners of the castle. She was a grown woman with a husband and a son. Her behavior was inappropriate. She couldn't allow Draco to manipulate her again.

Most of her anger about the failure of that visit rested solely with herself. Evidently, she misjudged his feelings of affection for her. Not that she should've been surprised by that in the slightest. That had been her experience for the vast majority of her life. She'd learned that everyone was going to disappoint her at some point. It was simply a matter of time and severity. Draco wouldn't be the exception.

When she returned back to the hated cottage after her failed visit to get the list of Rodolphus' enemies without removing a single piece of clothing, she'd been so angry that she downed the rest of the bottle of fire whiskey Antonin left. Though it wasn't her choice when it came to mind-numbing agents, she was limited in her options. The potions she preferred were illegal and she'd made promises to multiple people she actually respected that she wouldn't take them again. Thanks to the lingering sense of honor and nobility from her Gryffindor traits no matter how long it had been since she was a student, she couldn't go back on that promise. And besides, she wouldn't even know where to go if she wanted to. Clearly, she couldn't trust the hag in Knockturn Alley she used to visit.

Getting drunk did nothing to help her attitude. All Hermione succeeded in doing was throwing up in the bathroom and barely managing to drag herself to the bed Antonin was happily asleep in. He had more experience and many more years handling his alcohol. Fire whiskey _was_ his vice. It was just her lame substitution. When the sun rose the next morning and dared to shine in her eyes, she cried out and covered her face with a pillow. Amused to discover his wife was experiencing a horrible hangover, Antonin took pity on her by covering the windows and promising to search the cupboards for a hangover potion.

Her mood wasn't much better the next day even if the pounding in her head was gone. She could tell that her husband was watching her out of the corner of his eye as she moved around the cottage. His concern was evident, but he kept his questions to himself. Twenty years of living with her taught him that she would speak only when she was ready. All trying to force a conversation would do was lead to an impressive row. She appreciated that he was making an effort to keep their fighting to a minimum. In close quarters, any amount of dissension could be unbearable. Besides, it was kind of sweet that he was so concerned about her. She could tell that despite the rockiness of their past, he still cared about her very much.

"Are you… are you all right, Hermione?"

Of course, she knew better than to believe that he would drop the subject entirely. It wasn't like her to get so drunk, especially not alone. Other than sipping at a small glass while they were talking, Antonin wasn't even aware she'd had too much to drink after he went to bed until the next morning. Any time she behaved the slightest bit out of her usual character, he worried. Likely he was still concerned that she was about to run away without warning him again. Certainly the thought had crossed her mind a time or two.

She was impressed that he made it more than a day before he asked. As they both sat at the kitchen table picking at the lunch he'd made, the lack of conversation got to him. He didn't like the awkwardness any more than she did. Taking pity on him, she granted him a small smile. Keeping secrets from the man she married used to be a lot easier. For a reason she wasn't sure she would ever fully understand, she _wanted_ to tell him what she was thinking. While she certainly wasn't ready to tell him _everything_ about Draco, she thought she at least owed him some sort of explanation about the mood she was in. Hoping that he wouldn't get too angry or too upset that she was so reckless, she took a deep breath.

"The other night after you went to bed I left for a short visit."

"Where?"

"Doesn't matter. I needed to meet with someone that I thought could help us."

Antonin wiped his mouth with his napkin, set it down next to his plate, and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed to hear the rest of the story. Already she could tell that he wasn't pleased to hear that she'd left without him knowing. But, if he decided to make a big deal out of it, she wouldn't hesitate to remind him again that she wasn't his prisoner. While Oliver was still at home, she could understand his anger that she put their son in danger. Now, with him tucked away in the castle, the only person she really had to worry about was herself. Her husband could take care of himself. She only hoped that he would eventually get to the point where he believed she could do the same.

"Is it someone that I know?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm not going to tell you anything other than that. Not yet."

At least he could understand the importance of keeping a source confidential. She might have been intensely curious to know just which mysterious people he was out there meeting every few days, but she knew better than to pry. If he wasn't sure that she needed to know, he wouldn't tell her. The same would go for Hermione. Besides, she wasn't sure how he would feel about Rodolphus' sort-of nephew being her source for anything. No doubt he would be suspicious that anything Draco told her was just being fed to her by Rodolphus. Of course, he would have a legitimate fear. She worried the same.

"I know that Rodolphus is making a list of all of your supporters and potential allies."

"For what purpose?"

"To dispose of them."

The unwelcome news wasn't a surprise. He simply sighed. While it was still a possibility that Corban was cursed by someone within his own Department and his wife was attacked to cover that fact up, Rodolphus was still their number one suspect. Besides, there would've been no reason for anyone inside of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to blow up and demolish the Dolohov home. _That_ was a personal message.

"I've been trying to get a copy of the list, but my source is… proving difficult."

"Are you sure they can be trusted?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm almost one hundred percent positive that anything they tell me I have to be careful trusting."

There was a time when she would've actually _enjoyed_ playing this game with Draco. She once appreciated a certain level of intrigue. The early days of the regime were exciting. One never knew who was loyal to the Dark Lord or not. Hermione had fun rooting out the seditious traitors. In order to be the least bit successful at her job and not just arrest innocent victims, she had to learn how to read people and whether or not they were trustworthy. Draco was difficult to read. She wasn't sure that she would ever fully trust him or his motives. But, that didn't mean he couldn't prove useful.

"When you went to bed the other night, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I'd already tried to get the list from him days earlier, but it didn't work. I hoped that catching him off-guard might yield better results."

"And did it?"

"He's demanding a price that I'm not willing to pay."

It was the truth. The more she considered what Draco was demanding of her, the less she was willing to do it. Expecting her to fall into bed with him again simply for information made her feel cheap, used. Maybe she used to be able to separate her feelings from her body when she slept with a man, but no longer. At least not with him. The emotions were already there. His demand made her as if she was nothing more than a prostitute. Was that how a man treated the woman he _claimed_ he was falling in love with? If so, it was no secret why Draco Malfoy was still single. Who would want him?

"Sex?"

He asked so matter-of-factly that he almost sounded bored. Looking up from her plate that had become very fascinating during their conversation, she could see that he wasn't surprised at all. One trait of her husband's that she'd always admired was his intelligence. Antonin knew how the game was played, especially when it came to sources of the preferred sex of the operative in question. Using sex as a weapon or a bargaining chip was an old move. Considering she was exhausted to her very bones of lying, she didn't hold back. Only she wasn't ready to reveal the identity of the wizard just yet. Why she wasn't was still unclear.

"Yes, it was. Look, Antonin, I don't really understand what's been going on between us lately, but it's been… it's been very nice. I don't want to bollocks up whatever we have. Having sex with another man, even if it's for a good reason, just doesn't feel right. I couldn't do it."

His lips curled up into a satisfied smirk. She was embarrassed. Maybe it wasn't necessary to be _that_ honest with her husband. When he pushed his chair backwards to stand up from the table, she felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. How was he able to elicit such a response to her after all of the years they'd been married?

"I've been a horrible wife. I guess I'm trying to be better."

Antonin's only response to her admission was to cover her lips with his. She was able to give in to his passionate advances without feeling even the slightest twinge of guilt.


	257. September 13th

September 13th

Whether or not it was her intention to admit to Antonin that she wished to continue working on improving their marriage, that was certainly the implication that attached itself to Hermione's words and then to the actions she committed that pleasurable afternoon. Her husband was in a much better mood than she could remember him being in for months. Maybe even years. There was an excitement in him that she wasn't even sure she'd seen before. She hoped that she wasn't wrong to give him hope about the future. Everything was still so uncertain and dangerous. But, if she was completely honest with herself, when she imagined running off to Brazil, she no longer imagined doing so alone. She couldn't even imagine doing it without Antonin and Oliver. A great deal about her life had changed since January.

They were both in agreement that the price Draco was asking for the list was too high. Though he didn't know the identity of her source, Antonin wouldn't have supported her going to bed with any other man. Not that he was in the habit of doing so before, of course. He simply tried to ignore it when he suspected it was happening. Each of them believed that they could be proactive and try to discreetly inform anyone they might suspect to be on Rodolphus' radar to be careful. No doubt it seemed like an obvious concern to some of Antonin's closest supporters that they were in danger. The ones that they were concerned about were the ones that Rodolphus and his faction _suspected_ that might not be accurate. Even though neither of the Dolohovs had anything remotely resembling a sparking clean record in the past, they didn't want to bring danger and destruction to innocent victims just because they were assumed to be working together. It wasn't fair and it could help their cause in the long run to bring some of them over to their side.

Antonin kissed his wife goodbye after breakfast to make his excuses. Hermione didn't have the first clue where he was spending his days and some of his evenings, but she didn't care. She trusted her husband. _That_ was another development that crept on her without her even realizing. Years passed since she last felt the same. She knew that he was sincere when he told her he would do _anything_ to keep his family safe. Besides, she wasn't even sure that she wanted to know what he did. It might make her too nervous.

She'd only been alone in the cottage a little over an hour when there was a knock at the door. Her suspicious nature wouldn't allow her to calm her racing heart until she opened the door to reveal a smiling Hannah Rowle standing just outside with a basket in her arms and another letter from their son in her hand.

"Let me make some tea."

"No, Hermione. Let me. Read Ollie's letter. I'll do it."

It was an offer that she didn't want to refuse. Every single day Hermione worried about her son. What was happening in the castle? Was he safe? She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table to tear open the sealed missive. Almost instantly she felt a churning in her gut. He might have been trying to put a positive spin in his letter, but she could read between the lines. Less than two weeks into the first term and things were not going well inside the castle.

"Bad news?"

Hannah's expression of concern as she poured them both tea helped to calm Hermione only slightly. She knew without a doubt that the Hufflepuff loved her son very much. Maybe even more than she did. Or, at least, she'd loved him _longer_ than his actual mother. She was still trying to figure out how to feel for her son. Love was there even if it still felt odd and foreign.

"Ollie's not saying so exactly, but I think he's in some trouble."

Nothing in the letter was a secret that needed to be kept from Hannah. She handed it over to the other witch for her own opinion. Hermione watched her read it as she sipped at her cup of tea. The wrinkling in her forehead proved that she wasn't being overly paranoid. There _was_ something to her son's words. Though she hoped that he wouldn't ever have need to be covert in his letters in the future, he had a lot to learn. When she was finished, Hannah folded it back up and sighed.

"I'll write Emmy a letter when I get home to very _carefully_ keep an eye on him. It certainly sounds like he's making enemies in the castle."

"I appreciate the offer. I'm sure Ollie won't mind at all if she spends more time with him."

The mothers shared a knowing smile. Their children were too young to consider the future, but it was so innocent and sweet that they were almost envious. They each had the rest of their lives ahead of them to look forward to. Some days Hermione had the sinking feeling that she had more to look back on than she did to look forward to. It was a macabre thought that she always tried to instantly suppress. What was the point in continuing to live if she insisted on being so depressing?

"I worry about my girls constantly. Finn thinks I'm being unreasonable, says that it's nothing like it used to be with Headmaster Mulciber in charge, but after what I experienced in the castle…"

Almost as soon as the words came out of her mouth, Hannah looked embarrassed. She sipped at her cup for a reason to keep from speaking. It was the first time in twenty years that she'd even _hinted_ there was something awful that happened to her when the war ended. Antonin knew more than Hermione did, but he refused to tell his wife. Said that it wasn't his story to tell and he didn't feel right telling her. Evidently the few interactions the two witches had in recent days calmed Hannah enough to feel comfortable being so open. As much as Hermione didn't want to push, she got the impression that she _wanted_ to talk about it.

"Hannah, what exactly happened to you when the battle was over?"

Twenty years later and the memory of it could still bring heavy tears to the woman's blue eyes. She set her cup down on the table to brush them away with her hand, but not before Hermione saw them. In the days or weeks that she was trapped in her broom cupboard, Hermione heard screams on several occasions. She never wanted to try to discern whether or not she recognized the bodies they belonged to. During that horrible time, she only had enough energy to keep herself breathing. Any additional thoughts or concerns for someone outside of the broom cupboard had to be pushed away for her own survival. She knew without pressing for an answer that at least one of the screams belonged to Hannah.

"When Harry died, the castle was in chaos."

"Yes, it was. I remember."

"You and Ron were brought down almost immediately, but the rest of us… we tried to run. Some of us were even successful. Neville held my hand so tightly that I thought I would lose all feeling in it. We were in love. Did you know that?"

Hermione shook her head. Their relationship must have happened in the last year while she was away on the horcrux hunt. She was pleased to discover that Neville Longbottom hadn't died without experiencing what it meant to be in love. Such a simple thing that so many people took for granted.

"He was my first love, my first kiss, my first _everything_. We used to talk about what we'd do when the war was over. Such foolish dreams we had."

"Neville was a very special wizard."

"Yes, he was. He deserved more than what happened to him. I try not to be bitter and angry, but it's hard."

If there was anyone else alive who understood that, it would be Hermione. She couldn't bear to look at the past without feeling like she was going to drown in her anger and bitterness. It was better that she not ever look back. _Easier_.

"We almost made it out together. We were _so_ close to the edge of the castle grounds, but I tripped. Found out later it was a tripping jinx. Thought I was just being clumsy at the time. He had to make a choice. Either he could stay and try to help me up and be captured with me… or he could run without me."

Hermione summoned a clean dishrag with her wand to hand to Hannah. Tears were falling freely from her eyes. Grateful for the kindness, she wiped at her face before she continued the heartbreaking story.

"The fool wanted to stay. I screamed at him to leave me. It didn't make any sense for both of us to get caught. He didn't want to, but I made him."

"That proves how much he loved you."

"Yes, it does. I don't know everything that happened next. Probably blocked a lot of it out to keep from going mad. All I know is that I was hit with a curse and knocked out. When I came to, I was… I was…"

Her voice was breaking with each word she spoke. Hermione thought that it was highly likely that she hadn't told _anyone_ what happened to her for many years. Thorfinn had to have known. There was very little that the two of them didn't share. But, outside of her marriage? Probably less people than she could count on a single hand knew the story. It was a privilege to know that she trusted Hermione enough to be so open.

"Amycus Carrow always warned me that he would make me pay for being so defiant that last year. That he would take great _pleasure_ in making certain that I knew my place and my value. I woke up in his quarters."

She didn't need to explain any further. Carrow was a dreadful, disgusting man who had no business being around children. Hermione would never regret killing him in such a painful way as long as she lived. He deserved much worse than he got.

"If it hadn't been for Thorfinn and your husband finding me days later, I'm not sure I would've survived. My body might have continued to live, but not my mind. Some days I fear that the bastard took a part of that from me anyway."

And again, Hermione could relate. She hated that they were just children fighting a war they never should've been in. Their lives, their futures were ruined by the adults that should've known better. It was all so bloody unfair that she wanted to scream and rip her hair out. And now they were dooming their children to be involved in the same mess? Hannah's daughter would be keeping watch over Hermione's son to keep him from being harmed. She wanted nothing more than to run to Hogwarts that very second and drag their children out of the hateful castle. Maybe the Dolohovs could persuade the Rowles to join them in Brazil. It would feel more like home if they had friends with them.

"Thorfinn told me how you killed him, Hermione. I've never had the chance to thank you for that. Part of me resents you a little because I wish I could've been the one to do it."

There might have been a slight smile on Hannah's lips as she said so, but Hermione could hear the truth in her words. Loyalty was a fierce trait of any good Hufflepuff that most took for granted. She would've been brutal and exacting. Part of Hermione wished she'd allowed Hannah to do the honors.

"I'll let you help me kill Alecto if you want. Almost as good."

Hannah laughed at the offer, but it was clear to her hostess that she was seriously considering it. Their conversation turned to much less serious topics. Only a quarter of an hour later the front door opened unexpectedly to admit Antonin. Pleased to see Hannah there, he kissed her cheek and begged her not to run off on his account. She made an excuse about needing to get home. Wrapping Hannah tightly in her arms, Hermione hugged her close before she let her leave. What she shared with her that day was no small thing. They were closer than they'd ever been before. She thought it was a shame that they hadn't been friends earlier.

The _moment_ that the front door closed behind Hannah, Hermione crossed the room to throw her arms around her husband. Startled by the sudden affection, Antonin hesitated a few moments before enveloping his wife in his embrace. Tears rolled out of Hermione's eyes that she didn't bother with brushing away.

"Thank you."

"For what, my love?"

"Thank you for keeping me safe after the battle. Even if it wasn't you outside of my cupboard… it was _because_ of you that I was safe. I could've easily ended up like… without you, I could've…"

She could get the words out. It wasn't necessary. Her husband held her tighter, whispering promises that he would keep her protected as long as he drew breath. She believed him.


	258. September 14th

September 14th

Rarely had Hermione felt so safe locked in Antonin's embrace. She woke up the morning after Hannah's visit in no hurry to push her husband away. Still sleeping contentedly behind her, his arms hadn't moved since they'd crawled into bed the night before. Protective and reassuring, she was thankful that she wasn't alone. Trying to imagine what it would've been like to endure all that she had without a constant support at her side only made her sad and her head spin. It was entirely possible that she would never get used to feeling glad that she had her husband in her life.

At her insistence, he'd shared with her the details of what he knew about Hannah's experience in the castle. None of them had been good. Almost a week after the end of the battle, he and Thorfinn were charged with finding whatever hole Amycus disappeared into. Known for his enjoyment of cheap wine and lots of it, everyone assumed that he'd been drinking his way into oblivion since the final showdown in the Great Hall. Not that anyone could blame him for the urge to escape for even just a moment.

Neither Thorfinn nor Antonin expected to find a battered and bruised Hannah inside his bedroom. When she first saw the two Death Eaters enter, she burst into tears, afraid that she was about to experience even more terror and pain than she had already. It had taken a long time to calm her down to the point that she trusted they weren't there to hurt her. From that moment on, Thorfinn felt protective of her, ready to fight to the death to keep her safe. While it took her a lot longer to even be open to the possibility of a _friendship_ with the massive blond, let alone a romance, he was hers from the very first second his eyes landed on her.

Amycus wanted to argue that she belonged to him, that she was his _spoils_ or whatever rubbish term he wanted to attach to his cruelty. Antonin refused to allow him. And because he held a much higher rank within the Inner Circle than the disgraced professor, his demands were met. Before the hour was over, Hannah was in Madam Pomfrey's care. The next day, Thorfinn personally escorted her to her father's house even though he desired nothing more than to keep her in his own personal protection.

It had been so easy for Hermione to assume that _she_ had it bad in the aftermath of the war. She never took the time to really consider what it must have been like for everyone else, especially those that the Dark Lord wasn't personally interested in protecting. Given the opportunity, she knew that if she approached each and every one of the fighters from the Order or Dumbledore's Army still alive, they'd be able to tell her their own personal story to remind her that in the grand scheme of things, she'd been extraordinarily fortunate. What if Antonin had been hungry for revenge? Or something much worse?

Later that morning when Antonin kissed her goodbye, she allowed herself the chance to sit alone in the cottage to really consider how much worse off she could've been. While her life had been far from perfect or even all that happy, she knew that she was better off than most. If she'd been able to stay away from the dangers of potions addictions and didn't allow herself to be seduced into Rodolphus' bed the first time, who knew what kind of life she might have had?

Thinking about her potions addiction, she was intensely curious about the first few weeks after she ran away following her attack on Antonin. Bits and pieces came back to her the longer her mind was clear, but she still had some questions. How out of it had she been to not know how she even ended up in Kingsley Shacklebolt's flat? She wished that she could find him and ask him.

An idea formed in her head that was completely insane. Of course, hadn't most of her recent ideas been along the same vein? Antonin was out there in the world trying to find supporters to get the war over and done with as quickly as possible. He might not have said so explicitly, but she got the impression that he was merely looking for enough help to make it so Rodolphus was no longer a problem. Cut the head off the snake and all. If she could get a formidable ally on their side with extensive experience fighting against the very sort of witches and wizards that were their enemies, wouldn't that help? Her husband might not like the idea. None of that would matter, though, if she could get the additional support. He wouldn't be able to deny they needed help badly.

She was out the front door before she could talk herself out of her reckless decision. Sometimes being a Gryffindor could be exhausting. Part of her could see the value in strategizing and making plans that might actually work, but it was usually that bit of bravado and courage that all members of her House seemed to possess that got her moving. Focusing on the dingy flat she'd spent weeks in over a year earlier, Hermione spun in place.

The first time she could specifically recall that she was in Kingsley's flat, she could hardly move due to the enormous weight of her head. Never had she been so ill and incapacitated in her life. When he saw her with her eyes open, the former auror smiled broadly and welcomed her back to the land of the living. He confessed that he wasn't entirely certain that she would make it. That had been a sobering thought. Who knew that years of potions abuse could wreak such havoc on her body? She still wasn't sure how long she stayed there or how he even found her. All that really mattered was that he _did_ find her before someone else with less altruistic intentions did.

She wasn't sure where the flat was located exactly. Based on the surrounding area of where she landed, she assumed that it was located in one of those dodgy parts of London that one didn't want to be found in after dark. It made sense. Kingsley would've been a high-profile capture. The Dark Lord would've wanted him. If he chose not to surrender his life to serve Lord Voldemort, then his execution would've been a powerful incentive for the others in the regime to fall in line. Hiding in the middle of the Muggles in parts of the city no respecting wizard would be caught dead in might've saved his life.

His flat was on the fourth floor. She couldn't remember how she knew that, only that she did. Her time in the flat had been such a blur after all. Climbing the stairs thanks to a lift that had likely been out of order since the first wizarding world, she hoped that by the time she reached her destination she might actually know what she was going to say to the wizard. Months earlier when he was helping her get Aberforth Dumbledore out of Level Eleven, he mentioned that he'd always hated her husband. Something about a girl they both wanted in Hogwarts. A ridiculous notion to hate someone, in her humblest of opinions, but she wondered if it was enough to keep the two men from finding common ground. Was she just wasting her time?

The door opened on the first knock. Half expecting there to be a fight to the death, Hermione kept a tight grip on the handle of her wand. Kingsley's bright smile put her at ease at once. Without saying a single word in greeting, the wizard stepped back to allow her entrance into his humble home. Once again she hoped that she wasn't making a mistake. It was dangerous to seek him out. They might have been allies a hundred years ago in another lifetime, but a lot had changed. Neither one of them were about to climb onto the back of a thestral to fight Death Eaters in the sky.

"I'm surprised I was able to find your flat so easily. I would've assumed that a secretive man like you would live in a Secret-Kept home."

"I _do_ , but I told you the Secret a long time ago when you first arrived."

"And you still trust me enough to not update the charm?"

"So far I have seen nothing that would lead me to believe I couldn't trust you anymore, Hermione."

He gestured to a worn sofa tucked in the corner of the only room of the flat. It felt strange to be invited in like an old friend. When she was settled and Kingsley sat across from her in an armchair that appeared to be on its last legs, she wasn't sure where to even begin. How could she possibly explain why she was there?  
"How did you find me? You never told me. I just remember waking up on this sofa."

If he was surprised by her question, Kingsley didn't show it. He had decades of experience working as a respected auror before the war ended. She probably could've learned a lot about interrogation techniques from the man when she was first starting out at the Ministry. He might not have been as brutal as she turned out to be, but he wasn't a wizard unsure of how to handle himself during questioning.

"You were wandering the streets of London confused out of your mind. Someone called the Muggle police. I have a contact who lets me know whenever anyone _unusual_ is taken into custody."

"What do you mean by 'unusual'?"

"They found your wand. Not a common possession. Any time someone is arrested with a wand, he lets me know."

It was the exact setup in Wales that allowed Lee Jordan to find her when she was arrested for trespassing. She could see how it would be the easiest way to track witches and wizards taken into Muggle custody. When a _stick_ was logged as a belonging and entered into the computer system, an alert must have been set up to warn Kingsley's contact.

"You weren't charged with any crime, so when I showed up and claimed to be your concerned fiancé, no one put up a fuss. I brought you straight here."

His wink made her chuckle. Perhaps in another world, another time, they could've been more than just friends. Hermione thought she might have actually enjoyed that. The man certainly was fit and she wasn't lying the day he pushed her up against the wall in the alley. She _had_ fancied him as a teenager.

" _Why_? You could've easily just left me there."

"Someone with less pure intentions might have found you instead. Twenty years might have come and gone since we were last allies, Hermione, but I haven't forgotten. Maybe a part of me will always come to your rescue."

Whether he realized it or not, his statement left him open for her to come in with her proposal. She didn't know how much she wanted to tell him at first. There really wasn't that much to tell to begin with.

"Whose side are you on, Kingsley?"

"I've already told you. I fight for only one wizard. Who do _you_ fight for, Hermione?"

There was a time not that long ago that she could've easily told him that she only fought for herself too. She used to dream of running and abandoning the family she never wanted for her own selfish purposes. So much was different. At times she couldn't even believe she was living her own life. It seemed to belong to someone else.

"It used to just be me, but now I fight for my family. I'm not being selfish anymore."

He nodded, seemingly approving of her answer. She was confused.

"Good. That's what you _should_ do."

"Then why do you only fight for yourself?"

"Because I'm all that's left. _My_ family is dead."

Never once in the years that she knew him was she aware that he had a family. But, to be fair, she never really asked. He was a mysterious man who kept his secrets. She felt guilty that she'd never really even _thought_ much about him beyond the Order of the Phoenix. What else did she not know?

"If you're here to ask me to join you and your husband's little rebellion group, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to decline."

"Because you hate Antonin?"

"Something like that."

There was no reason to linger long after he made his statement. She didn't get the impression that she would ever be able to change his mind.


	259. September 15th

September 15th

The feeling of being absolutely useless was getting to Hermione. There was a time when she was active and productive and actually felt like she was contributing to their society. Of course, her contributions were generally fairly bloody and a lot of people died because of them, but at least she was doing _something_. Sitting each day in the cottage owned by the brother-in-law she loathed with every fiber of her being unsure how to even fill up the hours was no way to continue to live. As much as she wasn't looking forward to the violence that she was knew was coming, at least then maybe she wouldn't feel like all she did was waste her time. Fighting against Rodolphus and the cretins he'd managed to seduce to his side would at least be somewhat satisfying.

Approaching Kingsley had obviously been for nothing. She didn't know why she thought he might've been willing to help. What sort of incentive could she even offer? It had been foolish to try, a complete waste of her time. She didn't even know what the plan was, what exactly they were fighting for beyond simple survival. No wonder Kingsley turned her down before she could even get the question out.

Every time she asked Antonin what he was doing, he found some way to brush her off. It was beginning to get annoying. At least she could appreciate him shielding her from what was happening. She didn't have enough energy to fight or strategize. Yes, he was patronizing, but in a way, she didn't mind. It was _exhausting_ always being the one to make plans and decisions. She did so with Harry and Ron because if she didn't, they might've been terribly lost and defeated. That didn't mean she _always_ wanted to play the same role. If she trusted Antonin, which she did, she could prove that by believing him when he said he was working to ensure they had a future worth living for. What sort of marriage could they hope to have if she didn't trust him even when he frustrated her?

She got the impression, even though he wouldn't admit if she confronted him, that Antonin was dealing with people she didn't much care for. What other reason could he have for not telling her at least the names of his potential compatriots? Unfortunately, suspecting he was reaching out with her enemies didn't narrow down the list much. She'd made a large number of them over the years. The most likely would seem to be the Resistance. None of them wanted anything to do with her and if he suggested working with them, Hermione would discourage him without question. They were apt to demand a price they couldn't pay for their help.

Speculating made her tired. Planning a war made her exhausted. What used to excite her no longer did. When she was a mere child searching the country for horcruxes, she took charge because she _had_ to. There was no one else. For the immediate future, she was going to do as little as possible. Her endeavors with both Draco and Kingsley failed. Evidently, she no longer possessed what was required to do the dirty work their present situation required. Maybe Antonin was right.

Sitting around the hated cottage waiting for Antonin to come back from wherever he'd run off to was only going to drive her mad. Determined to remain as sane as possible, Hermione decided it had been too long since she wandered aimlessly through Diagon Alley by herself. In the middle of a Saturday afternoon she could feel comforted by the fact that the wizarding shopping district would be crowded. Maybe she would get strange looks from those who actually believed the drivel the Daily Prophet printed, but at least there would be enough witnesses to discourage any physical attacks. She hoped so anyway. Scribbling off a short note to her husband, she left before she could talk herself out of going.

Just as she suspected, the Alley was crowded with shoppers enjoying a relatively pleasant afternoon. So unlike how the area ended up when the Dark Lord was first in power, there was a happiness and an excitement in the air. Average citizens didn't seem to even be aware that at any moment their peace and tranquillity could come crashing down around them. If the wrong person rose to power, they would learn quickly they were fools to be so complacent. For the most part, her presence was ignored. Unlike at the height of her power and influence, Madam Dolohov was no longer feared. Her behavior at the Dark Lord's funeral ensured that. And if she ever had the misfortune to see Albert Runcorn again, she had a few choice words to share with him.

For reasons she couldn't fathom, Hermione ended up in The Junk Shop. Her fascination with Andromeda's shop didn't make any sense nor did the strange pull she felt towards it. Teddy Lupin wasn't overtly rude when she entered, but neither was he overly polite. She was an annoyance, certainly. Just not one that he was determined to kick out. If she had galleons to spend, he would accept them. Of course, if he knew what she did to his beloved grandmother, he wouldn't be so quick to allow her through the front door.

Wandering the cramped aisles of the store, _some_ of the anxiety that pestered Hermione on a daily basis began to lessen. Maybe seeing the happy, smiling faces outside helped her to feel the tiniest bit of optimism about the future. Wouldn't it be nice to feel like a normal person without so many worries and concerns for once? It was almost enough of an incentive to seek out her favorite potion in a dark shop in Knockturn Alley. _Almost_. She knew that would only be a false serenity, over as soon as the potion wore off to be replaced only by self-loathing.

Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised to turn a corner and almost run straight into Draco, but she was. It had been awhile since he last randomly popped up exactly where she was. Although he did not appear angry, she felt nervous being so close to him again. Would he be reckless enough to try to kiss her even in public? Or was he done trying to be "nice"? There wasn't a smile on his face after all.

"What are you doing here, Draco?"

"Am I not allowed to shop in my cousin's shop just like anyone else?"

She didn't appreciate him being snarky nor evasive. There was only one reason why he would track her down again. Perhaps he already tried to track her to Aubin's dreadful cottage. He was not a wizard that was apt to give up easily. Hermione wanted to end the conversation before it really even began.

"I'm not going to do what you asked. Not even for the list you _claim_ you can get for me."

"Why not? We can both tell there's still chemistry between us. And… I _know_ you want me after our recent kisses."

A smile spread across his lips for the first time. She couldn't deny the truth. There was no need. Feeling a blush to her cheeks, Hermione tried to calm herself before she spoke again. If she wasn't careful, she would reveal more than she wanted to.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I appreciate you asking me to _whore_ myself out for the damned list."

The slightest hint of shame colored his features.

"You're right. It was wrong. I just miss you."

Though he sounded sincere, she knew she couldn't trust him. Not until she understood his endgame.

"Did you mean it the other day when you said you were trying to make your marriage work?"

Unlike their previous visit, he wasn't laughing at the very idea that she might have found some reason to remain faithful to her husband. Unsure how to answer him, she sighed and took a few moments to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"I've been learning a lot about Antonin that I didn't know before. Because of what Rodolphus made me believe, he was a stranger. Now… now, _yes_ , I am trying to make my marriage work."

Her answer annoyed him. For the briefest of moments, she almost felt like they were transformed over twenty years into the past when he was still an obnoxious student at Hogwarts strutting around the castle warning everyone that his father would hear about whatever it was they managed to do to disappoint him. It almost made her smile.

"He's still an old man."

She didn't expect his answer. A burst of loud laughter came out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"You seem to have forgotten I'm not some teenager and you're not my lovesick bully fancying me from afar. Grow up, Draco. With the exception of the insanity that was my short-lived romance with Ron, if you could even call it that, I've _always_ been attracted to older men. And Antonin's not even that old. He's a wizard. If he takes care of himself and stops being so dangerous, he'll live at least another hundred years."

"It's still ridiculous."

" _No_ , it's not. Just because you wish to keep fantasizing that we are still young and back in Hogwarts in some sort of forbidden romance doesn't mean I have to. I live in reality. Can't afford to do otherwise."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard the argument that the man she was with was too old for her. Nor did she expect it to be the last. Age didn't mean much to her. Especially not when they had wizarding genes that could allow them live up to two hundred years if they were careful. What did a decade or two here or there matter? Draco reached across the distance between them to gently cup her cheek with his palm.

"You can't deny that we _work_ together. What do you have with Dolohov?"

"A _son_."

Hermione stepped back from him, knocking his hand from her face in the process. She needed to get away from him. He was too confusing. Every moment she spent in his presence just made her more and more confused. When she spun around on her heel to head for the exit, Draco gently grasped her elbow, heeding her progress.

"I know you, Hermione. He's not going to make you happy."

"And you think you will?"

Not even bothering to wait for his answer, she shrugged out of his grip. She didn't stop moving until she was out of Diagon Alley and standing back in front of the cottage she hated. Before she entered, she took a series of deep breaths, willing her heart rate to return to normal. Why did she allow Draco to have such an effect on her? It was wrong. She was stronger than that.

When she stepped inside the cottage, Antonin was there to greet her with a smile and a kiss. As much as she hated to admit it, even just to herself, she couldn't stop thinking about Draco's statement that she would never find happiness inside her current marriage. Was that true? Did he truly believe that or was he just trying to mess with her head?


	260. September 16th

September 16th

"Your birthday is only a few days away."

Hermione pulled the covers down on the bed and groaned. Why did her husband have to bring up that reminder right before she tried to sleep? Did Antonin _want_ her to be depressed? It wasn't as if she ever looked forward to the day. She wasn't a child any longer after all.

"Yes, it is. Can't we just forget about it this year?"

Antonin leaned across the space between them in bed to kiss her. The amused smile on his face seemed to indicate that he wasn't going to drop the subject so easily.

"Absolutely not. We missed celebrating your birthday together last year. I have to make it extra special this year to make up for it."

She appreciated that he didn't feel the need to remind her _why_ she was gone. To be honest, she couldn't even remember where she'd been for her last birthday. Days on the run tended to bleed together. Besides, it was Antonin who always felt the need to celebrate the day she was born. Left up to her, she would've just preferred to pretend like it didn't exist.

"Can we please not, Antonin? I don't want you to go overboard like you normally do."

Feigning outrage, her husband rolled across the mattress until he was hovering over her form. Fighting back a laugh because she absolutely did _not_ want to encourage him, Hermione swatted lightly at his chest to make him get off her. He smiled, completely undeterred by her gentle physical assault.

"No, we have a lot to celebrate this year. We could, however, stagger the festivities over a few days instead of all at once, if you wish." His lips pressed against the sensitive skin of her neck; his body hid no secrets of his desire from her. "What do you want for your birthday, love?"

"A portkey for the three of us to Brazil."

It was the truth. Each passing day only made her desire for a new life in South America grow. She couldn't imagine anything she wanted more, except for maybe Rodolphus' head on a pike and his worthless brother's right next to his. Since her upsetting conversation with Draco the day before she'd tried, and failed, to remain positive about her hopes for the future with her family. How could one person create such a negative effect in her? He was infuriating.

"Is that _really_ what you want?"

Antonin ceased his delightful touches and kisses to prop himself up on his elbow. Staring down at his wife, it was evident that he was still skeptical. She didn't know what else she had to do to convince him that she meant what she said. While she certainly didn't expect a perfect, happily-ever-after, as if those even existed outside of sappy fairy tales, she knew a fresh start in another country was their best shot. She captured his lips in a kiss.

"Yes, Antonin. _That's_ what I want."

Emboldened by her assurance, her husband resumed his kisses. Hermione thought that if that was what she could hope to experience on her birthday, maybe she was too quick to suggest they ignore it that year. Lost in each other, neither of them heard the first knock on their front door. Only when their late-night visitor pounded harder did they break apart to stare at each other, unsure that they could trust their ears until they heard it a third time. There was only one person it could be and only an emergency would bring her there so late. Both of them scrambled out of the bed at once, fearful of what horrible news Hannah might have to share.

"Ollie was attacked."

Hermione felt her heart leap into her throat. Ripping the letter that she was holding out of Hannah's hand, Antonin scanned the parchment. Based on the dry eyes of the Secret Keeper, Hermione knew that the attack wasn't serious enough to hurt her son terribly, but it was enough to worry her. Antonin pushed the letter into her hands before running back to their bedroom.

To her surprise, the letter wasn't even from the Headmaster. It was Emmy's trembling hand that wrote the note. No doubt she was following her mother's request that she keep a close eye on Oliver. Antonin returned fully dressed with a simple set of robes that Hermione could easily pull over her nightgown. A summoning spell brought her shoes flying across the cottage.

"Thank you, Hannah. We're going to Hogwarts."

Though it couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, Hermione was certain that the trip to her former school would never end. Every step towards the castle seemed to bring them no closer to their goal. She was worried about Oliver, terrified that she'd failed him. Hogwarts was _supposed_ to be safe. If Antonin would agree, she would gladly take their son with them back to the cottage. She'd even be willing to teach him herself until they could get out of the country. Hopefully, Castelobruxo would be a safer school. She needed to find out more about the school from those who'd actually been there. Books would tell her nothing useful. After all, she'd read _Hogwarts, A History_ countless times and never _once_ did it mention the possibility of mountain trolls in the girls' lavatory or a three-headed dog.

Headmaster Temeritus Mulciber must've been informed by the castle wards that he had irate parents approaching. He waited for the Dolohovs to enter the Entrance Hall with a stoic expression, clearly resigned to what was sure to be an unpleasant encounter. A large part of his job was dealing with angry parents after all. One of the Death Eaters from Antonin's generation, not a lot upset Temeritus. Hermione found him to be a serious man, but dedicated to his position. With three children of his own who were still in the castle and one set to attend in the next few years, he took his job very seriously, more so even than previous Headmasters. Having his own children there upped the stakes for him, gave him even more of an incentive to make sure the thousand year old institution ran smoothly _and_ safely.

"Good evening, Antonin, Hermione."

"Why did you not send us an owl that our son was attacked?"

Antonin was furious enough that he didn't even bother with pleasantries. Truthfully, he looked as if he was only moments away from snapping the other wizard's neck in his bare hands. _Nothing_ upset him more than a threat against his child. Knowing his former comrade for decades helped Temeritus understand how best to handle the terrified father.

"Oliver is all right. Just a broken arm. Nothing to worry yourself about. Worse happens in Quidditch games."

"Where is he?"

Temeritus sighed. He knew that he wasn't going to get rid of them so easily. Gesturing to the main staircase with his hand, he led them up to the first floor where the Hospital Wing was located. None of Antonin's questions were answered until they were inside the familiar room standing just a few steps away from the bed where their son was asleep.

"Madam Pomfrey was able to set the arm without any issue. Oliver was given a potion to sleep through the night to prevent any further injury while it heals. I've been assured that he will be released in the morning."

" _What_ happened, Temeritus? You're not telling us everything."

Hermione placed a comforting hand on Antonin's arm hoping that it would help to calm him down. Though she might have been just as rattled and angry about what happened to their son, she was somehow managing to hold it in better than her husband. Sometimes he could be surprisingly emotional.

"A suit of armor wasn't properly secured and it fell on him."

"That's _not_ what happened!"

All three adults were startled by the sudden appearance of a furious Emmy Rowle from behind the curtains surrounding Oliver's bed. They'd been unable to see her from the angle they were standing. With tear tracks down her cheeks and her blonde hair showing signs that she'd been running her hands through it, it was evident that the third year was distraught.

"Miss Rowle, I ordered you to return to your common room over an hour ago. You have no business still being here."

Possessed of the same dogged determination that often caused problems for her stubborn father, the young witch wasn't afraid of her Headmaster. She turned her attention to the parents of the injured boy, friends that she'd known her entire life.

"It was _pushed_ on top of Ollie. It wasn't an accident at all."

"Is that true, Temeritus?"

"We're still unsure of the details. We will look into it further in the morning, see if we can find any potential suspects."

"You _know_ it was her!"

Emmy pointed further down the line of beds where another bed was partially shielded by screens. Not enough to hide the identity of the occupant however. Nor did it hide the fact that seventh year Julia Lestrange was still very much awake and listening in to their conversation with wide, frightened eyes. It didn't take a skilled interrogator like Hermione to know what Emmy spoke the truth. Whatever happened to their son, Rabastan's eldest daughter was behind it.

"Miss Rowle, that is a very serious accusation and not one that you should make lightly."

"Why else is she here, Headmaster? She crushed her own foot trying to hurt Ollie."

"Now that is quite enough, Miss Rowle."

Neither Emmy nor Antonin were bothered by Temeritus' blustering. Antonin placed his hands gently on the distressed girl's shoulders to stare into her eyes. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Knowing that she was telling the complete truth without needing to ask another question, he pulled her into his arms, comforting her as she sobbed into his middle with her arms wrapped around his back. The poor girl had had a horrible evening. Grateful to have someone believe her, she relaxed in the safe embrace of the man who was practically her uncle.

"Temeritus, we demand to see our daughter at once."

The sound of Rabastan's voice sent a chill up Hermione's spine. She was certain she would never get used to hearing it again. Turning just enough to glance over her shoulder, she watched as Rabastan and Gemma entered the Hospital Ward. While it shouldn't have been a surprise to encounter the concerned parents of the only other patient on the ward, Hermione wished they would go away.

"Emmy, darling, I think it's best that you go to your common room now. We'll make sure this all gets sorted out."

Only Antonin's soft-spoken request was enough to get the girl to leave. With one last look at Oliver laying asleep in his bed with his arm propped up on a pillow, Emmy left the room. Hermione watched her go, wishing selfishly that she would stay. The other adults were less likely to speak so freely with a child in the room.

"What a surprise to see you here, Antonin. Hello, Hermione."

Fearful that her husband was about to do something rash to the horrible man, Hermione took her hand in his. No one present in the room missed the movement. A smile even spread across Rabastan's wretched lips when he saw it. Antonin squeezed her hand, thankful that she was with him. Together, they had nothing to fear from Lestrange.

"Why wouldn't we be here, Rabastan? Considering your daughter pushed a suit of armor on top of our son? He could've been killed."

"Now, now, Antonin. We don't know that's the truth. Let's just ask Julia what really happened."

"I don't need to listen to a word that comes out of a Lestrange's mouth. It's all lies."

Rabastan's eyes narrowed at the insult, some of his mirth dissipating. Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to get the rise he wished out of Antonin, he turned to look Hermione in the eyes. She felt her chest constrict. Whatever happened next wasn't going to be pretty.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Hermione. Didn't think you cared much for your son."

"What a horrible thing to say. Of course I do."

"Really? Well, if you're so serious about your duty as a mother, why did you take such pains to rid yourself of the other children you were _blessed_ with?"

She felt the room begin to spin ever so slightly and she was certain she was about to be sick.


	261. September 17th

**_Important - Before anyone tries to accuse me of it,_ NO _I am not trying to push any sort of agenda with this chapter or any other chapter I've ever written or ever will write. For whatever reason, I've recently had readers upset with me for "pushing agendas" in my stories that they couldn't agree with. Yeah, no, I wasn't. I have no desire or interest in doing that. (And oddly, one reader claimed I was disgustingly Anti-Choice and another said I should be appalled at myself for being Pro-Choice... on the exact same story! :insert eye roll:) Agendas beyond simply writing a story that I think others might find interesting aren't present in any of my stories. Think I'm pushing some sort of political message in any of my stories? Step away from the cable news and Tumblr for a break. You might've been overexposed. Lol! Just read and enjoy. This is my hobby. It's fun! "Pushing agendas" is like the opposite of fun._**

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September 17th

She always knew deep down that she wouldn't be able to keep her secrets safe forever. That was the tricky, hateful nature of secrets. They very rarely stayed a secret long. Although Hermione knew that she had been careful over the years to make certain that her husband had no idea that the repeated miscarriages she had were on purpose, evidently she hadn't been careful enough. Too many people alive knew the truth. It was bound to come out to bite her in the arse one day.

Antonin wanted more children more than he wished to breathe at times. That had never been a secret. How many times had he mentioned over the years that he thought their family wasn't finished? That he hoped they could one day add a daughter to it? He would never have said 'no' to another son, of course, but he longed for a daughter. One that looked just like her mother. Even if he'd resigned himself to the harsh reality that that was never likely to happen, Hermione knew that he still felt the same way.

Hoping that Antonin would simply disregard anything that Rabastan said as being cruelty wrapped up in lies, she refused to respond to the question. What sort of game was the horrible man playing? She didn't believe it was just a coincidence that they were all there together nor did she believe it was just an accidental slip of his tongue.

"What is he talking about, Hermione?"

Where could she even begin? There was a reason she'd never been honest with her husband about why all of her pregnancies, with the exception of Oliver and the girl she was carrying when Rodolphus tripped her down the stairs, mysteriously failed. He'd been so patient, so _concerned_ after each miscarriage. Even in his own disappointment and grief he'd always managed to put her first. How could she tell him that _she_ was the reason his hopes and dreams for a larger family never came true?

"Who can ever really be sure what he means?"

It was a coward's move to not admit to her failings when she was confronted. Out of fear that Antonin would never forgive her and a legitimate concern that he might physically hurt her, or worse, Hermione didn't want to tell him the truth. He wouldn't understand why she never told him. When he repeated his question for a second time and then a third with anger in his tone, she knew she couldn't keep refusing to answer. When her husband wanted to know something, he was tenacious.

"Oh! That's just priceless. You mean, you didn't know, Antonin? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

Hermione had to rein in every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep from launching her entire body across the room at the wizard's throat. There was a strict "No Violence" policy that Temeritus was quick to remind them of when it became evident that violence could easily become an issue. Likely that was Rabastan's angle from the very beginning. How he would even know about her past pregnancies was beyond her. It wasn't as if she ever mentioned it to him or even to his brother.

"And here I was under the impression that you two were trying to make a successful go at it this time. Proper communication is the key to any healthy marriage."

"Shut up, Rabastan!"

"Hermione, _what_ is he talking about?"

She was afraid to look Antonin in the eye, afraid of what she would see looking back at her. Anger she could handle easily, but if it was something else she saw… She was tired of bringing pain and heartache to everyone she knew. Maybe they would've all been better off if she never returned to Hogsmeade. Being murdered by William Wood seemed like a better fate to endure. It wasn't as if she brought any actual value to anyone else's life.

"Alecto suspects that Hermione's terrible secret is why Andromeda Tonks was murdered. Is that true, Hermione?"

The mention of Antonin's long-term mistress increased the intensity of the churning inside Hermione stomach. Would any of her darkest secrets remain when the night was through? It hardly seemed likely.

"Antonin, mate, I'm very sorry to have to be the one to tell you. I thought for certain that Hermione would've told you herself about the nasty potions an old hag in Knockturn Alley gave her to rid herself of your children."

Antonin's grip on her hand tightened to a painful degree before he dropped it. At the corner of her eyes, Hermione could feel hot tears waiting to slide down her cheeks. He would never forgive her for what she did and certainly not after he had to hear the truth from Rabastan, of all people.

"Of course we can only speculate _why_ Hermione killed poor Andromeda, but I do know that Alecto _accidentally_ let it slip in front of the woman that our Hermione here was in the habit of buying the deadly potions on the very day she was murdered just outside the very shop."

Since learning about the memory she blocked with her own potions, Hermione often wondered how it was that Andromeda just happened to be in the hag's shop that day. It never made much sense to her. It wasn't exactly a popular retail location and she never would've imagined that Andromeda had any business of her own with the hag. Knowing that Alecto was somehow mixed up in it cleared up her confusion. It was Alecto, after all, who told Hermione about the shop to begin with and she was the one she vented her frustrations to when she found out she was pregnant again. No doubt the wretched bitch waited in the shop for proof to tell Antonin. Though she _claimed_ she would never get over her late husband, Hermione was no fool. Andromeda's feelings for Antonin grew over time. She would've done anything to get Hermione shoved out of the picture.

"Is this true, Hermione?"

"Antonin…"

"Tell me!"

If it was possible to slay a person with only a single look, Hermione would've been dead on her feet. Once she dared to look up into her husband's eyes, she found herself actually afraid of the man. She'd _never_ seen such a ferocity of rage directed at her by her husband. If he strangled her with his bare hands, she wouldn't be surprised.

When she didn't immediately answer, the wizard grabbed her arm in a tight grip and dragged her out into the corridor. What was going to happen next didn't need witnesses. At the very least, she thought she might actually be able to speak if she knew the Lestranges and Temeritus weren't listening in. It was bad enough that some of their dirty laundry was already aired in front of those who had no business knowing it. Did they also have to watch what was likely to be the worst fight of their entire marriage?

"I _demand_ to know if what the bastard in there just said is true."

"Antonin, this is hardly the time or the place for this discussion. They're probably all listening at the keyhole."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have waited until now to tell me the truth."

There would be no convincing her husband to drop the subject. Not until he managed to wring out every last droplet of information he could. Even if it was painful, he wouldn't stop until he knew it all. His tenacity once was a trait of his that she admired, even tried to emulate. Turned against her, however, she wanted nothing to do with it.

"Tell me, Hermione."

The press of the tip of his wand under her chin forced a gasp out of her mouth. Outside of training, she couldn't remember him ever threatening her with it once she was out of her broom cupboard and in his protection. Not even when she was being physically violent against him did he ever threaten her. She knew that there could be no way out where she _didn't_ tell him the truth. If she was honest with herself, and she so rarely was, she would've replied that she was tired of all of the secrets, tired of hiding the truth at every turn. It was time she was honest. Maybe she would die for what she did and kept from him, but death seemed preferable to more lies. As she took a deep breath in preparation for making her confession, she felt a peace inside of her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Yes, I killed Andromeda because she caught me buying a potion to get rid of a baby I was carrying. She threatened to tell you what she heard."

Antonin's hand fell to his side taking his wand with it. Unable to look at his wife for another moment, he turned away to stare at an empty frame on the wall. Too late Hermione realized she didn't check for nosy paintings. The details of their fight would be spread throughout the painted inhabitants of the castle in no time. She didn't have the energy within her to care any longer. The only opinion that mattered to her belonged to the man who could no longer look her in the eye.

His silence was worse than his fury. She would've given anything to know what he was thinking, what she should expect from him next. So many years of her life were spent in fear of this exact moment. She'd even killed to keep it from coming. Not that she ever needed much of a reason to end Andromeda. Approached on the wrong day, she would've done worse to her with less reason.

"I always suspected you killed Andromeda. I knew it was wrong, but part of me was happy to think that meant you cared more for me than I realized. But, no, it was just to cover up another one of your lies."

"Antonin…"

"How many?"

The chill in his voice was unlike any she'd heard before. Each time she opened her mouth to say _something_ , she failed. His patience was growing thin. There was a reason why she feared this moment. She should've told him a long time ago instead of just letting him believe they were all accidents. What sort of marriage could they ever hope to have if she was willing to lie to him about such a sensitive subject?

"How many, Hermione?"

"Five."

" _Fuck_."

Antonin ran his hands through his hair and turned away from his wife again. Even as she feared his reaction, she felt lighter, less burdened. That was, of course, until he finally _did_ meet her eyes and she saw the tears rolling out of his. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt like a worse person.

" _Why_?"

"I didn't want to have a family, Antonin. You knew that before we even got married. I know you hoped that I would eventually change my mind, but I didn't. I never wanted to be a mother."

"Leave."

The single word was spoken with such cold conviction that Hermione couldn't believe it at first. He wiped all evidence of emotion off of his face and spun around to return to the infirmary. Not wishing to leave their discussion on that note, she reached out to grab his arm and stop him. He ripped it out of her grasp, glaring at her, daring her to try it again.

"Leave the castle, Hermione. You're no longer needed nor _wanted_ here."

"But Ollie…"

"Is no longer your concern. You never wanted a family, Hermione? Fine. You no longer have one. I release you from your unwanted burdens."

A barrier charm prevented her from being able to follow her husband through the infirmary door. While Hermione knew that she could easily tear it down if she tried, she knew better than to approach Antonin when he was in that state. She would only make matters worse. All she could do was go back to their cottage and wait for him to cool down.


	262. September 18th

September 18th

It wasn't a surprise to Hermione that Antonin didn't come after he banished her from the castle. Their fight outside of the hospital ward was without a doubt the worst one they'd ever had. Maybe it wasn't as violent as some of the others had been in the past, but that didn't matter. Never did she expect to hurt the man she married as much as she did with the truth. So, she waited back in Aubin's cottage for the moment when she knew he would eventually return. He simply needed time to clear his head, to calm down. After thirteen years of marriage and over twenty years of a friendship, this was hardly the first time he needed a break from her presence.

Sometimes before an ill person could get better, they had to get much worse first. Fever helped to kill the virus. Their marriage had been sick for its entire history. Unhealthy people couldn't help but create unhealthy relationships. Maybe that's all they would ever be. Or it was going to be better after they made it through this one hurdle. It was always a possibility that even if he eventually forgave her for lying about the pregnancies she'd willfully terminated that they still wouldn't work. Was one-sided love enough to really make any marriage work?

Except, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it wasn't one-sided. Not entirely. Antonin loved her far more than she loved him. That was a fact that could never be disputed. But, she respected him and evidently, at some point when she wasn't paying close attention, that began to bloom into something more than she ever expected. She felt safer, _calmer_ when he was the same room. Knowing that she had a staunch ally on her side warmed her heart. For once, it wasn't even a selfish feeling. She was willing and ready to offer him her own protection if required. Maybe it wasn't what the great love songs were written about or would never fill the pages of a classic romance novel, but maybe, just maybe, it was something real.

Hermione stayed up all night waiting for the sound of the front door to open. It never did. Antonin often said things in the heat of a row that he didn't mean. So did she. No matter how much she considered his anger, she just couldn't believe that he was throwing away what they had, that he was kicking her out of her own family. It was cruel even for him. No, he would calm down, reconsider his words, and then come back. She knew it.

When an entire day had come and gone and she still hadn't heard from her husband, she started to feel a little less confident that he would return. Of course, she had to remind herself that he'd been missing for days at a time before after other fights. Like the argument they had at Augustus' house when he found the list she made for her plans to run. He'd been gone for two solid days. The fight at the castle had been much worse. One day was nothing in comparison. He just needed to hole up somewhere with a bottle of fire whiskey to get angry and think about his true feelings. Eventually, he would come wandering back. He always did.

Afraid that she would miss him if she strayed from the cottage, she sat on the sofa in the main room waiting for the door to open. Time passed very slowly, but she hardly noticed. She had her thoughts to occupy her. Each second that passed, the more worried she became and the less confident she was that he would return. Maybe this was the last straw for him. Even if he truly loved her, he was only human. Everyone had a breaking point, a deal-breaker. It was a possibility that she had to come to grips with that she'd finally found his.

When forty-eight hours passed since they received the knock at their door from Hannah with the news that their son had been attacked, Hermione couldn't sit still any longer. Despite the late hour, she knew that if she stayed in the cottage for another second, she would go completely round the bend. Thanks to the magically extended bags that he insisted that she make for every member of their small family, he had no reason to ever return to the cottage. Everything he needed to keep going was tucked away in his pocket.

Needing to feel like she was doing _something_ , Hermione took her first shower since just before they left for Hogwarts. Once she was clean and dressed in clothes that she hadn't slept in, she stepped outside into the cool night air. Focusing on her intended destination, she was soon standing in front of a house she'd been to countless times in the past. Ignoring the nagging reminder in the back of her head that it was entirely too late for a social visit, she knocked on the front door. Almost an entire minute passed before it was finally opened.

"Princess, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

Thorfinn looked as if he'd just been woken up from a sound sleep. Considering midnight was fast approaching, he likely was. Stepping aside to allow her entrance into his home, the blond was clearly worried. Sometimes the man could wear his heart on his sleeve. He could be volatile and dangerous, but she knew what a warm, caring person he actually was. Hermione was hardly inside the door when Hannah stepped out of the corridor that led to the family's bedrooms tying the belt of her dressing gown.

"Is Antonin here?"

She didn't even wait to make the customary greetings and pleasantries. The tension in her stomach was tightening, threatening to make her sick. If she didn't find him soon and discover just exactly what he meant, she was afraid for her sanity. How could he be so cruel to just kick her out of his life and their family like that? Did she not have any say?

"No, he's not here, Princess. What's going on?"

The Rowles' house was only her first stop. If she wanted to find Antonin, she had several other locations she could look next. When she started to walk back to the front door, Thorfinn moved his body in her path. Unable to budge him out of the way with her physical strength, she wasn't above using magic if he didn't let her leave.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

It was easy to hear the concern and anxiety in Hannah's voice. Looking up into Thorfinn's striking blue eyes, she could tell that he was worried about her too. Even when she was the worst person alive and treated everyone in her life like rubbish, they had always been there. She couldn't really even remember much about her life _without_ the two of them lingering back in the background somewhere. Why did she never appreciate that fact? When everyone else in the world seemed to have abandoned her, they hadn't. She could trust them. She knew that just as she knew that the sun would rise again in the morning.

"Antonin left me. I haven't seen him for two days."

Hannah gently led her by the arm to sit on the large sofa dominating most of the room. Once she was seated in the middle with both of them on either side, she felt some of the stress and fear lessen ever so slightly. At least in that moment she wasn't alone.

"I don't know where he's gone. Thought maybe he would come here or you might know where he is."

"No, I'm sorry, Princess. I haven't seen him in days. Hannah hasn't seen him since she went to your cottage."

"Are you sure that he's _left_ you? Maybe he's just meeting with people he might think can help him."

"Yeah, Hannah's right. He's been known to disappear for days before. What makes this any different?"

She appreciated their attempt to comfort her, but they weren't working. They didn't know the full truth, the reason _why_ Antonin told her that she was no longer welcome in their family. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew that she would have to tell them everything. With a surprisingly steady voice, she recounted the events of the night they went to Hogwarts to check on Oliver. Every single detail. Staring straight ahead at the oversized armchair that Thorfinn usually claimed as his seat, she could see them shift uncomfortably in their seats as the story progressed. She could only imagine the silent conversation the happily married couple had over her head.

"And then he told me that I didn't need to worry about Ollie anymore. Told me that I didn't have a family anymore and to leave the castle."

"Wow, Hermione, that's…"

"Yeah, Princess, I don't know…"

Both of them tried and failed to hide their horror at the story. Whether they were angry at her for what she did, for the lies she told, for how Antonin pushed her out of his life, or for something else entirely, she didn't know. Neither of them seemed to know what to say in response. It was awkward. Part of her wished she hadn't come, but she couldn't deny that she felt better sharing what happened with two people that loved and cared about her.

"I still say that you should just try to remain calm, Princess. Antonin's been known to run off. Maybe in a few days he'll come back and take back everything that he said."

"Would _you_ if Hannah told you the same story?"

Thorfinn clenched his jaw. She already knew the answer. No, he wouldn't forgive her. But, of course, Hufflepuff Hannah would never do something so callous and calculating as she did. Babies were a blessing in her eyes. They'd been disappointed that there hadn't been another one after Alice was born ten years earlier. If given the opportunity, they'd have twelve children and be excited about every single one of them. Part of Hermione wished that she could've felt the same way. Marriage to Antonin would've been easier. If he'd gotten what he wanted, maybe they'd have been happier.

She refused to back down in her belief that what she did was right. Maybe not the lying about it to Antonin part, but everything else. She _didn't_ want to be a mother. It hadn't been difficult at all for her to abandon Oliver after she almost killed his father. Sometimes she would think about him when she was on the run. Mostly it was to be glad and thankful that he wasn't there with her. She was poison. An innocent child like him shouldn't have to be exposed to a horrible mother like her. It was only as she'd gotten to really start to know her son without being under the influence of the potions that dulled her senses for so many years that she started to realize she liked him a lot. And when the memory charms were removed? She could finally see her son with clarity, see how much she'd missed out on by not being present for his childhood up until that point. But that didn't mean she was suddenly ready to have more children or that she regretted what she did to end her other pregnancies.

"Antonin has _never_ been this angry with me before. I don't think he's ever going to forgive me."

Even though she'd spent two full days by herself, Hermione didn't want to be around them a moment longer. Rising to her feet, she wiped at the damp cheeks she was embarrassed to have and started for the door. Hannah reached for her hand to keep her from moving very far.

"Why don't you stay with us tonight? Daisy's room is empty with her up at the castle."

"No, thank you, Hannah. I appreciate… _no_ , I need to leave."

Nothing else they said could keep her there.


	263. September 19th

September 19th

Hermione hated birthdays. She never understood why they were necessary. So by some miracle a person was able to slither out of the birth canal? Didn't mean that the rest of the world had to celebrate. She was terrible at remembering when they were happening, even her own. Most years she completely forgot her husband's. She knew it was in late February… the 24th, perhaps? Or was it the 28th? Didn't really matter. Every year it came and went without her making much of a fuss about it. The only reason she remembered her son's birthday was because of the active role she played in his birth. Otherwise? She would probably forget it too.

Her birthday was the worst. All recognizing it did was force her to recall all of the years that she'd been alive on the Earth. Most of them hadn't been good. She felt older each passing year, sometimes _too_ old for the number of years she'd actually seen. While some souls might see it as an excellent time to be thankful that they were still alive, she saw them merely as reminders that she was that much closer to death. Even witches and wizards didn't live forever.

Maybe she didn't much care for them because they were never big in her family. Sure, her mother would sometimes bake a cake to celebrate if she wasn't too busy with appointments in their dental practice that day. Once she was away at Hogwarts it was more often than not forgotten. So close to the beginning of school term, it was easy to forget. At first, she struggled with not feeling petulant about the date being ignored. Eventually, she tried not to think about it. There were more important matters to concern herself with than whether or not the people around her knew it was her birthday. So what if she'd managed to survive another year of living? It seemed like such an insignificant reason to celebrate.

Antonin was the one who always made a big deal out of the day. She would've preferred if he'd just forgotten too. Even on the first birthday she lived in his house he made it a special day that she wouldn't forget. It was important to him that she feel valued. At the time, she didn't understand it. Only later, when his feelings for her became clearer, did she know what his motivation was.

Only a little over four months had passed since she was ordered by the Dark Lord to move into the house of a complete stranger who'd tried to kill her _twice_. Every single part of her life was changed, turned upside down. She was still struggling to adjust. Antonin hadn't yet started the rigorous training schedule that would come later. Mostly, he just tried to strengthen her defenses and prepare her for what she could expect when she was finally ordered to be more heavily involved in the growing regime.

He'd baked her a cake. Though sunken a little in the middle as baking wasn't really his forte, it had been delicious and thoughtful. She remembered entering the kitchen at the smell of the cake baking and wondering why he was trying. It hadn't even occurred to her that it was her birthday. There had been no training that day. Not even a single lesson. He wanted nothing more than for her to relax and enjoy herself. One of the very first times he'd shaken off his formidable teacher persona to show her some kindness, she didn't know what to make of it. Finally, she decided that she liked this side of him. Before, she thought he was hard and cruel. Learning that there were more layers to the man helped her to begin to trust him. In the long run, the kindness helped. She stopped fighting him on every single issue and stopped fearing that he wanted to hurt her. It was amazing what a little kindness could do for a person who was drowning in sorrow and fear.

Every year after that he made certain that she felt special on her birthday. Or at least he tried. He couldn't exactly control the way the celebrations made her feel. While he could understand to some extent that marking the passage of another year made her feel like she was failing because she was never quite where she wanted to be when September the 19th rolled around again, he never failed to _try_ to make it the best day of the year. Certainly after they were married and she found herself in his bed he had lovely new tricks in his arsenal to make the day pleasurable.

After she left the Rowles' house the night before, she tried to sleep alone in the empty bed. Exhausted and worried almost out of her wits, she hadn't been able to doze more than a few minutes here and there since the night before her son was attacked. Waiting and hoping for her husband to come to their temporary home so they could talk took more out of her than she realized. But even then, she wasn't able to fall asleep. She kept looking over at the empty side of the bed where Antonin should've been and worrying about where he was. Eventually she gave up even trying. Dragging a blanket to the front room, she laid down on the sofa, hoping that she could fall asleep there.

It was hardly the worst birthday she ever had. That distinction went to her thirtieth birthday nine years earlier. Fully aware that her husband had some elaborate party waiting for her back at home, she did whatever was necessary to stay at the Ministry. It was rude to leave their guests waiting, but she was angry that despite telling Antonin over and over again that she didn't want a party, he'd planned one anyway. Either he wanted her to know that it was happening or he was the worst surprise party planner she'd ever known. Thankfully, a known traitor to the regime was captured by Snatchers mid-afternoon. Although it was customary to leave their new arrests in Level Eleven for a day or two to sweat, and therefore make them more compliant inside the interrogation room, she'd ordered him placed in a locked side room immediately.

She wasn't as conscientious during that interrogation as she generally was. Perhaps her mind was still focused hundreds of miles away in Hogsmeade where she knew a party was being set up for her benefit. How many times did she have to beg her husband to just ignore the day? She didn't want presents or parties. If he insisted on doing anything, running her a hot bath and burying his face in her thighs until she couldn't remember how old she was would've been perfectly acceptable, even enjoyable. Why the man had to go all out for a day she loathed never made much sense to her. Did he simply enjoy making her miserable? Some days she believed that to be the case.

Because she wasn't as focused as she should've been, her prisoner wasn't the only one who bled during that interrogation. Somehow he'd managed to slip out of his bonds long enough to slam a fist in her face. It was the third time she'd broken her nose in thirty years. Thankful that she knew a Healer who could fix it without leaving any reminder that it ever happened, she'd still been angry enough to retaliate with great force. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get all of the information out of him that she needed before he succumbed to his injuries. She should've been more careful. It wasn't like her to allow them to die too quickly. Usually she was more effective.

When she finally got home long after midnight, Antonin was sitting on the sofa in their lounge with a half-empty bottle of fire whiskey. Based on the glassy expression in his eyes, he'd been drinking for awhile. She never could figure out what time he sent the guests home. He wouldn't talk about it again. Not after they'd had a blazing row that woke their son up from a sound sleep. It was difficult to get the distraught three year old back to sleep. Antonin was much better at it than she was, so she let him do it. She could vaguely remember knocking back two vials of her potion before climbing into the bathtub.

The fight continued in the bathroom with ample silencing spells coating the room. She'd slapped her husband and for once, she thought he might actually hit her back. Instead, he ripped his pillow off their bed and slept downstairs on the sofa. Apparently enduring a sore back was preferable to another moment in his wife's presence. She didn't care. Hermione took advantage of his absence to take up more of the bed than was absolutely necessary. Antonin never tried to surprise her with a birthday party again. They were all scheduled well in advance and he forced her to attend each and every one of them.

Only something very serious would keep Antonin from celebrating her birthday. With the exception of the year she was on the run, he'd done something every single year to make certain she felt special. Clinging to the hope that he would be able to forgive her and return to the cottage, she waited. She sat in the cottage waiting for him to come back. He never did.

There could be no bigger sign that he was serious about kicking her out of his life than not showing up for her birthday. Hermione didn't know how to feel about it. She was still in shock after the incident in Hogwarts. Part of her assumed that they would be able to work through anything. His suspicious absence made her worry that she'd been wrong. Maybe there wasn't hope after all.

Brazil began to feel like a pipe dream, a future that she would never get to experience.


	264. September 20th

September 20th

She'd wallowed long enough. Waiting around for Antonin to return when she was certain that he wouldn't was ridiculous. It was an insane waste of time. Hermione was better than that. She knew that she couldn't just sit around and watch her life pass her by, upset that her plans didn't go as she wished. Adaptation was key. If she wanted to keep going in the uncertainty of their world, she had to figure out how she could change and how she could mold her plans.

Despite Antonin's callous statement that she no longer had to worry about Oliver, she could do nothing _but_ worry about her son. Julia Lestrange was ordered to attack her son by her horrible father. Nothing would convince Hermione otherwise. She didn't understand the reasoning behind the attack unless it was simply to ensure that they were all gathered in the same place so Rabastan could tell Antonin her secrets. With them in hiding, the only way anyone could be certain that they'd come out of it was if their son was in danger. She _hoped_ that it wasn't more serious than that. As much as she'd never cared for Rabastan's eldest daughter, she wanted to believe that the girl wasn't capable of murder.

Hermione made the decision that she was going to ignore Antonin's demands. She had every right as Oliver's mother to worry about him. Needing to see with her own two eyes that he was well and wishing to have a talk with the Headmaster while she was there, she made the journey back to Hogwarts. It was the middle of the day. She expected that most of the students were in classes and Temeritus Mulciber would have some time meet with her to discuss what was going to happen to Julia Lestrange next. She'd vote for expulsion and possibly arrest if given the option.

The Headmaster was standing in the middle of the empty Entrance Hall in almost the same place he was the night she and her husband rushed to the castle. Evidently, he was waiting for her, prepared to face down a potentially irate parent. Wards surrounding the grounds must've alerted him to an additional presence that didn't belong there and it was a long walk from the gates. He would have plenty of time to reach the Entrance Hall before his visitor did.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. I'd say that I'm surprised to see you, but I'm not."

"Temeritus. I've come to see with my own eyes that my son is still in one piece. Would it be possible to pull him out of class for a short visit?"

She didn't miss the shadow that fell over the man's face at her question. Too many years in her position taught her how to tell when a person was holding back information. There was more to the story than the Headmaster wanted to tell her. Her mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. Had there been another attack? Was that wretched Julia able to finish what she began? Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man, not caring about the fact that he outweighed her by several stone and was a full head taller. She would have her answers even if she had to resort to violence against the strict policy in the castle. Realizing that he would ultimately be no match for the determined woman, Temeritus sighed.

"Your son is still in the infirmary."

"But you said that you expected him to be released the next day. Did something else happen?"

"No, he's been there since the _accident_. His injuries were more extensive than I led you to believe. I simply didn't want to worry you, Hermione."

"Oh, that's a likely story."

Her many trips to the hospital ward during her years as a student meant that she could've found her way there in her sleep. Not even bothering to check to see if the Headmaster was following her, she climbed the stairs to the first floor. With her heart in her throat the entire journey, she didn't calm down until she saw her son sitting up reading one of his schoolbooks. Though he was still a little pale, he looked much better than he did the night of his attack.

"Mum!"

Dropping a kiss on the top of his head, Hermione held her son against her for several long seconds just to prove to herself that he was actually there. Only when he complained that she was squishing him and what if someone he knew walked in and saw her hugging him did she release her grip. She took a seat next to his bed in a chair, thankful that he seemed perfectly whole.

"Madam Pomfrey thinks I can go back to my dormitory tonight."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"It's very boring in here."

She chuckled. That was a lesson she learned the hard way herself in her younger years. In fact, in _her_ second year, she spent a large portion of it stuck in one of the awful beds completely petrified thanks to the basilisk. She was glad to know that Harry killed the beast. Imagining a monster like that still moving through the school her son was attending would've made it impossible for her to ever sleep again.

"Fred has been dropping by though. He likes to tell me stories."

Almost as if she was afraid that the newest Gryffindor ghost was going to sneak up on them while they sat there, Hermione scanned the room. Even after twenty years since he was killed she wasn't sure that she could bear to see him as a ghost. It was too sad. She relaxed again when she saw no signs that he'd arrived.

"How did you turn yourself into a cat, Mum?"

On second thought, she considered it wouldn't be such a bad thing to see the ghost if for no other reason than to tell him to stop telling her child stories she wasn't ready for him to know yet. She didn't even know how he knew that story. Fred wasn't a part of the polyjuice plan. _Moaning Myrtle_. No doubt the horrible sobbing ghost took great delight in telling that story to every ghost who would listen.

"I'm not telling you that, Ollie. You don't need to know. It might give you awful ideas and it looks like you're more than capable of getting into enough trouble all on your own. Will you please promise me that you will try to be more careful?"

She stayed in the infirmary for at least an hour. When her son's eyes began to droop thanks to the potions Poppy Pomfrey was still insisting that he take, she kissed the top of his head again and took her leave. Even though he was still in the hospital ward, she felt less worried about him. Madam Pomfrey took excellent care of her when she was a child. There was no reason to believe that she wouldn't do the same for her son.

Only steps outside of the hospital ward, Hermione came face to face with her son's attacker. Clearly whatever injuries that Julia Lestrange endured were not very serious as she was out and moving around. When the young witch saw the mother of her victim, she tried to side-step her, but Hermione was too fast. She wanted to look the horrible girl in the face to impose upon her the seriousness of her actions. She did _not_ want her as an enemy.

"Here to finish what you started?"

Julia was too young and arrogant to understand that she was in danger. Throwing her shoulders back, she was defiant. She wouldn't allow the older witch to intimidate her. It was a personality trait that would one day get her into a great deal of trouble.

"I never wanted to kill the brat."

"Then what did you want, Julia?"

Some of her false bravado began to crack, showing how young she actually was. No, this girl wouldn't last five minutes under an interrogation on Level Eleven. If Rabastan truly wanted his daughter to work as one of his operatives, she needed a great deal more training. She would buckle under the slightest pressure.

"My father just wanted him hurt badly enough that both of his parents would come to the castle."

Part of Hermione's theory about why her son was attacked began to make sense. Rabastan probably planned the whole incident of _accidentally_ mentioning her secret in front of Antonin. For what reason she was unsure. Maybe to get Antonin to kill her or something else entirely. Like she'd discovered many times in the past, the Lestranges played the long game. The reasons for their actions and plots rarely were immediately clear.

"Be better than your father, Julia. You don't want to end up like him."

She was only two steps away from the girl when she heard the unmistakable word 'whore' thrown in her direction. It wasn't the first time she'd been called that and she knew it wouldn't be the last. Not wishing to allow the girl to believe that she'd managed to win the upper hand, Hermione turned back around. Startled that she wasn't leaving, fear was splashed across Julia's face. Yes, she was one of the nasty people who was perfectly happy spewing rubbish behind someone's back, but terrified if they turned back around. She wouldn't last long in their world. Deciding that she wouldn't allow Hermione to intimidate her, Julia tried to make it seem like she wasn't afraid.

"You ruined my parents' marriage."

Hermione didn't mean to laugh, but it was too damn funny.

"I'm afraid I don't have that much power. Your parents are responsible for their own shitty marriage."

"They could've been happy if you stayed out of my father's bed."

"Yes, well, your mother could've stayed out of my husband's bed too."

Furious and unsure what to say in response, Julia stormed away in a heated temper. Hermione chuckled to herself, thankful that she didn't have to worry about raising an awful child like her. She almost felt sorry for Rabastan. _Almost_.

"That was unkind."

Spinning around on her heel, she found the Headmaster approaching her with a hint of a smirk on his lips. Clearly he wasn't as bothered by the display as his words would indicate.

"So was what she did to my son."

"My priorities are with my students, Hermione. I can't have you dropping by to upset them."

She could feel her own temper begin to rise. Was he seriously going to blame _her_ for what just happened? Julia Lestrange all but admitted she was trying to harm her son and _she_ was the one getting chastised. She still wanted to get her son out of that school. The standards had evidently gone way down since she was a student. Sensing she was upset, Temeritus lowered his voice and closed the short distance between them to speak in a whisper.

"You need to be careful with that one. She's nastier than her father and her mother combined, and you know that's saying something."

Temeritus winked at her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about Ollie. I am personally keeping my eye on him."

Hermione felt slightly better knowing that. Mulciber was a Death Eater certainly, but unlike many of them, he did possess a great deal of honor. It would go against his code if he gave her a promise that he didn't keep. The hand that was on her shoulder slid down her arm to rest on her elbow.

"Remember that night after the raid on the Resistance outpost in Leeds?"

Maybe he didn't have as much honor as she always assumed. Rolling her eyes, she knew what he was referring to. There had been a rather raucous celebration when they managed to destroy a safe house belonging to the Resistance and capture several of their enemies. Stuck between the time Augustus decided she would be better off without him in her life and when he finally got his head out of his arse, she'd been free to enjoy the temptations of the night. For a reason she couldn't remember, she'd managed to get paired off with the future Headmaster. It had been _pleasurable_ but not an experience she wished to ever repeat.

"How's your wife, Temeritus?"

"Fat."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Some men were hardly better than animals.

"I was sorry to hear about Antonin kicking you out."

"Gossiping with the paintings, have you?"

"The weather's about to turn cold. If you find you need a warm bed, mine's always available."

Removing her arm from his grip, she said her goodbyes and made her excuses to leave the castle. She'd rather freeze to death than take him up on his offer.


	265. September 21st

**_Author's Note : To the Guest who believes my story is subpar and a waste of nine months of their life, I've addressed your review on my Tumblr. You can find it at Canimallow DOT Tumblr DOT Com. Might I politely suggest you move on and find another story to read? Because you're clearly not enjoying it and life is too short to waste it reading boring stories and leaving reviews that make writers who write for free cry. I will not address another of your reviews again. You're not worth it. I sincerely hope that you are nicer to other writers._**

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September 21st

Was it possible to die of insomnia? Hermione couldn't remember. Probably. Or maybe it was simply one of many symptoms that could cause her body to shut down. It seemed like she once knew the answer or at least where to find it. Every passing day made concentrating on anything more difficult. It was maddening.

She hadn't been able to get a proper night's sleep since before Antonin left. Realizing what an effect that man had on her ability to feel secure and safe was infuriating. How could she have allowed herself to get to the point where she was so dependent upon one man? She hated herself. Connections were weaknesses. Hadn't she learned that already? She loathed Antonin for making it so she was dependent on him for anything. He was the one, after all, who taught her all of those years ago to rely on no one, to trust no one. She really should've listened.

Long past the point where she was sad about what happened at the castle, she was livid. How dare her husband declare that her family was no longer hers? He didn't have that right. Maybe he could kick her out of his bed, but he for damn sure couldn't kick her out of Oliver's life. He was her son every bit as much as he was his. While she could certainly agree that Antonin had been a consistently good parent for the entirety of their son's life, she was still his mother. She wasn't ready or willing to just walk away like her family meant nothing to her.

How could so much change so rapidly? She would hate Rabastan until her dying day. Or at least until the moment she was able to slice open his throat to watch the blood drain from his body. He deserved a painful death. Maybe she would be fortunate enough to grant him one. He'd taught her a lot over the years they worked together how to extend a person's pain. She looked forward to being able to use his techniques against him. Once she was able to keep a man alive for three days while she tortured him into giving up all of the intelligence he had on their enemies. That had been purely business. Rabastan was _personal_. She would do much worse. He tried to ruin her life and she wasn't about to let him get away with it.

She knew she needed to get some sleep, but she didn't know how that was going to happen. Nothing she tried seemed to work. Hot baths didn't help. Alcohol didn't work. Going for a long jog didn't make her the least bit sleepy. She'd even tried one of Antonin's damned strawberry flavored potions. Even that didn't work as it normally did. Each time she laid down with the intent of falling asleep all she could think of was the empty space in the bed next to her. Moving out to the sofa didn't solve her problem. Every noise, no matter how quiet, would jar her completely awake. How had she been able to survive alone for a year? She'd forgotten all of her tools for survival.

Antonin wasn't coming back. She was foolish to imagine that he would. As she laid awake hour after hour thinking over her situation until her brain hurt and yet still could not fall asleep, she came to the conclusion that his pride would keep him from returning to her to make amends. If she wanted to smooth it all over and go back to planning a future with her family in Brazil, she would have to find him.

Her searches for him kept coming up empty. She went to all of the places she knew he used to hide in the past. Even Teddy Lupin's shop. The young wizard simply shook his head with wide eyes when she asked if her husband was there. He probably thought she was completely insane, but that didn't matter. Truthfully, he was probably right. It wasn't as if she'd been operating under her full steam for quite a while. Every other location likewise turned up empty. It was frustrating, _maddening_. Where was he hiding?

In his haste to leave to go to the castle the night Oliver was attacked by that horrible girl, he'd left the bottom half of his favorite pajamas on their bedroom floor. Because of their magic bags, it was the only possession of his remaining in the cottage. And thanks to the attack on their home, the house they'd lived in together for twenty years was nothing more than a blackened hole in the ground. Flimsy pajamas that were long past their best days was all she had left of her husband's.

A ridiculous idea came to her. It was insane and would likely cause her more grief than it was worth, but desperate times and all that. She knew that a lack of sleep coupled with her anxiety wasn't truly conducive to making good decisions. Still, she had to try. Packing up everything that was hers into her beaded bag, she shoved Antonin's pajamas in there too. Once she'd splashed some water on her face and tried to make herself look presentable, she exited the cottage. There was one way she knew that she could find her husband.

Draco answered his front door after her first knock. A smug grin was on his face until he saw the state of his guest. Hermione was embarrassed. Did she look as haggard as she felt? She tried to smooth down some of her flyaway curls, but she knew it was no use.

"Come inside."

Her host must've been worried by the fact that she didn't threaten him with violence or even pull her wand out of her pocket. If he truly desired to harm her, he could've. Maybe a small part of her was hoping he would do just that. At least she wouldn't have to worry about the future. She was exhausted of fretting about what her life would come to. Ending her miserable existence didn't even sound that terrible. She'd already resigned herself to the fact that she likely wouldn't make it out of that present war alive. What was the use in delaying the inevitable? Her present exhaustion could very well be the sort that wasn't cured of sleep alone.

"Can I get you some tea? Or maybe something a little stronger?"

His effort to be a welcoming host almost made her laugh. If she hadn't been so bloody tired, she would've. Draco was acting as if it was every day that she dropped by his flat, like they were old friends. Interesting how they could both push aside the fact that they were enemies fighting on opposite sides when they wished.

"I need your help."

He led her over to the large sofa she had so many fond memories of. No doubt he was afraid she would collapse in a heap on the floor if she didn't sit. Almost at once after sitting down and leaning against the back of the sofa, she thought she might be able to finally get some rest. Being with another person helped to calm her down. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to reject Hannah's offer to allow her to sleep in their eldest daughter's room.

"Hermione, when was the last time you got some sleep?"

"I look that terrible, do I?"

His soft chuckle put her at ease. There was none of the cold cruelty she was used to hearing in the sound. He gently pushed some of her hair behind her ears. The simple touch made her want to close her eyes and revel in the feel. Hardly the appropriate way to act alone with her enemy. Exhaustion was wreaking havoc on her senses.

"No, you never look terrible. Just tired."

"Liar."

She smiled when he laughed again. What was wrong with her? Were they actually _flirting_? She couldn't allow it to go on. The last thing she needed to do was give Draco the wrong idea about why she was there. It was hard enough to think clearly around him under normal circumstances. When she was practically delusional because she hadn't slept in days? Even worse.

"I need your help."

"You mentioned that earlier. What could I possibly help you with? You've made it clear that we're not friends."

"Draco, I… I need you to track down my husband."

Based on the widening of his eyes, he never would've guessed her true purpose for coming by his flat. It was an insane favor to ask him she knew. After all, she and Draco had once been lovers, and not even that far in the past. Whether or not he was sincere in telling her that he thought he was falling in love with her or if it was just another game he was playing, she didn't know. Their world was entirely too complicated. It would have been an awkward request to make of any of her enemies, but because of their past, it was even worse. Hermione wouldn't have been the least surprised if he threw her out of his flat. Or stunned her and let his uncle know where she was.

"What do you mean you need me to track down your husband?"

"Exactly what I've said. Antonin's left me and I need to find out where he's gone."

"Why?"

"Because I'm worried and I can't sleep when I'm alone anymore. I need to find him to apologize, so he'll come home and we can leave the country with our son together."

Draco stood to his feet and clenched his fists. Pacing the priceless rug he once warned her not to vomit on, it was clear that he was upset. Hermione didn't know if it was genuine or part of his act. She'd never really known anything about the man. Everything he did was a complete mystery. Finally, just when she thought he might toss her out the front door, he sighed.

"You have a great deal of nerve, Hermione. After everything I told you…" His shoulders slumped with the weight of another sign. There was no anger in his grey eyes when he looked at her again. What the emotion was exactly, she wasn't sure. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. I didn't know where else to go. If I knew the spell you used, I could just find him myself, but you refused to teach me."

She knew she was sounding irrational. Even she could hear it in her voice. It was a stupid idea to come to Draco. Why would she ever think it would work? Lack of proper sleep was affecting her more than she realized. Completely humiliated, she stood up and headed for the exit. She didn't want him to see her like that for another moment. It was too embarrassing.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know."

He was able to cross the room to block the front door before she could get there. When he refused to budge, she seriously considered cursing him. Only the fact that she needed him to track down her husband kept her from harming the obnoxious wizard. He placed gentle hands on her upper arms and stared into her exhausted eyes.

"You haven't eaten in days, have you?"

She couldn't deny the truth when it was presented. Yes, she'd forgotten to eat. Probably wasn't helping her cognitive abilities any more than lack of sleep. Knowing the answer, he took her by the hand and carefully tugged her to the kitchen. Depositing her into a chair, he moved around the space brewing tea and finding her something edible. She could barely keep her eyes open. The heat in the room coupled with the homey sounds he made relaxed her.

"Eat a little. Drink some tea. It'll make you feel better."

It did help to fill her empty stomach even just a little. She nibbled at a piece of bread and gladly swallowed the contents of her teacup in just a few gulps. Only when she felt her eyes droop to the point that she couldn't keep them open did she remember she should've checked the tea and food for potions first.


	266. September 22nd

September 22nd

If Hermione wasn't so damned comfortable and well-rested, she might have been angry about the nasty trick that Draco pulled on her. A Dreamless Sleep potion? She should've been able to see that one coming a hundred kilometers away. But, when she woke up in his luxurious guest bed between what was either million thread count sheets or bloody fairy wings, she struggled to find the proper amount of rage for such a dubious act. She couldn't even get upset when she looked under the covers and discovered that the only bits of clothing he'd removed from her body were her shoes. By all accounts, he'd been a perfect gentleman while she was in his care.

She had no idea how much time passed with her dead to the world. Long enough at least that she was feeling less confused and fuzzyheaded. She wouldn't have lasted much longer in her previous state without either succumbing to her exhaustion or full-blown madness. It might have been sneaky and underhanded to slip her a potion against her will, but she was thankful. Without him taking it upon himself to do what he believed she needed done, she would've wandered away from his flat in worse shape than she arrived.

Part of her was afraid that when she finally climbed out of the decadent bed that she'd discover she'd been double-crossed. Maybe Rodolphus was waiting out in the lounge for her to sleep off the potion his nephew gave her. What his plan was for her was still something of a mystery. She didn't think that it was likely to be good no matter what it was. Antonin seemed to believe that Rodolphus was trying to mold her into some version of his late wife. It made the most sense out of the other ridiculous theories she had swirling around in her overactive imagination. Rodolphus might just be some sort of demented romantic who saw an opportunity to fix a mistake he made in his youth.

Or he was completely nuts and there was not a logical explanation for anything that he did. She couldn't really afford to try to get inside of his head. It was too messy of a place and truthfully, she wished for nothing more than to get through the rest of her life without crossing paths with the animagus again. After meeting him alone in her home in Hogsmeade, she feared that the next time they met, he wouldn't be so calm or so willing to let her leave. She had to be more careful. That included not allowing a known associate of his to drug her into unconsciousness.

Climbing out of the bed, even though she wanted to snuggle in deeper, she put her shoes Draco had left thoughtfully next to the bed on. A quick inventory of her pockets proved that he hadn't taken her wand or her beaded bag from her. Spying the open door to the bathroom connected to the guest room, Hermione remembered how wonderful the shower was inside. She wasn't sure what her favorite part about staying with Draco months earlier had been: his showers or what they did inside them. When was the last time she took the time to shower? If she had to think about it, it was too long.

She'd already been in his flat unconscious for several hours. If he was going to harm her or invite someone else over to do it, he would've already done it. At least that's what she told herself as she stripped off her clothes and turned the taps on. One shower was hardly going to be the end of her world, and if by some chance there was someone waiting for her outside the guest room door, she'd go to her fate clean and comfortable.

Her empty stomach was rumbling by the time she finished her long shower and dressed in fresh clothes. With her wand held tightly in one hand, she carefully pushed the door to the corridor open. No sounds of voices assaulted her ears. All she heard was the sound of breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. It was no wonder her stomach was begging to be filled. It all smelled so delicious. She remained cautious with each step she made. It would do her no good to be complacent. Only when she turned the corner and saw Draco alone did she relax. For the moment, it seemed he hadn't double-crossed her, but the morning was still young.

"Have a seat."

"Are you planning on slipping another potion into my food?"

He had the sense to be at least a little ashamed by his actions. When she saw the faintest pink bloom on his cheeks, she became less afraid that he had some nefarious scheme to explain what he did. It was enough, at least, to convince her that he didn't mean her any harm. If they were existing in some sort of bizarre truce, she was going to take advantage of it. She did as he bid, sitting in the chair that had somehow become _hers_ when she was hiding in his flat.

"Why did you do it, Draco?"

She waited to spring the question on him until they were midway through their silent meal. He set his fork down and wiped his mouth before speaking.

"I was worried about you. You weren't making any bit of sense at all and I thought…"

"You thought I was crazy just like the newspapers are saying."

" _Don't_ put words in my mouth. I never said you were crazy. I _never_ thought you were crazy."

"Not even that night in the forest when I called out for Harry?"

Bringing up such a painful and humiliating experience was never her intention. If she could rid herself completely of the memory of her _episode_ in front of Draco, she would without hesitation. She hated that he'd seen her so vulnerable, so broken. Somehow she knew it was all Rodolphus' fault. She could vaguely remember hearing a dog's bark in the background that night. Maybe he snuck in while they were asleep, pulled whatever horrible trick he used to make her confused, and then barked to wake Draco up so he could witness her shame. It was the only option that made sense.

"I don't even know what happened that night."

"It was your uncle."

"You keep saying that. What's your proof?"

She didn't trust Draco. Not one bit. If he could see an advantage in betraying her, he would. Even though she knew all of that, the entire story of Rodolphus' treachery came tumbling out of her mouth. Though she didn't tell him the name of the memory charms expert or that her brother-in-law helped bring him, she told him every other disgusting detail. He knew about Rodolphus blocking her memories to hide their sexual and possibly romantic relationship, tripping her down the stairs while she was pregnant, and how he cursed her to make her attack her husband because he wanted Antonin dead and her son to hate her. She told him every single horrifying fact that she knew. He needed to be aware _exactly_ what the man he was following was capable of. If he was horrified, he was skilled enough to keep his true thoughts off of his face.

"That sounds… _awful_."

"You don't believe me?"

"I never said that."

Telling him everything felt like the right decision to make when she was making it, but he had an effective way of making her question everything. It was something she was sure would get old quickly if they spent any significant amount of time with each other. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shook her head to dispel it. There was no valid reason to consider what any kind of future with Draco would look like. They were enemies. Just because he'd shown her some kindness didn't negate that fact.

"Rodolphus certainly has a mean streak about him. I've seen it myself. He hides it well."

"Then why are you working with him?"

The promise of restoring his family to its former glory was only an acceptable reason to a certain extent. If Draco had no further ambitions or desires, Hermione believed he was wrong to ally himself with an unpredictable man who had a history of manipulating the minds of those he wished to control. It had been her before. Who was to say the next victim wouldn't be Draco? Clearly, Rodolphus' power had gone unchecked for a long time. The more she considered it, the more she assumed there must have been someone in the Magic Registration office on his side. He couldn't have gone four years completely under the radar performing such complicated and delicate spells if he didn't have someone on the inside of the Ministry of Magic working to expunge his records. His plan for ultimate control over the wizarding world had indeed been years in the making, possibly even _decades_.

Draco seemed to consider his answer for far too long. She was growing impatient. It shouldn't have been a difficult question. Most people only worked with dangerous people like his uncle because of desperation or the thirst for power. Considering she never saw him as being in either category, he must have already thought out his reasons.

"Rodolphus actually has a good plan for the country after the regime. How it will be governed, how it was be structured. He wants to build a new society, one that should endure longer than just one single man's lifetime."

There was always danger in building up a government based around a single person. Dictatorships throughout history learned that lesson the hard way. Maybe eventually enough people would be subjugated to form some sort of peaceful society, but once the head of the government was dead and the succession of power in question, the chaos would tear them apart. If Draco was correct, Rodolphus wasn't looking to set himself up as the next Dark Lord. She was glad to hear that. The sort of power he would amass in that role would be dangerous for everyone. Antonin was seen as a threat to this ideal society because it was well-known that he expected to become the next Dark Lord. Or at least it was assumed. Trusting her instincts, Hermione offered up a little intelligence in the name of peaceful cooperation.

"What if I told you that Antonin has no desire to be the Dark Lord? Would that change your uncle's campaign against him?"

He was surprised. Even he wasn't able to hide that from his face. Considering her words, he didn't immediately respond. Finally, just when she was growing even more impatient and weary of the conversation, he shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not sure. Maybe. What does he want to do instead?"

"Smuggle his family out of the country and never come back."

His grey eyes narrowed.

"Is that what _you_ want too?"

"Honestly? Yes. I can't bear it here."

"Then why are you still here? Why didn't you and your family run?"

"Do you honestly think Rodolphus is going to just leave me alone? We have to make sure he's not a problem first."

Hermione was taking a gamble being so honest. Especially with a man that had already proven that he would report back what she said to his superior officer like a good little soldier. She knew that Draco would pass along the contents of their conversation, inform Rodolphus that Antonin didn't want to stand in his way to power. Maybe she would come to regret being so open, but she couldn't afford to consider that yet. War wasn't just fought on the battlefield. It was also fought in private conversations between those on opposing sides.

Once her plate was empty, she bit back a yawn. Her body was still exhausted. She hadn't had enough sleep yet. Draco didn't miss it. He never missed anything where she was concerned.

"Stay a little longer, Hermione. Go back to sleep. You'll be safe here. I give you my word that no one will bother you or even know that you're here."

She hoped again a short time later as she slipped between the sheets in the guest room that he was being honest about her safety. It _was_ nice to not be alone.


	267. September 23rd

**_Author's Note : Thank you for all of the wonderful encouragement the last few days! It means the absolute world to me to know that there are such lovely people actually enjoying my story. Sometimes it can feel like negative comments carry more weight than positive, but that's simply not true. So many of you offered me such a lovely reminder. And the encouragement that I haven't been wasting _everyone's _time has helped me to keep writing this story when I'm embarrassed to admit that I considered simply deleting it instead. Thank you again!_**

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September 23rd

It would be all too easy for Hermione to get used to sleeping in Draco's guest bed. She could see the future stretched out in front of her once she decided to quit hiding in her enemy's flat and she didn't like it. Just like the proverbial ostrich, she wished to keep her head buried in the sand just a little bit longer. Only pain and heartache and war awaited her.

Nothing had happened between the host and his surprising guest since she arrived. Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved or offended. When she'd been there before to bargain with him about the list he claimed he could get possession of, he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself. Had his feelings changed? Or was he simply trying to be a gentleman around a woman he believed to be in a difficult place in life?

If she'd known how rapidly her life would change with the revelation of one secret…

Experience taught her that there was no such thing as a coincidence. Not really. That was simply what people told themselves to feel better about their miserable existences. Life with Antonin was the best that it had ever been right up until that dreadful night a suit of armor was pushed on top of their son. Julia Lestrange admitted that she did it under her father's explicit orders because he wanted _both_ of Oliver's parents to be there… so he could drop the bomb about her lost pregnancies and ruin everything that they'd been working on together. He wanted to destroy their marriage.

 _"_ _A house divided against itself will not stand."_

She didn't remember much about her bible lessons as a child, but she did remember that verse because her mother frequently recited it when rows between family members grew too heated. As a united couple, Antonin and Hermione Dolohov would be difficult to defeat. Shattering the relative peace of their improving marriage? It would be much easier to pick them off one by one. Clever plan.

They were set up. Someone told Rodolphus that their marriage was improving, that she was trying to make it work with her husband. Hermione could only shake her head and chuckle. She was such a fool. Such a trusting fool. Forcing herself out of the bed, she changed her clothes and readied herself to leave the flat for the final time.

Only one person with access to Rodolphus knew that she and Antonin were trying to make their marriage work. She'd all but admitted it to him during two separate meetings: once inside Andromeda's shop and the other inside his very own flat. Draco betrayed her again. Not that she was surprised any longer. He'd already proven she didn't have his loyalty. No doubt he ran straight to his uncle with the juicy gossip the first chance he could. Why else would a meeting be forced mere days later where the one secret that could destroy her marriage without question could _accidentally_ be revealed?

"You told Rodolphus that my husband and I were getting closer, that we were trying to actually make a go of it."

Draco's fork was halfway to his mouth when she confronted him in the kitchen. Enjoying a late breakfast, he probably wasn't expecting to get called out on his duplicity by his houseguest. He wasn't able to deny her accusation. Try as hard as he might, he couldn't hide the guilt on his face from her. Too much time alone tracking dulled his deceptive talents. Or maybe she was just that good at uncovering them. It had been her career after all.

"Don't try to deny it because I know it's true."

"Hermione, I'm sor…"

She held up a hand to stop him from speaking another word.

"I don't need or want your apology, Draco. But, you _will_ track down my husband for me. I still need to find him and you owe me one."

He stood up from the table.

"All right, but I need to deliver a message to someone else first. I was going to do that when I finished eating."

"About me?"

"No, of course not. I haven't told anyone you were here and I'm not going to."

They'd agreed to a simple truce the day before. While they were in his flat, the rest of the world didn't exist. She would be safe there. He tried to explain that he wasn't her enemy and never had been, but she refused to believe him. They each had to think about their own safety. If that put them on opposite sides, they were enemies.

"I have to give a message to Ginny Weasley."

"Is she on your side?"

"It's complicated."

"Of course it is."

Fearing that he would try to double-cross her, she insisted on going with him. She promised to stay far enough away that she couldn't actually hear the message and Ginny didn't know she was there, but she was going. Part of her feared that if she let him out of her sight for even a moment, he would betray her again. She needed to warn Antonin, to see with her own eyes that he was still all right. Maybe they wouldn't be able to recover what was lost. That didn't mean she didn't still care about him.

Once they were outside of his building tucked away in a corner where no Muggle could see them, Hermione gripped his arm tightly. Following the uncomfortable squeeze of Side-Along Apparition, they stood in the middle of a clump of large, old trees. A small house could be seen less than a fifty meters away. Hermione didn't have the first clue where they were.

"Stay here. I'll just be a few minutes and then we'll find Dolohov."

Part of her was disappointed that he wouldn't let her get close enough to hear the message he would be passing along to one of the Resistance's supposed leaders. Maybe it was something that could help her. But, she knew that it was best she stay out of sight. Her _acquaintance_ with Draco was complicated enough and she didn't want Ginny to get the wrong idea. She was already suspicious enough about the two of them as it was.

Draco slipped out of the protection of the trees and carefully approached the small house. Hermione could tell by his movements that he was familiar with the location. How many times did he have cause to deliver a message there? And, had he been there for reasons that had nothing to do with whatever bizarre partnership existed between them? She hated the flare of jealousy at the thought of Ginny touching Draco. When the notion crossed her mind, she tried to dispel it. There was no reason for jealousy. It wasn't like she had any claim on the wizard or any desire to change that fact.

The front door opened after Draco's second soft knock. Ginny emerged clad in a tied dressing gown with mussed hair. Instead of inviting him in, she stepped outside and closed the door quietly behind her. Hours must be kept late in her house. It was long past mid-morning. Hermione didn't care what sort of activities the Resistance was currently engaged in. If she had it her way, she wouldn't have any further interactions with them for the rest of her life. She doubted that any of them would mind that too much.

His mission was over almost as soon as it began. After a gentle squeeze to his forearm, Ginny stepped back inside and Draco began the walk back to where Hermione was waiting. She hoped that she wasn't being fooled, but she supposed that if he really wanted to hurt her again, he would've taken her straight to Rodolphus. At least it _seemed_ that he was willing to help her to assuage some of his guilt.

"Do you have something of Dolohov's?"

Hermione reached into her beaded bag to pull out her husband's pajamas. She hoped it would work as she had no other options. Draco took the garment in his hand and pointed his wand at it. A flash of light from the tip shot out to gradually engulf the item. When it was fully covered in a misty blue light, he grabbed Hermione's hand.

"Now, if this worked like it _should_ have, when I Disapparate us away, we will end up in the approximate area Dolohov is in."

"Does it always work?"

"Sometimes it works better than others. Depends on the personal item and how long it's been since the item was last touched by the owner. If he's worn these a lot in the past and it was just a few days ago, it should work perfectly."

She prepared herself for the uncomfortable squeeze. It was over in less than a heartbeat. Standing only a few steps away from their previous location, they were both confused. Draco sighed.

"Have you washed these or worn them since he last wore them?"

"No. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Let's try again. Sometimes it doesn't work the first time. It's not an _exact_ magic every time."

He repeated the same action as before. Once the pajamas glowed blue, he grabbed her hand and Disapparated them again. For a second time, their feet landed back in the same general area. Frustrated, he didn't know what was wrong.

A nagging thought in the back of Hermione's mind took up root. Maybe she was paranoid and completely barmy, but she had to know. She stepped away from Draco towards the house. When he hissed at her to come back, she ignored him and kept walking. There couldn't have been more than a couple of rooms in the house. It was likely used once as a hunting lodge. She was careful to stay out of the line of sight of any of the windows and to watch her steps. One of the windows was open. She _had_ to know.

On her first try, she found the room in the house that had a bed. Just as she thought earlier when she didn't invite Draco inside, Ginny wasn't alone. Hermione just assumed that the other person inside the house was Ginny's four year old daughter she'd told her about months earlier. _Never_ would she have guessed that her husband was the one inside.

Antonin sat on the bed with his back leaned up against the headboard watching Ginny untie the flimsy belt at her waist. Completely naked himself, he smiled so brightly that his dimples were on prominent display. She couldn't hear what they were saying. Her heart was beating too loudly in her ears. Once the dressing gown fell to the floor in a pool at her feet, her husband's latest mistress crawled onto the bed to straddle Antonin's hips. Perhaps Draco's visit interrupted them in the middle of their pleasurable morning alone. Fearing she might vomit, but unable to look away, Hermione could _see_ him thrust inside Ginny's body like he'd already been there a hundred times before. With one hand on her pale arse and the other fisted in her long red locks, he forced the witch's lips to his. The sound of a deep guttural moan she'd heard countless times over thirteen years snapped Hermione out of the trance that she was in watching her husband's adulterous activity.

She ran back to the trees where Draco was waiting, afraid that she was about to burst. If she didn't get away from the area, she was in serious danger of blasting the damned door down and slicing both of their throats open with a single effective charm. Draco still held Antonin's pajamas, confused and unaware of what she'd just witnessed.

"We can try it again. Maybe this time it'll work."

"No need. It worked."

With no further explanation or a thanks to the wizard that tracked down her husband for her, Hermione spun in place. She needed to get as far away from there as she could before she exploded in her rage.


	268. September 24th

**Author's _Note: I adore when you all yell at me in your reviews! Lol! Just a friendly reminder that there are 98 regular chapters and one epilogue left. Who knows what will happen? ;)_**

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September 24th

Hermione had never been so humiliated in her entire life. At least she didn't think she had. Weeks earlier when she and her damned husband had the entirely too honest conversation in bed about their respective extramarital affairs, she'd scoffed when he made it seem like it was so much worse to witness his wife's infidelity than to just know about it. She'd thought he was being an oversensitive fool. How wrong she was.

Actually _watching_ her husband with Ginny Weasley, of all the fucking women in the world it could have been, was indeed infinitely worse than just knowing about it or suspecting it was happening. Part of her wished that she'd stayed behind to confront them both, but she knew that was the wrong decision. Blood would have been spilled and some of it might have even been hers. Not to mention she would have to come up with a suitable explanation as to why she was there at all. She wasn't ready to admit to her unusual partnership with Draco Malfoy just yet. Maybe she never would.

She'd only just been able to make it back to Aubin's suffocating cottage before her rage exploded out of her in a fiery torrent. Accidental magical outbursts weren't common in adults who had been properly trained unless in cases of emotional turmoil. Witnessing her husband actually _fuck_ a woman that was supposedly their enemy for twenty years certainly qualified. Sparks caused her hair to stand on end. She could feel the presence of the magic building up inside of her. Focusing on a tall tree that had never done the least bit of harm in its entire existence, she directed her rage at it, demolishing it to splinters with hardly any effort. Still not feeling satisfied, she repeated it on another tree and then another and then another. Half the trees within a hundred meters were gone in no time. Only then was her body exhausted enough that when she laid down on the sofa in the damned cottage, she fell immediately asleep in a deep magical sleep that affected the magically drained.

It was dark inside the cottage and out when she woke up again. She didn't know how long she'd been out, but considering the last time she'd been so drained she slept for over a day, she assumed it was at least that long. While the rage she experienced at discovering her husband's affair was reduced to an echo of its previous intensity, the humiliation was still there stronger than ever. Never before, not even when she knew Antonin was rushing off to London to be with the wretched bitch Andromeda did she ever feel so mortified. What was different? Was it because she no longer had the numbness of the potions to protect her from the harshness of reality? Or was it because she'd finally grown to care for, possibly even _love_ , the man she'd married so many years earlier?

The future that she'd allowed herself to foolishly dream over the previous several weeks hung in tatters. Brazil was just a fantasy that would never come true. No matter how much she wished for it, her family wouldn't be together again. If she'd known how precious the time she shared with her son and even her husband would become, she never would've taken it for granted. What a fool she'd been.

She felt no reason to rush getting up from the sofa when she finally woke up. There was nowhere for her to go, nothing for her to do. Lying there considering all of her failures was a depressing way to spend her life. Deciding that she refused to be one of those women who wallowed around in misery because her husband evidently didn't want her anymore, she dragged herself to her feet. Maybe she would feel better after a long, hot shower.

Thoughts and questions about her husband's activities plagued Hermione as she stood under the hot stream of water cascading down her body. How long had he been having an affair with Ginny? Even in just the few moments she could bear to witness, it seemed like they were comfortable with each other. It hardly seemed like a bumbling first attempt for either of them. They were experienced together. Was she just the one that he claimed he used for information? Or was there more to it than that?

All of those days that he disappeared and refused to tell her where he'd gone seemed much more suspicious. Was that just the excuse he used to sneak away and meet with the woman he'd openly admitted to admiring for years? He used to confide in his wife that he found her old friend a formidable and respectable opponent. Always claimed that he would feel guilty and a little sad when he finally had to defeat her. With so much spirit, she would be a great loss. Hermione just assumed he had a harmless crush on someone he shouldn't have. Never did she expect he would somehow end up in Ginny's bed.

Antonin told her the night she surprised him in the shower that he hadn't been with another woman since before she returned to Hogsmeade in May. She wasn't surprised to hear that he'd been with someone while she was on the run. Was it Ginny? Was she meeting her husband for clandestine meetings while Hermione lived with the Resistance? Or when she knew that Hermione was sharing a bed with Draco in his flat? Had Ginny been laughing behind Hermione's back or cursing her for abandoning her husband? She seemed devious enough that she would continue to fuck a man who was worried about where his wife was even if she already knew. Especially if it was Hermione's husband. Ginny had a mean streak in her that wasn't always on display.

Clearly, Antonin had connections his wife knew nothing about. In a hundred years she would've never guessed that he was that mixed up with the Resistance or any of its leaders. How deeply did he go? Selfishly, Hermione hoped that he would be successful in finding allies that were known to be as tenacious and fearless as the Resistance. They would help their plan to end Rodolphus and his treachery. Only when Rodolphus was no longer a problem could Hermione relax and move on with her life. She _thought_ that would be with Antonin and their son, but now, everything was uncertain.

Maybe he would be happier with Ginny. While the redhead certainly came with all sorts of her own complications, they didn't have the sordid, painful history that Hermione shared with him. And Ginny could probably give him more children. Hermione couldn't. After her confession in the castle, he would probably never want to speak to his wife again anyway. Not that she could blame him. There were only so many lies a person could take before their endurance ran out.

As she climbed out of the shower and began to towel off, Hermione thought back to the bizarre encounter she and Oliver had with her a month earlier in London. She couldn't understand at the time why Ginny seemed so fascinated by her son or how she seemed to know how closely he resembled his father. Her remark about his dimples struck her as odd. Thanks to the whiskers Antonin shaved only rarely when he felt like it, his dimples weren't usually easy to see unless he smiled. He wasn't in the habit of smiling much in public, so she would've had to see him in far more intimate settings.

At least Antonin's reaction when she told him that they'd seen Ginny that day finally made some sense. His entire body tensed when they were lying next to each other. Was he fearful that his mistress revealed their affair to his wife? It was enough to make anyone nervous. If it was just sex used to get information he needed, there would be no reason for him to be so nervous. There was more to his relationship with Ginny than she truly wanted to contemplate. Did he confide in Ginny the same way he used to confide in Andromeda? Did he _love_ her?

She was going to work herself up into another explosive state if she didn't figure out some way to calm down. Allowing anyone to have such power over her was dangerous and foolish. Emotions truly did make one weak. Once she was dressed, she stepped outside to enjoy the cool night air. Hermione hoped that a long walk would help her clear her mind. If she wasn't careful, she was in danger of going completely mad. Wouldn't Ginny just love that if she found out?

The cottage was situated in a lovely, secluded area. She hadn't really taken the time to explore the area in the weeks she lived there. No neighbors were anywhere near. How much land came with Antonin's little brother's cottage was unknown. Enough that she didn't worry about wandering away on her own. A glance at the full moon encouraged her to be careful. All she needed was a full-grown werewolf to jump out and attack her to make her week just _perfect_.

A snap of a twig somewhere behind her caused her to jump in fright. Was it possible that she conjured her own danger just by thinking about it? Spinning around on her heel with her wand outstretched, she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary from the direction she heard the noise. It was entirely possible that her paranoia created the noise. She'd been perfectly safe in the location alone. There was no reason to believe that anything changed.

She waited several minutes until her heart stopped racing before she moved. There had been no other noises, no other signs that she was in danger. But, she couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that she was being watched. There were countless dark corners to hide in. She trusted her instincts and they told her that she wasn't safe. Returning to the Secret-Kept cottage would have been the most logical choice. Unfortunately, whomever or _whatever_ was watching her lay in the path back to the cottage. She would have to approach them, a realization that filled her with no small amount of fear.

Hermione was exhausted of being afraid. Every moment she was awake and her mind wasn't occupied, she was thinking over everything that could go wrong, how she wouldn't be able to protect her family, or even keep a grip on her sanity that often seemed so unstable. It had been many years since she last lived in constant fear. She wasn't conditioned for it any longer. Maybe she never would be again. Her life would stretch out in front of her one terrifying moment after another until she finally died, likely in a horrific, painful manner.

She longed for an escape, even if it was just a temporary one. Even an illusion would work for a little while. Just _something_ to make her forget she was alone and in constant danger. Something that would make her numb to fear and uncertainty.

But, first, she had to get away from the danger lurking in the shadows. With a destination in mind, she Disapparated away from the cottage and unsafe land surrounding it. Her feet moved quickly from grass to ancient cobblestones. She glanced up at a sign hanging from a building declaring that she was about to enter Knockturn Alley. All she needed was to push down her fear for a little longer. Just a little bit longer and she would be free from the worry and stress that had been her constant companion for over a year.

She took her first step into the notorious Alley. She could almost taste the promised numbness. It wouldn't take much to help her forget.


	269. September 25th

September 25th

As much as she desired to end her misery by swallowing several vials of the illegal potion she swore she would never touch again, Hermione just couldn't do it. Even as she stood on the pavement outside of a Knockturn Alley shop she knew for certain would have exactly what she needed, without the added rage and lust potions of course, she simply could not allow herself to pull open the door to go inside. Did her promise mean nothing? If she allowed herself to give in to her temptation, she would become just another failure. She never wanted her son to look at her again with shame and fear in his eyes. Maybe Oliver would never know if she broke her promise, but she would.

In the end, after staring at the shop for more minutes than she wanted to admit, she turned away. Just because Antonin wasn't keeping his promises didn't mean she couldn't keep hers. Alcohol might have been a poor substitute for the oblivion she truly wanted, but it would have to do. She found herself a small table in the back of the White Wyvern to get pissed.

She knew from the moment she entered Knockturn Alley that she was being reckless with her own safety. Out in public alone she was exposed, vulnerable to anyone who wished her harm. No longer did she even possess her reputation as a vicious enemy to have for protection. Thanks to the Daily Prophet, she was nothing more than a pathetic lunatic in the eyes of the public. Maybe that was enough to encourage everyone to leave her alone. Dangerous to be out alone or not, she didn't care.

By her fourth glass of the damned fire whiskey she only tolerated, she really didn't care. Well after midnight by that point, most of the patrons were beginning to make their way home. She almost envied them for the rows that some of them were going to have when they got there. She didn't even have a home to go back to. Not anymore. Thanks to Rodolphus she once again had _nothing_. Just the temporary use of a cottage belonging to a man she loathed. And she wasn't even sure she was safe there any longer.

Her glass was empty. While she knew the smarter choice to make would be to pay her tab and go back to the miserable hovel alone, she wasn't numb enough yet. Alcohol wasn't as effective as her potions. She needed to drink a great deal of it to get even a little bit close to the same effect. Before she could make up her mind what to do next, a full bottle of fire whiskey was placed on the table in front of her by an unseen figure behind her chair.

"You're drinking a lot for a Monday night."

There was amusement in Rodolphus' voice. Hermione felt the room begin to spin, but she _refused_ to show any fear. It was what he craved. She'd been such a fool to enter the tavern to begin with. To linger for as long as she did? It was almost as if she was just _begging_ to be caught. Determined to not let the evil wizard get to her, she opened her mouth to speak in a surprisingly steady voice.

"It's after midnight. Officially Tuesday now."

There was once a time when she actually enjoyed the sound of his laughter. Had she ever been so deluded? Sadly, she knew she had. Without waiting for an invitation that she would never give him, Rodolphus settled himself in the chair across the table from hers. When he offered wordlessly to fill up her empty glass, she placed her hand over it.

"And risk being poisoned? How daft do you think me?"

He wasn't offended by her suspicion. Far from it. Twisting the top off the sealed bottle, he chuckled as he filled an empty glass he'd brought with him. When he knocked back the contents of the glass in one swallow, she was less afraid that he'd done anything to the liquor inside. As she'd already taken a huge risk simply by going to London in the first place, she didn't think accepting a drink from the monster would be wrong. Besides, it would either kill her or help her in her quest to be numb. Neither option was all that unattractive.

"Did one of your spies tell you that I was here?"

Rodolphus didn't immediately answer. Instead, he took his time refilling both of their glasses.

"You, my dear, have always attracted attention wherever you go."

"That wasn't an answer."

"It's as close to one as I'm giving."

He smiled at her over the top of his glass before taking another sip. There was no reason for him to confirm her suspicions. Of course someone on his side was keeping him informed of her whereabouts. She'd been in the tavern alone for over an hour, closer to two. It should have annoyed her that he was keeping such a close watch on her. Maybe if she wasn't well on her way to being intoxicated it would have.

"What are you doing here, Rodolphus?"

"Can't a man just stop into a friendly neighborhood tavern for a drink with an old friend without there needing to be a reason?"

"You're exhausting."

She didn't know what he wanted from her, but it had to have been something important. Why else would anyone go to the lengths he had to manipulate her mind? While she would've given just about anything to learn what his endgame was, Antonin was right. It was very possible that they would _never_ know why he did anything that he did and they would just be driving themselves mad in the process.

"I've been worried about you, Hermione. Such _nasty_ things have been said about you in the newspaper."

Rolling her eyes, she took a deep gulp from her glass. If he thought for a single moment that she was ever going to buy into the idea that he wasn't responsible for what was happening at the newspaper office, he would be sorely disappointed. Undisturbed by her rude behavior, Rodolphus drank from his own glass. A drop of fire whiskey clung to his bottom lip. He used his tongue to lick it away, drawing attention to his mouth whether he realized it or not. The movement made Hermione laugh. At least one of the secrets that had been bothering her for the past several months suddenly made sense.

"I know how you would make me confused, why I would get scared and think that I was in the past."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"A potion on your lips. _Every_ time I had an _episode_ , you'd kissed me. Edinburgh, the dinner party at my house, my son's birthday party. And you got Alecto to do it on the day of the Dark Lord's funeral. She kissed my cheek."

Rodolphus stared at her with concern and worry on his brow. None of the confidence and amusement from earlier in his visit. If she didn't know what he was capable of, she would have believed that he truly didn't understand what she meant.

"Hermione, are you saying that you believe I was drugging you every single time I kissed you?"

He almost looked hurt. She didn't know what was happening. Wasn't he supposed to be proud of his handiwork? A potion on the lips was the only theory that made any sense. She didn't drink anything he could've slipped a potion in when they were together in Edinburgh. Neither did Alecto at the funeral. They must have taken the antidote to whatever potion they wanted to use on her and then transferred it to her skin using their lips.

"Not _every_ time, but yes. That must be it."

"I'm afraid that you're very confused, my dear. I would _never_ want to hurt you in any way. The only thing I've desired when I've kissed you was to give and receive pleasure."

She couldn't believe that he was outright denying that he tried to induce her confusion. And to try to claim that _she_ was confused? No, if she was ever confused about anything it was because of him. He wasn't going to convince her so easily that she was insane. She _knew_ what she remembered was true. She was _not_ crazy.

"You've never wanted to make me confused? Make me lash out and hurt Antonin?"

"I've certainly _wanted_ you to hurt him, but I've never given you a potion or any other kind of drug that would _make_ you. Where the devil did you get that idea?"

There was a term for what he was doing to her… something she heard her mother say more than a few times years earlier. When someone tried to convince someone else that their memories were wrong to make them think they were going crazy. Why couldn't she remember the word? It was frustrating. But regardless of what the term was, she wouldn't let him succeed. She _knew_ she was right.

"So you're claiming that you've never put a potion on your lips before you've kissed me?"

"Absolutely not. Why would I want there to be _anything_ between your lips and mine?"

He reached across the small table to cup her cheek in his palm. The touch felt electric. Every hair on her body seemed to stand up and her skin covered in goosebumps. How was it possible that he could have such a physical effect on her even when she knew that he was dangerous and wanted to hurt her?

"I'm worried about you, Hermione. What's wrong with you? What sort of lies and poison have you been listening to about me to make you think I would ever want to hurt you?"

"I…"

She didn't know what to say. Her head felt all fuzzy and she wasn't sure how much of it was because of the alcohol and how much of it was just because of his presence.

"I've only ever had your best interests at heart. When you're ready to believe me, you know where to find me."

After a gentle pat to her cheek, he stood up from the table. He crossed the tavern in just a few strides of his long legs to disappear out the front door. Some of the enchantment or haze or whatever one wanted to call it that clung to his presence faded away the longer he was gone. Deciding that she had had enough of being out, Hermione desired nothing more than to go back to the damned cottage. Once her tab was paid, she followed Rodolphus' path out the front door.

She looked around the empty Alley for any other presence before she stepped out of the relative safety of the tavern's doorway. Satisfied that she wasn't likely to be accosted by a drunk or worse, she headed for the exit to the Alley. But she failed. Just steps past the tavern she felt the tug of a hand on her arm pulling her into a dark corner. Before she could even scream out, hungry lips pressed against hers. Terrified out of her mind at first, she knew within a couple of seconds that Rodolphus had been waiting for her in the shadows.

It was wrong to kiss him. She knew that all the way down to her toes that were curling. There was a lot about the wizard that was awful and dreadful and disgusting, but he knew how to kiss her in such a way that she couldn't think beyond what was happening between their mouths. Pressing her back against a brick wall, Rodolphus pinned her with his body. Part of her wondered if he was about to reenact what they did in her back garden the day of her son's eleventh birthday party and was horrified to discover that most of her wanted exactly that. But, he did nothing more than kiss her until she couldn't breathe. They had to break apart for air whether they wished to or not.

"Come find me when you're ready to believe the truth. I've _never_ wanted to harm a single hair on your head. That will never change."

He stepped back to release her from the wall. Scared that she would do something even more foolish and reckless if she remained, Hermione took off running down the Alley, hurrying to put as much distance between them as she could. The first moment she was able to Disapparate away from the area, she returned to her cottage. _Nothing_ in the woods around the cottage could possibly be as dangerous as the wizard she left behind in London. She'd take her chances.


	270. September 26th

September 26th

She waited for the confusion that was sure to come. Why else would Rodolphus pin her up against a brick wall and kiss her until she desired nothing more than to let him do with her body whatever it was that he desired? There _must_ have been a potion on his lips to force her into the terrified, paranoid state where she didn't know where she was or even what year it was. All night Hermione waited for her next _episode_. Well into the next day she was convinced that it would happen. She even kept one of Antonin's potions nearby her at all times to drink when the inevitable happened.

But, it never came. Not even a mild confusion. She didn't know what to think. Did Rodolphus kiss her in the darkness simply because he _wanted_ to? Had she been wrong about his true intentions? As she waited for the darkness that was sure to engulf her, she thought back to their conversation in the White Wyvern. He didn't make much sense to her. More than once he told her that she was wrong about his intentions, that he never wanted to harm her. Was that true? She couldn't understand the man.

As much as she hated herself for doing so, she started to question her own memories. What if what she believed was true wasn't? What if her new memories weren't real at all? She had been so certain before she returned home to Hogsmeade that Antonin had been the physically violent one in their relationship. It made the most logical sense after all. His temper was legendary. It was how he kept so many afraid of him for so long. The Dark Lord used to make her husband punish her physically for her wrongdoings, perceived or otherwise. It wasn't much of a stretch of the imagination that he would bring that violence home. After all, it wasn't exactly like they had the happiest of homes to begin with.

And who was Babajide Akingbade anyway? Before he came to her house and started rooting around in her brain, she didn't know him. He was a complete stranger. As much as she cared about Alain, his word alone shouldn't have been enough to convince her to allow a strange man to peer into her mind. Especially since she knew that Alain's true loyalty was, and always had been, entirely with his elder brother. What if Mr. Akingbade was just a part of Antonin's plan to confuse her true memories with fake ones? And the nasty trick Mr. Akingbade played on her was still happening. Every single day the faces of every person she'd ever killed flashed in her mind one after another. Some days it happened more than once. She couldn't make them stop. At least once a day she felt sick to her stomach as she was forced to remember every single victim. What sort of dark treachery was that anyway?

Hermione could afford to trust no one. Not even her husband. Hadn't he proven that he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted? The ends always justified the means in Antonin Dolohov's opinion. Besides, he was not an enemy one would wish to have. His anger over her lying about her pregnancies wasn't likely to dissipate any time soon. It was entirely possible that he would never forgive her for what she did in the past. She needed to remember how to rely on no one but herself again.

 _Maybe Rodolphus was right…_

The instant that thought crossed Hermione's mind she knew she'd allowed her wonderings to go too far. Was she _seriously_ about to ignore everything she knew about the man simply because of one conversation and a heated kiss she swore she could still feel on her lips? It was all madness, just sheer madness. She couldn't believe that she'd allowed him to manipulate her again, to make her feel like she was losing her mind. _No_ , he was wrong.

She needed to get away from the cottage and into the presence of other people. Too much time alone would destroy all of the progress she'd been making. Rodolphus was just trying to make doubt her own sanity. "Gaslighting" was what it was called. Once outside of his presence and able to calm down, she could finally remember the words she'd been trying to think of. She was _not_ crazy. She wouldn't allow that horrible man, or any other for that matter, to ever make her question her sanity again.

By mid-afternoon Wednesday, Hermione had had enough. Once she was certain her beaded bag was packed, she stepped out of the cottage. If she never returned to that dreadful place, she would be perfectly all right with that. Where she would go if she chose not to return was still uncertain. Thankfully, she knew she still had several friends and allies who would probably still be willing to provide her with shelter. At least until she could figure out her next moves.

Outside of the protective wards of the cottage, she headed straight for Hogsmeade. Maybe it wasn't the smartest decision to return to a village full of people who hated her and wouldn't shed a tear if she died, but she didn't care. Landing in front of the Rowles' home, she knocked, hoping someone was home.

Hannah opened the door with a bright, welcoming smile only moments later. Inviting her unexpected guest inside, she acted as if she regularly had friends over for tea who could bring death and destruction on her entire family. Hermione was never quite sure if she envied Hufflepuffs for their loyalty and ability to see the good in everyone they met or if she resented them and thought them foolish or stupid. Maybe it was a little of both. As much as she'd come to admire Hufflepuffs and wish she was more like them, she still didn't understand the first thing about them.

"Finn took Alice to Diagon Alley to pick out a new kitten."

She rolled her eyes even as she smiled.

"With her sisters at school, she told him last night that she was 'awfully lonely' and thought she would be less sad if she had a kitten."

"And he promised her whatever she wanted?"

"Of course he did. He's never been able to tell any of our girls 'no' even when he should."

They both chuckled at the adequate description of her husband. For such a fearless, enormous Death Eater with a terrible reputation for reckless fury and battle rage, he was no match for any of his blonde, beautiful daughters.

"See what I told you about Alice being a Slytherin? Mark my words, next year she'll be Sorted into her daddy's House."

"I think you're probably right."

"So what brings you to Hogsmeade? Is everything all right?"

It meant more to Hermione than Hannah could possibly ever know that she didn't just immediately jump to questions about Antonin and the state of their crumbling marriage. No doubt it was the topic at the top of her mind. She simply was too kind to jump right in and demand answers.

"Everything is fine. I'm just bored of being stuck in that cottage alone."

"Has Antonin not come back then?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

She sighed, not really in the mood to talk about her husband but knowing it would be rude not to. Antonin was their friend too. If she discovered that he'd been by the Rowle home several times since he left, she wouldn't have been surprised. Of course, that was assuming that he could tear himself away from Ginny Weasley long enough to come up for air.

"But don't worry about him. I've seen with my own eyes that he's doing perfectly all right."

It was evident that there was a great deal more to that story than Hermione was saying. Not wishing to make her guest uncomfortable, Hannah stood up from the table they'd only just sat down at to suggest they take a walk around the village. The weather was still quite nice for late September and they should take advantage of it while they still could. Winter seemed to come a lot faster in that corner of the world than most others. Hermione recognized that she was leading her out into the fresh air in hopes that it would calm her down. She wasn't as subtle in her machinations as she imagined. Hufflepuffs rarely were.

"You're not worried that we'll be too exposed if we walk around the village? We could draw unwanted attention to ourselves."

"I'm not afraid to be seen with you, Hermione, if that's what you're worried about. I'm also not afraid of the village I've been living in for fifteen years. I _refuse_ to be afraid in my home."

Very little could sway the opinion of a Hufflepuff with their mind made up. With a smile, Hermione finally agreed. It _would_ be nice to enjoy the outdoors. She felt like she'd spent too much of her life in recent months wasting away indoors. While she had been on the run, she'd gotten used to being outside and active just about every day. It was something that she was surprised to discover she enjoyed very much. When she dedicated her life to her work at the Ministry, she almost never took time to enjoy the simple things in life like a long walk.

"Emmy sent me an owl this morning. She said that Ollie is back to his normal self again… annoying her endlessly and following her around the castle."

Both women chuckled. Young love could be frightfully adorable. Hermione was glad to hear that her son was doing all right. She was ashamed to admit that she hadn't given him as much thought as she should have since she last saw him in the castle. Between her exhaustion that made her almost insane and then witnessing her husband with his surprising mistress and _then_ her unexpected meeting with Rodolphus, she'd had her mind focused on other matters. As much as the man annoyed her and repulsed her just the slightest, she trusted that Temeritus Mulciber would follow through on his word to make sure her son remained safe.

"I appreciate your daughter keeping an eye on him. I didn't get a chance to thank her that night in the castle."

"Not to worry. There was a lot going on that night."

Hermione was glad to see that there were few villagers out wandering the streets. Because she didn't have quite the same trust in her fellow man that Hannah did, she was worried that her presence would not be welcomed. There were still a number of people out there who didn't want her around. She was a symbol to many of an inferior bloodline trying to worm their way into Pureblood society and a reminder of the harshness of the regime under the Dark Lord to others. Plenty of enemies wouldn't mind being the one to cast the spell that ended her life.

"You said you've seen Antonin. I take it that it wasn't under the best circumstances?"

A heaviness landed square on Hermione's shoulders when the other woman brought up her husband. She knew that it would make her feel better to talk about what she saw, but she didn't want to. It was too embarrassing. Besides, how would Hannah even be able to relate to what she was going through? Thorfinn wouldn't even _look_ at an another woman. There was no reason to ask if her husband had ever strayed. Hermione knew the answer. Not least of all because there were several times over the years that she tried to proposition the burly blond herself and he would have none of it.

"I think I was foolish to imagine that there would ever be a day when we might actually have a normal marriage that others take for granted. That's just simply not in the cards for us, I'm afr…"

They turned a corner down a silent street. Instantly, Hermione felt ill at ease. She felt the same presence that she'd felt before in the area surrounding the cottage. Just as she had before, she didn't feel safe. Stopping their walk, she turned towards Hannah to warn the other witch that she felt unsafe. Without having the benefit of years under her belt as a Death Eater, Hannah wouldn't necessarily even be able to recognize when she might be in danger. She likely lacked the honed instincts always expecting danger.

"Hermione, look…!"

Hannah wasn't even able to get the full warning out of her mouth. With wide eyes filled with terror at something she was seeing behind Hermione's back, she tried to scream out. A bright flash of green light hit her straight in the chest before she could finish. Collapsing to the pavement with her beautiful blue eyes still wide open, she was dead.

The shock of the horrific act left Hermione paralyzed for just a moment. Regaining her composure, she moved to face their attacker with her wand at the ready, a dozen curses waiting on her tongue, but she wasn't fast enough. Struck in the back of the head with something heavy, she fell to the ground without ever seeing who it was behind her. Everything happened so quickly and without any sort of warning beyond a simple uncomfortable feeling in her gut. It was all over in just a few heartbeats.


	271. September 27th

September 27th

An ache in Hermione's head pulsed with each beat of her heart. She was afraid to open her eyes. Experience taught her that when she was in that much pain, light wouldn't help. Her limbs felt heavy. There was a lingering taste of something foul on her tongue. Emergency healing potions rarely tasted good. Flavoring wasn't important when one's life was at stake. She tried to remember what happened to her, _why_ she was in such pain. Her memories were hazy. Bits and pieces floated to the surface of her mind, but she wasn't able to make sense of them just yet.

When she was finally brave enough to open her eyes, she knew that she was back in St. Mungo's. How many times in her almost forty years had she been inside the walls of that establishment as a patient? More times than she really could, or wanted, to recall. Only the occasion of Oliver's birth was a happy one. Even then, she didn't feel the joy herself for far too many years.

Antonin was asleep in the chair next to her bed. He might still be her husband, but she was surprised that he was there. Had he forgiven her? Or was this just an obligation he felt required to uphold because of their past together? She didn't care. It helped calm her anxiety ever so slightly knowing he was close enough that she could reach out and touch him. There was still some anger within her, no doubt. That was likely to not go away for quite some time. Still, he had a calming presence that worked wonders on her. She wasn't ready to face the reality of what got her put in the hospital to begin with.

He looked exhausted, mentally and physically. She pushed aside the uncharitable thought that he was simply tired because he had been engaged in inappropriate acts with one Resistance leader that she didn't want to even put a name to. There was more to it than that though. Dark circles under his eyes proved he'd been under strain. What had he been doing in their time apart? As much as she wanted to ask him questions, she didn't want to disturb him. Evidently he needed the rest.

The pain in her head gave her something that she could focus on. It would be time for more potions soon. She almost looked forward to the blissful numbness they would bring. Would that be her feeling for the rest of her dismal life? Craving potions made her sick to her stomach. She didn't want to be a slave to anything, even her own fucked up body and addiction. If she could go back in time with all of the knowledge that she held in that moment, she would make so many different choices. Maybe she'd even figure out a way to throw her lot in with Neville Longbottom or George Weasley and end her existence years before she had to endure the pain and degradation that the Dark Lord's regime brought to their world.

"Hermione?"

Her husband was struggling to keep his own fear out of his voice. She knew him well enough to know when he was at the end of his tether. Ordinarily he could project a fearless persona to those on the outside of his life. It was a skill that was necessary to keep at the top of the heap of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters. Weak witches and wizards didn't last long. Just ask Peter Pettigrew, or rather, what was left of him after he dared to show compassion in his own moment of weakness so many years earlier. But, when the rest of the world faded away and they could be alone, Hermione had seen Antonin strip away the mask he usually wore.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing to _me,_ Hermione? You're the one in the hospital."

There was defensiveness in his tone as well. She didn't want to fight with him. Even the thought of having an argument filled her with such exhaustion that she wasn't even sure she'd be able to take another breath. Hadn't they done enough of that in thirteen years to last them the rest of their lives? While she knew that many women would be screaming at him and confronting him about what she witnessed days earlier in that damned cottage hidden away from the world, she didn't have the right. She'd done just as much and worse. Was it really a competition of who could hurt the other the most? If so, she wanted to concede and exit the contest immediately.

"How are you feeling?"

He was back to being all business. His earlier slip showing that he was emotional was gone. It was evident that he was concerned, but trying to keep his interactions with his estranged wife impersonal. Hermione didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. Even as her mind kept traveling back to what she witnessed when the damn ginger bitch crawled onto her husband's lap, she tried to remain calm. It was hardly the time to bring up such a sordid moment. Besides, he could fire back at her with a great deal more ammunition. A reminder of being tied up on Greyback's floor brought a deep flush to her cheeks she hoped he wouldn't notice in the dim light.

"Like I've been bashed over the head with something. What happened?"

"I was hoping that you would be able to tell me. We don't have a lot of details."

She closed her eyes to try to recall the scene. It all happened so quickly that she didn't even have much time to process what was going on before she was knocked unconscious. She had no idea how long she'd been in St. Mungo's. It was a recurring theme in her life apparently.

"I had to get out of your brother's cottage. It's suffocating and I couldn't stand being alone in it for another minute."

A flash of shame appeared on his countenance for the briefest of moments before he was able to brush it away and replace it with the same cold, indifferent mask he usually wore when he was upset and trying to hide it.

"I went to visit Hannah. Thought maybe they would've seen you and could tell me whether you were alive or dead."

He didn't bother hiding the roll of his eyes. She reminded herself to take a deep breath. The last thing either one of them needed was to get into a fight. They'd had enough of those.

"She suggested that we go for a walk through the village, but I didn't really want to. Seemed unsafe. Evidently, I was correct. We were talking and I felt someone behind us. I started to say something to Hannah and she screamed, trying to warn me. She was… is she?"

Somehow actually saying the words out loud were too painful. Of course she knew that Hannah was dead. It was an Unforgivable that took her down. Hermione had seen, and used, the same spell countless times in twenty years. There was no way to block it, no counter-curse, no hope once one was sent in someone's direction. Hannah didn't stand a chance. Antonin nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak either. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they tried to compose themselves. Hermione wanted to cry. If she was alone, she might have even allowed herself to give over to the emotion. Antonin kept rubbing at his own eyes. The Rowles were practically family. He thought of Hannah like his younger sister. When he could trust himself again, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Did you see anything? Anything at all that might indicate who did this?"

"No, they attacked me from behind like a coward. But, it had to have been Rodolphus or someone on his side. Who else would want to kill Hannah? As far as I know, she didn't have any enemies whatsoever."

Anyone who chose to openly associate with either of the Dolohovs was in danger. Hermione hated herself for allowing Hannah to talk her into going for a walk. Their home would've been safer. At the very least, no one would've seen them so boldly out together. Hannah was just begging for a target to be placed on her back. Everyone Hermione associated with ended up regretting it eventually.

"I should have done whatever it took to get that damned list."

"Thorfinn and Hannah already knew that they were in danger."

"How is Thorfinn?"

"Inconsolable."

She didn't want to even imagine what losing his wife would do to Thorfinn. He worshipped the ground Hannah walked on. Learning what she did about Hannah's experiences following the end of the war, she could understand why he cared so much for her. It was a source of honor for the burly wizard in protecting the woman he loved. He hadn't been able to keep her from being hurt by the disgusting bastard Amycus Carrow, so he made it his life's mission to ensure she remain safe from anyone else who might wish her ill. Losing Hannah was going to destroy him. Hermione hoped that he was able to keep it together for their three daughters at least. They still needed him. Even more so now.

"We shouldn't have gone for a walk."

" _No_ , you shouldn't."

There was such accusation in his tone that she felt like she'd been slapped across the face just with his words. Was every tragedy always going to be thrown at her feet? Feeling both defensive and guilty, she snapped at her husband.

"Are you blaming this on me?"

Antonin covered his face with his hands and groaned. There was no reason for him to respond. She knew what he thought of her. Knew that he thought she was responsible for what happened to Hannah. Sweet, innocent Hufflepuff Hannah didn't understand the dangers of the world outside her front door in his mind. It was up to the jaded, dangerous, evil Madam Dolohov to keep her from falling into a trap. Hermione was tired, _exhausted_ to her very bones. She couldn't save everyone. Throwing Hannah's murder in her face like she was the one who held the wand that uttered the Avada was unfair.

"You know what, Antonin? Why don't you just go crawl back into whatever _bed_ you've been hiding in and leave me alone."

He dropped his hands from his face and narrowed his eyes.

"It's not safe to leave you alone."

"Yes, well, I'd rather just take my chances than spend another moment with you sitting over there and blaming me for something that wasn't my fault."

"You're serious?"

" _Deadly_."

If he didn't leave soon, she resolved to start screaming until the Healers made him leave. He didn't want to be there. Only an obligation he felt as her legal husband and next of kin even made him come in the first place. It was clear that he would never forgive her for lying. Fine. She didn't need him. Hadn't she been wishing for freedom from him for years? Thirteen, to be exact?

"Hermione, I…"

"Just _go_ , Antonin. You clearly don't want to be here and I don't want you here either."

He hesitated before walking out the door. At first she worried that she was going to have to cause a scene. She hated when the personal details of her marriage were witnessed by outsiders. An anonymous source within the hospital would love to share all of the sordid gossip with the Daily Prophet.

Taking one last look at his wife, Antonin stepped out of her room. She didn't know if she was supposed to feel relieved or not. That was something she could worry about later when her head stopped pounding.


	272. September 28th

September 28th

The damned Healers who were responsible for Hermione's care at St. Mungo's wouldn't release her until they were satisfied that there was no lasting damage to her brain following the latest in a long line of concussions she'd suffered over the years. She argued with them repeatedly, but they wouldn't be budged. Remaining in the hospital was the absolute last place she wanted to to be. But thanks to the fact that she still had some residual pain, they wouldn't release her. There was no estimate of when they thought she would be ready to leave either. _Maybe_ the next day if she continued to rest and take her potions like a good girl.

She'd lost count the number of concussions she'd had in her life. Too many. _Way_ too many. It was no wonder that she was half-cracked. Just like one of those American football brutes who couldn't even remember their own name or the scores of former professional boxers who'd taken too many blows to the head, she knew that the lasting impact of her injuries wasn't good. Magic could do a lot of good in healthcare, but nothing was fool-proof. There was still a lot that was still being learned and researched in both the Muggle and magical worlds. Maybe one day there would be a cure for the traumatic brain injuries and the less-traumatic though more frequent repeated injuries. She didn't hold out much hope for herself though. The damage had already been done.

When her potions wore off she couldn't stay asleep thanks to the lingering pain. If she allowed herself to think logically, of course it wouldn't be smart for the Healers to let her go. She still had some healing to do and if left on her own, she probably wouldn't rest long enough to satisfy them. Or, perhaps more likely, thanks to the dangers associated with simply being who she was, she might be injured all over again. Whoever it was that attacked her was still out there. There was no reason to believe that they would leave her alone just because they failed the first time.

But, a nagging thought in the back of her mind reminded her that if they wanted her dead, she would already be dead. Their attacker or attackers, she wasn't sure if this was the work of one or many, hadn't hesitated to strike Hannah down with an Avada. With her back turned to them, they could've easily killed her with the same spell. No, they chose a more physical manner of attack and then left her on the pavement next to Hannah's cooling body. They didn't seem to want her dead. At least not yet. Maybe next time they'd finish the job.

She groaned. Even the dim lights that were left on at nighttime in the hospital were too much for her head. She hoped that it would soon be time for more potions. If she had to remain in that level of pain for much longer, she wouldn't be pleased. Shouldn't it have been easier to suffer the aftereffects of a concussion after she'd had them before? She wasn't sure.

The door to her room squeaked slowly open. Seeing that the visitor's shadowy frame was far too tall and burly to belong to the mediwitch that had been responsible for her care, Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't want to see Antonin. When she told him to leave, she meant it. Being alone with him in the same room again so soon after their last row was a terrible idea. She wasn't done being angry.

"Antonin, I told you…"

A flick of the man's wrist silenced her. She tried to speak, but no words would come out of her mouth. Another non-verbal spell tied each of her four limbs to the bed. While it wouldn't be the first time that her husband had to resort to a silencing spell and restraints to keep his wife from running out of the room during a heated discussion, it was clear very quickly that the man standing over her bed was _not_ her husband at all. Screaming until her lungs burned did no good. No one could hear her in her silenced state. Pulling on the magically conjured rope didn't help either. She wasn't going anywhere. Even if she was at full strength after her injury, which she wasn't, she wouldn't have been able to break her bonds without magic.

"I must say that being forced to be in your presence _is_ improved when you're silent. More people might like you if they knew that trick."

If it was possible, William Wood seemed even more deranged than the last time she saw him in London. He'd been so determined to catch her that when she started running through the streets, he didn't care what the Muggles thought, he was going to get her. She was thankful that the kind Muggle policemen stepped in to help. If they hadn't been there, she didn't want to imagine what might have happened next. Nothing good, that was for certain.

Hermione could feel _some_ sympathy for the man. She wasn't without her own guilt after all. If his younger brother hadn't crossed her path that day so many years earlier, he might still be alive. Probably not though. Oliver Wood had a habit of getting involved in lost causes. Part of being a Gryffindor, no doubt. It was likely that if he'd managed to get out of the trap set by Antonin, he would have simply been killed by another Death Eater on another day. Wannabe heroes like him didn't have a long life expectancy in their world.

But, even the minute amount of sympathy she felt for the brother of the first man she ever killed only extended so far. Especially when he stood over her completely helpless form with murder in his eyes. She cursed herself for demanding that Antonin leave. If Wood tried anything with her husband there, he would've been dead in seconds. Very few wizards alive could take him down in a duel. He was very skilled. She missed his calming presence. Why did she have to be so dramatic and throw him out of her hospital room? It was no wonder their marriage was crumbling. Both of them were stubborn fools.

"I like you afraid."

The moment he closed the door to the corridor, Hermione knew she was well and truly fucked. If he didn't linger too long and just got straight to the point of his visit, no one would interrupt him before he was done. When he taunted her, she tried to remove all traces of the fear that she was feeling from her face. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He'd probably been excited the moment he heard about her attack and found out she was in St. Mungo's. No doubt it was a big news story. Rita Skeeter must not have wasted any time writing another disgusting article about her. Maybe she would even put a fun spin on it accusing Hermione of being the one who murdered Hannah. Probably even used jealousy as a motive. Hannah had the marriage that Hermione only _wished_ she had. Of course, how she could explain Hermione's own subsequent attack would be interesting to discover. Rita could be quite creative when the situation called for it.

"You're so helpless like this. Poor, little dear. No one is going to help you now."

William sat on the edge of her bed to stare down at her face. There was such anger in his eyes that Hermione failed to keep her fear under control. He was going to kill her. _This_ was the moment that she'd been dreading for twenty years. At some point there was going to be a madman who ended her existence. She just thought it would be someone more like the Dark Lord or Antonin or Rodolphus. Maybe even Rabastan. There were a few times he'd gotten a little too rough during their _private_ sessions in their shared office. It wouldn't have taken him much effort to end her exhausting existence then. Somehow she never expected that William Wood might actually be successful in his vengeance. She'd underestimated the man. That was her mistake.

"Is this how my little brother looked when you murdered him? Was he this afraid?"

There was a dangerous edge to his voice, a fury that he was only just able to keep under control. This man was a ticking time bomb. Only rage kept him going. She could almost pity him. Once upon a time that was all that kept her alive too. Without the reminder of the lives she needed to destroy, she would've curled in on herself when the existence she was handed became unbearable. Anger was powerful. The need for revenge even more so.

"What's so special about a little whore like you that _you_ got to live and my little brother didn't? He was worth a thousand of you."

He wasn't wrong. Even Hermione had to admit that. The world would've been better if the horrible person she'd allowed herself to become in the aftermath of the lost war didn't survive. She'd become someone that was cold, dangerous and entirely too selfish. All that mattered was making it to the next day. She didn't care what bodies she had to climb over in the process. Along the way, she'd killed countless other Oliver Woods. They were all better than her, _far_ better than she could ever be.

William's right hand covered her throat. Her bones had always been delicate. She'd inherited her mother's petite frame and small bone structure. It wouldn't even take much effort for a man of his physical prowess to crush her neck. When he added his left hand, she knew she was fucked.

If she discovered that she was the first person William Wood had ever murdered, she wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest. In fact, she would've been _more_ shocked to learn that he'd killed before. There was a certain amount of confidence that a person who'd witnessed the light fade out of a person's eyes at their hands had that he simply didn't possess. He was hesitant at first, unsure in his movements. For a man who was brash and full of threats, to actually be faced with the task of committing the murder he'd been dreaming about, he was struggling. He was the sort of would-be murderer that she would've been easily able to persuade not to follow through with his plan if she had the use of her voice. It was a good thing for him that he had the presence of mind to silence her. While he likely did it to keep her screams from being heard by the staff of the hospital just outside in the corridor, it served an additional purpose. She could've easily talked him into of walking away.

The pressure on her throat increased the more confident he became. Maybe it was the bold way she stared into his hurting eyes that gave him the added incentive he needed to fulfill the odious task. She wasn't sure. Didn't matter. He wasn't going to release her and she was oddly okay with that. Life had become a little too difficult for her lately. Having an escape that she didn't have to provide herself wasn't the worst option. It hurt, but it would all be over soon. She hoped that Antonin would be able to get Oliver out of their horrible country and take him somewhere they could both be happy. Brazil, maybe. Or to Africa with Alain. Oliver could learn a lot from Mr. Akingbade at Uagadou. He'd love it there and eventually, he'd forget to be sad about the horrible mother he'd been cursed with. And maybe Antonin could finally fall in love with a woman who loved him back. She'd been so cruel to him. He didn't deserve all of it.

She was lightheaded. Soon she would pass out and then if Wood didn't lose his nerve and stop too soon, it would be the end. The end of her pain, her fear, her struggle. She was ready. As she closed her eyes she thought about her husband and her son again and wished them nothing but happiness. Loud alarms sounded throughout the room, startling William enough that he let go of her throat. Hermione could hear shouts down the corridor and what sounded like running footsteps. Jumping off the bed as if it was on fire, he stared down at her with panic as she gasped and choked at the air filling her lungs.

"I'm not done with you yet."

His promise still hung in the air as he made his escape. Death wasn't ready for her just yet.


	273. September 29th

September 29th

If Hermione never had to wake up inside another hospital room for as long as she lived, she would be happy. After the exciting events of the previous night, she'd been dosed with multiple potions to put her back into a deep, healing sleep. She cursed William Wood again. Without his interference, she likely would've been released already. The pain in her head was finally gone, but her throat still stung.

Antonin was asleep in the chair next to the bed again. Just as he was before. Somehow in the interim since they last repeated this same tableau, most of her anger dissipated to nothing. Later, when she was out of the damned hospital and no longer feared every sound was a homicidal lunatic returned to kill her, she would probably rediscover her anger and they could have another row. In that moment, however, she just wanted to appreciate the fact that she wasn't alone, that her husband came back to sit at her side.

She must've made too much noise when she woke up because it didn't take him long to open his eyes. A smile spread across her lips when their eyes met. Swallowing thickly, she spoke in a hoarse, scratchy voice that hurt her ears.

"This is beginning to be a habit with you. A girl might start to believe you still love her if you're not careful."

She regretted her teasing words for the briefest of moments when his dark brown eyes filled up with tears. Rarely did Antonin allow anyone, his wife included, see him in such a vulnerable state. He opened his mouth to speak and immediately closed it before a single sound came out. Emotional and overcome, when he finally could speak, the words didn't come out easily and he had to stop to rub his eyes. When he was ready, he spoke in a whisper, all he was able to manage.

"You sent me away and you almost died."

Her own eyes filled with tears at the pain in his voice. He had been so scared for her, so upset that he was going to lose her that she felt a tremendous amount of guilt for sending him away when she did. Both of them had their own guilt to process it seemed.

"I thought you would be safe here when I left."

Concerned that he was about to work himself up into an emotional frenzy, Hermione reached out to run her fingers through his dark brown waves. It worked almost instantly. She'd learned a few tricks over the years on how to calm him down. Though she was still mad at him, she didn't feel it so strongly anymore. They were both experts at causing the other pain.

"What happened? The Healers couldn't tell me. Said it all happened so quickly and they weren't able to catch or even see who did this to you."

She sighed. It would be a long story and she wasn't sure how much of it she could share with him without revealing some of the secrets of the past year she'd been trying to hide. All mention of being anywhere near the Resistance or their village had to be avoided. She didn't want to mention or even _think_ about Ginny. If she did, she feared that she wouldn't be able to remain silent about what she witnessed. That was a subject and an argument for another day.

"It was William Wood. Do you know him?"

Antonin shook his head. One look in his eyes confirmed for Hermione that he didn't have the first clue who she was talking about. Evidently Ginny kept her illicit affair with her husband a close secret. And if Antonin was trying to form some sort of alliance with the Resistance, as she suspected he was, he was being deliberately kept away from Wood. It would make sense. The horrible man wouldn't want anything to do with the husband of his brother's murderer.

"That mission at the Hogsmeade Caves years ago when you said I first had to prove myself… the man you trapped in the cave for me to kill was William's younger brother."

She wasn't ready to admit the truth of their son's name. Likely she never would. Too many uncomfortable questions would come out of it. Even twelve years later when she was completely sober she wasn't sure what possessed her to offer up Oliver as a suitable name for their son. It was weird and not something Antonin would just brush off as unimportant.

"In January I tried to hide in Edinburgh."

"Hermione, that was…"

"Foolish, I know. It's not safe as the Resistance didn't hesitate to inform me. Wood is part of the Resistance. He found me sleeping in the back of a car and he dragged me out. Used a portkey, that I still have no idea how he got, to take me to a cellar and left me locked in there for over a day. Thought he was going to kill me, especially when I found out who he was."

Antonin was appropriately horrified by the rest of the tale she told him. She made it sound like the Resistance kept passing her path, not that she'd ever gone to them willingly. Of course she didn't know she was going there thanks to all of the secrets Draco liked to keep, but it was her choice to remain once she knew where she was. She explained how Wood almost caught her again in London and how he vowed to kill her one day.

"It's no more than I deserve."

"Don't talk like that, Hermione."

"No, it's the truth, Antonin. I killed his brother. Would you not want revenge if someone killed one of your brothers?"

He had to concede her point. If one of his brothers was murdered in cold blood, Antonin would do whatever was required to make the guilty party pay. Even if it was Aubin and he didn't even like his youngest brother. Blood was important to him. Sometimes too important.

"So he was almost successful. He came in and silenced me so I couldn't scream out. Tied me to the bed. If the monitors hadn't gone off when they did…"

"You would be dead."

The emotion was back in his voice. She ran her hand back through his hair, offering what little encouragement and support she could from her bed. Perhaps all was not lost between them. If he still cared that much about her even after he knew the secret she'd been keeping from him for so long, it was possible that he could eventually forgive her. And it wasn't as if she couldn't forgive him for fucking Ginny in the aftermath of that whole ordeal. She'd forgiven other affairs and he'd forgiven hers. Certainly not the healthiest of marriages, it worked for them. Maybe if they could get to Brazil to start their new life, they could actually make a go at monogamy. She wanted them to stop hurting each other. Hadn't they done enough of that? A new life would be a fresh start for them. They could put the past behind them where it belonged.

"I shouldn't have left you for even a moment. It's my fault all of this happened."

"No, Antonin, I was the one who told you to leave. Remember?"

"That's not what I was talking about. I meant…"

" _Oh_."

He was feeling guilty about telling her she no longer had a family and sending her out to face their enemies alone. There was a wealth of emotions, guilt foremost amongst them, splashed across his handsome face.

"You had every right to be angry with me. What I did was very wrong. If I didn't want to have more children, I should've made that perfectly clear to you."

"Please don't, Hermione. I don't want to talk about that right now."

Part of her was relieved that he didn't want to discuss that horrible night. Wounds were still fresh and if she allowed herself to be perfectly honest, she _did_ tell Antonin that she didn't want any more children. More than once. He just chose not to hear it because he did. In his perfect world they would be happily in love and surrounded by children. As much as his brothers frustrated him at times, some more than others, he couldn't imagine life as an only child. It made him sad for Oliver even as Hermione didn't see anything wrong with it. She'd turned out just fine without any siblings, hadn't she?

"I don't blame you for Hannah's death."

Surprised by his confession, Hermione didn't know what to say in response. Even she could admit that she wasn't entirely innocent in the murder of one of their family's closest friends. She knew it was dangerous to leave the safety of Hannah's house and yet, for the briefest of moments, she wanted to be as sure in the goodness of people as her Hufflepuff friend was. It was not a mistake that she would make again. Human beings were nasty, disgusting creatures who didn't deserve such charitable thoughts.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like I did. Hannah was..."

Antonin's voice broke with the intensity of his emotions. He was the sort of man who loved deeply when he allowed himself to love at all. Hannah was like the sister he'd never had, the one that he would've given his life to protect and save. Hermione felt her eyes fill up with the same tears at his vulnerable display. When would they each reach their breaking point? She didn't think either would have to wait long.

"It's all right, Antonin. I understand and honestly, I blame myself."

"No, you shouldn't. This was the work of one of our enemies. We just have to find them and make them pay."

Her body was too exhausted to stay awake much longer if they were going to keep talking. Pressing her palm gently against Antonin's cheek, he covered the outside of her hand with his to hold it in place. After a deep sigh, he brought her palm to his lips to kiss. Even though it was a simple affectionate gesture, it encouraged Hermione to not give up hope that all was lost. There was still a chance she wouldn't be stuck inside that country until she died.

"You should get some sleep. Your body is still healing."

"Will you stay here?"

"I'm not going _anywhere_."

She was relieved to hear him say so. It might have hurt her pride to admit it, but she was afraid to be left alone again. While she didn't _think_ that Wood would be foolish enough to try to strike twice in the same place, she couldn't be positive. He had enough hatred inside of him towards her to be able to conjure up a worthwhile Avada Kedavra, even if he'd never cast one successfully before. She would be dead in a second. If he'd been smart enough to consider that option the first time, or if he simply didn't wish to make it a painful death, he would've been successful. And she would be nothing but a memory. Part of her was almost sad that he didn't succeed.

"Your Healer said that you can leave tomorrow. I'm going to stay here and take you back to the cottage."

Even though it wasn't where she really wanted to go, returning to the cottage was better than remaining where she was. She hated that they didn't have anywhere else they could hide. It had been so nice in Cornwall, but that would never be safe again.

"Just rest, Hermione. You're safe now."

He coupled his promise with a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes grew heavy enough that she couldn't keep them open a second longer. As she drifted off to sleep, she tried to ignore the worry in the pit of her stomach that they still weren't any closer to a suitable resolution to their troubles. But, at least she didn't have to worry about William Wood or any other psychopath who wanted her dead. For a single night, she could take advantage of her husband's protective presence.


	274. September 30th

September 30th

Although Hermione's Healer was satisfied enough with her progress to release her from St. Mungo's the morning after her discussion with Antonin, it was almost mid-afternoon before she was allowed to walk out of the damned building she hoped to never be inside of again. She was irritable and exhausted by the time she entered the hated cottage. Under strict instructions that she continue to rest at home, she took another disgusting potion and climbed into bed. With another promise that he wasn't going anywhere, Hermione fell asleep content with the knowledge that her husband was nearby.

Their bedroom was dark when she woke up. A glance at a beside clock showed the time to be just a few minutes past eleven. Her body felt a little stiff from being stuck in the same position for so long, but overall, she felt almost normal. Her throat still twinged a bit each time she swallowed. The bruising was extensive. Nothing that wouldn't eventually go away.

She reached across the bed to where her husband usually slept to find nothing but empty air. Further inspection showed he hadn't even pulled the covers back. Only his missing pillow had been touched. Where was he? Why wasn't he lying next to her? She forced herself out of the bed to seek him out. He'd promised repeatedly that he wouldn't leave her alone again.

The rest of the cottage was as dark as the bedroom. Except for the last remaining glowing embers in the fireplace, there wasn't a single light illuminating the main room. She found Antonin asleep on the couch, tucked under a blanket with his head on his pillow. Too short for a man of his height, his legs hung over the edge of the sofa. How he was able to make himself comfortable enough to fall asleep was a mystery. It bothered her immensely that he was out there when there was a perfectly good bed he could use in the next room. Feeling the urge to confront him, she shook his shoulder until he woke up.

"You don't even fit on that. Why are you sleeping on it?"

She hated how hoarse her voice still was and hated how shrill her tone was even more. It had been her intention to ask him calmly why he was avoiding being in the same room as his wife. Clearly she had some anger still inside of her that needed a suitable outlet. Antonin sat up and rubbed his eyes with a heavy sigh, preparing himself for the inevitable row to follow.

"I suppose nothing has changed. You still can't stand the sight of me."

"Hermione, that's not…"

"Don't deny it, Antonin. I'm not stupid or crazy or imagining things that don't exist. Nothing's changed, has it?"

"I'm not sure."

It was an honest answer even if it was infuriating. Hermione hated feeling so out of balance, so lost in the wind. She needed something solid that she could hold on to. For a brief few weeks, she believed that she'd found it in her neglected and abandoned family. It wasn't meant to be. Would her past never stop creeping back up to bite her on the arse?

Antonin didn't want to be there. She could tell by the resigned expression on his face and the way his eyes kept landing on the front door. No doubt he wished he was anywhere else. Or, perhaps he was wondering what Ginny was doing and if her home was more peaceful than his. They would probably be sweating between her sheets if he was there at that exact moment. The very idea made Hermione sick to her stomach. Knowing that her husband preferred the company of another woman to hers brought up a number of bad memories from the days before she murdered Andromeda.

"I know about you and Ginny Weasley."

The words just fell out of her mouth before she even gave them much thought. Antonin's eyes widened in shock at the announcement. Did he really think he'd been so clever and discreet? Hadn't he learned by then that secrets _always_ came out?

"How do you know about that?"

She wanted to tell him that she witnessed it with her own eyes, but that would bring up a number of questions she wasn't ready to answer. Her association with Draco needed to be kept quiet.

"I suspected there was something between you weeks ago after I saw her in London. You acted so strangely when I brought her up. Thought I was just being paranoid, but _you_ just confirmed for me that I wasn't. Thank you."

He rubbed his hands down his face in frustration. Hermione prepared herself for what was sure to be a passionate row. It was past time they got it all out in the open before either of them went completely mad. Maybe it would put the final nail in the coffin of their marriage but so be it. Didn't they each deserve closure? She felt stuck in perpetual limbo, like she couldn't move too far ahead because everything was so unsettled between them. Besides, she was curious. She wanted details.

"How long has it been going on?"

It was clear that he was reluctant to go down that line of discussion with her. Just like the day they bared their consciences in bed in Augustus' house, it wasn't going to be an enjoyable experience.

"It happened once a few years ago. Not even sure how it happened honestly. One second we were dueling and the next…"

He cleared his throat. Being a Death Eater meant very few in their ranks had what could be deemed "healthy" relationships. Hermione could understand how the heat of battle could quickly turn to passion between two people that had chemistry. Antonin never made it a secret that he admired Ginny. Clearly the feelings were mutual.

"She disappeared after that. Probably was embarrassed she let it happen. I didn't even hear any whispers about her for almost a year."

"You searched for her?"

Even in the dim light she could see the flush of his cheeks. A nod was the response she got. Antonin had almost unlimited resources thanks to his proximity to the Dark Lord and his high rank in the regime. If he couldn't find her during that time, it was because she didn't want to be found. It rankled Hermione's nerves to discover that his affair with Ginny clearly wasn't just a one time fling. There probably had even been actual feelings involved.

"After you… _ran_ away, she approached me. It was a few weeks after I'd gotten out of hospital and I was searching for you."

"What did she want? Beyond the obvious, of course."

"She wanted to talk about the future when the Dark Lord died. One thing led to another and it happened again. Then it became a fairly regular occurrence."

Hermione held up her hand to stop him from giving her any additional details about his affair. Already she'd heard and _seen_ far more than she ever wanted. It was clear that Ginny was involved with Antonin even while she was meeting with Draco in her father's old tent in the forest and probably even when Hermione was living in the Resistance's village. What would her husband think of his shady mistress if he knew that while he was worried about his wife, Ginny knew exactly where she was?

"Have you been working with the Resistance, Antonin?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"A while."

She loathed when he gave her vague answers. More than a few arguments began over the past twenty years because he gave such simple responses. It was possible he only wanted to get under her skin because he was uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Realizing that she wasn't going to give up so easily, he rolled his eyes and acknowledged his defeat.

"Fine. Yes, I've been working with the Resistance since last December. Not everyone knows that though. There's a concern about the Resistance splintering. Even the leaders are wary of each other. It's quite honestly about as chaotic and fucked up as the Death Eaters right now."

That wasn't a surprise to Hermione. Hadn't she already met with Percy and Ron in secret? They claimed that Ginny didn't even know her brothers were in contact with each other. It would be interesting to find out more about what was really happening in the Resistance. She wondered if Aberforth Dumbledore would tell her as a way of thanking her for saving his life. Or maybe if she could get in touch with Charlie Weasley. He was the most levelheaded member of the entire Weasley family. And there was something about him that made her instinctively trust him.

"I'm the one who asked the Resistance to keep you safe in exchange for my help. Even suggested they send Draco Malfoy to track you down on New Years. I wasn't surprised in the slightest to learn he's been working with the Resistance. I've suspected him for years of being a traitor to the Dark Lord, but I couldn't ever find any proof."

Mention of Draco made her nervous. He wasn't coming right out and declaring he knew she had some sort of twisted, inappropriate relationship with the tracker, but that didn't mean Ginny wasn't whispering in his ear when they were alone. She didn't know the first thing they talked about when they weren't engaged in physical acts best not thought about. The conversation needed to be steered away from Draco lest it get even more uncomfortable than it already was.

"That doesn't make any sense. _Augie_ was the one who made the Resistance promise to keep me protected in exchange for _his_ help."

Antonin's amused grin did nothing to put her at ease. Did he recognize she was trying to avoid any mention of Draco? Was she being too obvious? Ever since she returned to their fucked up world following her year on the run, she'd felt like she was losing her touch on being mysterious and devious. There was an art to it and if one was out of practice it was obvious.

"That's what we wanted you to think. And everyone else too. Would you have believed them or wanted anything to do with them if they said _I_ was the one protecting you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Exactly. We thought it best that the rest of the Resistance leadership not know I was involved. Ginny approached Gus in France. You know he's never been able to resist a beautiful woman young enough to be his daughter."

Hermione glared at her husband, annoyed that he couldn't let his insecurities about her ex go. How many times would she be forced to repeat she had no interest in Augustus before he believed her? Would he _ever_ believe her?

"She talked him into supporting the Resistance. Promised him that he would be able to come back home when the Dark Lord was dead and live in peace. She even managed to get him to force a promise out of her that you wouldn't be harmed and made it seem like it was all his idea. He's been passing worthless intel to her ever since, but at least he _thinks_ he's being helpful."

There was a bitterness in his voice that she didn't care for. It was the same every time they brought up a lover from her past, especially the one with whom they'd lived with for an entire month. Did Antonin think that he was the only one of them that ever got jealous in their marriage? That she didn't mind him climbing into another woman's bed? Of course she did! What she wouldn't give for the chance at a _normal_ marriage. One where they didn't actively try to hurt the other or keep score when they did.

"So you've been with Ginny the entire time that I've been back? Didn't you claim that you hadn't been with another woman since I returned to Hogsmeade on Ollie's birthday? Another lie?"

" _No_ , that was not a lie. I ended it with her when you came back. I meant what I said to you that night in the kitchen when I swore I would spend the rest of my life proving to you that I loved you and making up for being such a horrible husband."

"Well, you made it what? Three and a half months? Guess it's better than nothing."

It was her turn to be bitter. She knew that they had both made mistakes, that they'd both taken swipes at each other just to make the other bleed, but rarely, if ever, had they felt so painful.

"Hermione…"

He softened his voice, perhaps noticing how agitated and upset she was getting. It almost worked.

"I was so angry that night after I left the castle that when I met with Ginny the next day…"

"Don't tell me. It just _happened_?"

It wasn't even necessary for him to answer. The slump of his shoulders proved that she was correct. She didn't want to be around him any longer. Even though she didn't feel safe in the eerie cottage, she couldn't bear to spend another moment in his presence. Maybe her feelings would change when she had time to calm down and think, but she wasn't going to bet on it.

"I want you to leave, Antonin."

"Hermione, I promised…"

"I don't care that you promised not to leave me alone. I'm not some frail, helpless, delicate flower that can't take care of herself. You don't want to be with me. You made that perfectly clear the night that you told me I didn't have a family any longer."

"Hermione…"

" _Get._ _Out_. Go climb back into Ginny's bed. I'm sure she wants you."

She didn't even give him another chance to argue. Turning on her heel, she returned to the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Short minutes later she heard the front door open and close.


	275. October 1st

October 1st

Between her long nap after getting out of St. Mungo's and the passionate row she'd had with her infuriating husband, Hermione wasn't able to get back to sleep until the next morning was almost upon her. The first rays of sunshine were beginning to creep in through the cracks in the window coverings when she _finally_ could no longer keep her eyes open. None of her Healers would be pleased to know that she wasn't resting as she was ordered. She had to rely on one of the damned pain potions they prescribed her just to be numb long enough to quiet the frustrating voices in her head reminding her over and over again what a miserable failure she was. And it wasn't even as if the numbness was all that effective. Drinking their potion only made her crave hers all the more. She resolved not to touch another one again.

Her schedule was completely out of sequence when she woke up again in the empty cottage. Night was beginning to fall. Somehow it felt wrong to do all of her living in the dark hours. It reminded her too much of the years she was a loyal Death Eater tasked with flushing out the regime's enemies. Many of her most brutal and memorable interrogations took place when the rest of the world was asleep.

It was too easy to lose herself inside of her thoughts at nighttime. And there was plenty she could think about. While she soaked in the surprisingly comfortable bathtub the cottage possessed in an attempt to soothe her body of its lingering aches, her mind kept replaying her discussion with Antonin from the night before. Clearly she didn't think she'd tortured herself enough yet.

She regretted how it ended up even if she didn't regret a single word she said. Antonin hurt her when he didn't sleep in the bed next to her. Maybe it was just a small thing that she blew up to immense and ridiculous proportions, but she didn't think so. He was a man who struggled to keep his hands off of his wife during normal circumstances. Even in the past when they were miserable and there was so much unnecessary anger and drama he couldn't get enough of her. She was _his_ illegal potion. To have him sleep in another room made her feel unwanted. It was a terribly lonely feeling she loathed.

They needed to talk about Ginny and his role within the Resistance. Even if he didn't want to be around her any longer than absolutely necessary, she had a right to know as his wife what sort of dangerous activities he was engaged in. If he got himself killed, she and Oliver would be all alone. She had to understand the risks he was taking.

It was surprising to know how long he'd been working with the Resistance. He was right to get Augustus involved. She _wouldn't_ have believed that her husband really wanted to keep her protected. In the haze and confusion of the charms in her head, she didn't trust the man. She actually believed he wanted to kill her. Once her mind was clear and she was able to take a step back to review the entire picture, she understood that even at his angriest, Antonin didn't want her dead. She would always have a place etched into the meat of his heart. Even if he never spoke to her again, she was secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't hurt her. He _couldn't_ hurt her.

There was so much about the recent past she wished she could change. Cutting Rabastan's tongue from his head before he could willfully blurt out her secrets to her husband was at the top of the list. Every moment she was awake she also dwelled on Hannah's murder. It _was_ her fault. She should've been more insistent that they stay inside the safety of her home. The attack was a deliberate reminder to Hermione that she couldn't allow anyone close enough to help her again. Rodolphus was brutal and exacting in his methods. Murdering Hannah sent out a clear message that he would stop at nothing to keep their allies away. He wanted her isolated, afraid. _Disgusting man_.

She worried about Thorfinn. How was he handling his beloved wife's murder? Not well, would be her guess. Hannah was everything to her husband. Once she learned her history following the war and how Thorfinn desired nothing more than to keep her protected, she knew that he was devastated. She hated herself for being so selfish that she hadn't yet stopped to think of the ones Hannah left behind. How were her girls? Were Daisy and Emmy still in the castle or did they leave in a depressing recreation of their mother's sixth year when she left Hogwarts after _her_ mother's murder?

If Hermione knew Thorfinn, and she knew she did, he wouldn't be taking care of himself. Once out of the bath she dressed and went straight to the kitchen. While she certainly wasn't the greatest of cooks, she had a few delicious meals she knew how to prepare. Ignoring that it was already after nine and hardly the time for a social visit, she tucked the food she placed in a stasis charm under one arm and headed for Hogsmeade. Thorfinn made sure she had enough to eat when she was on the run. Returning the favor was the least she could do.

No one answered when she knocked on the front door. Though it made her uneasy to stand outside waiting, she gave it a few minutes to see if someone would eventually answer. When no one did, she turned the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Was Thorfinn so far gone in his grief that he wasn't taking proper precautions? Surely he knew he was at risk too. It was just irresponsible and she hoped Alice and her sisters weren't there.

One step inside the Rowles' usually immaculate house worried Hermione that she was walking into even further evidence of Rodolphus' campaign against their friends. Hannah took pride in keeping her home tidy and organize. The space Hermione stepped into was anything but clean. It looked as if it had been ransacked or a fierce duel fought inside. Everything was broken. Glass littered the floor. All of the furniture was in pieces. The scene in the kitchen was much the same. She had to clear off broken dishes to set the food she brought on the table. Afraid of what she might find if she kept searching, but needing to know if Thorfinn was all right, she ran through the house looking for any signs of life.

Thorfinn's massive body lay facedown on the floor of the bedroom he shared with his wife. Hermione felt her eyes fill up with tears at the sight. The room was ruined just like all of the others. Glass shards covered the floor. Did Antonin know about the fate of his best friend? She took a single step inside, crunching on glass. The sound seemed amplified in the silent room. Hermione gasped when the wizard began to move. An additional look at the floor informed her that the broken glass was from a large number of empty fire whiskey bottles. Thorfinn wasn't dead. He was drunk.

"Thorfinn?"

Bleary-eyed, he picked his head off of the pillow he was clinging to for dear life to see who dared to disturb him. His eyes narrowed when they fell on her. She felt nervous around the wizard for the first time in twenty years. Not since they faced each other at Hogwarts during the final battle had she been afraid of the man she cared about and considered a dear friend. Known for his violent outbursts in battle, it wasn't a stretch to assume he was the one responsible for the destruction of his own home. He returned his head to the pillow and hugged it tighter.

"Still smells like her." His voice cracked. "That'll be gone soon too."

She didn't know the first thing to say in response. Somehow he managed to muster up enough strength to sit up with his back braced against the bed. A bottle that hadn't been broken yet was close enough he could reach it. As she watched him take deep gulps straight from the bottle, she couldn't remain silent any longer. Was he _trying_ to kill himself?

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

A cold laughter sent chills up her spine. She didn't like this broken, defeated man. Just like an animal cornered and with nothing left to lose, he was dangerous.

"No, not nearly enough. I've been thinking about drowning myself in it."

"Where's Alice? Please tell me she hasn't seen you like this."

He glowered at his unwanted guest; his face marked with rage. She stepped backwards once before she reminded herself that Thorfinn had always been more bark than bite. At least since she joined the Death Eaters. There was no reason to fear her friend of almost twenty years. Underneath all of his sorrow and anger was the man he'd always been.

"Are you questioning my fitness as a father?"

"Of course not. I know how much you love your girls. You would never hurt them."

Some of his fury slipped off his face at her reassurance. His broad shoulders slumped and his voice grew softer.

"Alice is at her grandfather's. The old fool _did_ question my ability as a father. Said my girls deserved better than me. Couldn't even protect my Hannah."

Despite still being half-full, the wizard flung the bottle of fire whiskey across the room with all his might. It crashed against the wall, bits of glass and droplets of liquor exploding all over the space. It was no wonder there was so much glass on the floor if that's what he'd been doing for days.

"All I _ever_ wanted was to keep her safe and shielded from all of the disgusting shite in our world. From the moment I saw her cowering half-naked and bruised from what that bastard did to her, I just wanted to keep her safe."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He turned to look Hermione in the eyes.

"I wanted to rip him apart with my bare hands, but she begged me not to. Said she didn't want me to fall down to his level. She was too good for our world."

Hermione couldn't do anything but agree. She was. Even when the rest of their society resorted to a more primal, animalistic state, Hannah remained above all of it. She was still kind-hearted, loyal, and trusting up until the very moment she was murdered.

"I knew I should've taken Rodolphus up on the offer he made me months ago."

"What?"

"Hannah convinced me to say 'no' and look what happened. She would still be alive if I didn't let myself get involved with the likes of you."

Never had Hermione seen the wizard so cold. He was usually friendly and ready to laugh when he wasn't in battle or dealing with their enemies. Not once had she ever seen such hatred directed at her from her friend.

"You ruined my life, Princess. I'll never forgive you."

Completely in shock, she didn't know what to say. How could she possibly respond? He rose to his feet, reminding her just how very small she was in comparison.

"You're cursed. Everyone who touches you is fucked. I don't ever want to see you again."

"Thorfinn…"

"Get out!"

She didn't wait for him to curse her or throw her out of his house with his bare hands. Rushing out of his presence, Hermione was hardly in the corridor outside his bedroom before she heard the heart-wrenching, choking sobs of a broken man. If she learned in the coming days that he succeeded in drowning himself in fire whiskey, she wouldn't be surprised. Some people weren't capable of recovering from such a devastating loss. She sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen. Thorfinn had three daughters who still needed him.

Standing outside of the house, Hermione discovered how furious she really was. How many more were going to die before this was all over? How many other families would be ruined and torn apart? She Disapparated away from Hogsmeade, perfectly all right if that was the last time she ever returned to the village that had been her home for more than half her life.

For the second time that night, she didn't care what time it was or how late the hour had grown. When she reached her desired destination, she took the lift to the top floor and began to pound on the front door of Draco's flat. The bemused wizard opened up within moments.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to give you want you want in exchange for what I want."

She must've caught him dozing. He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying. She answered his question before he had a chance to ask.

"One night of you doing whatever you desire to me in exchange for a list. Not of your uncle's targets though. I want a list of everyone working for him."

Draco didn't hesitate to step back to allow her entrance.


	276. October 2nd

October 2nd

Hermione meant every single world she said outside of Draco's flat. Changing the parameters of their previous deal, she was no longer interested in protecting those suspected of being allies of the Dolohovs. No, she wanted names of those foolish enough to cast their lot in with Rodolphus. Something told her that Draco would give it to her if she just asked. And fulfilled the terms of his filthy bargain, of course. But, at least it wasn't as if she was disgusted by the terms.

Once she was inside his flat, he gave her a promise that he would get the list she wanted. Maybe she should've been suspicious by his eagerness to sell out his mutual allies, but she wasn't. Instinct told her that Draco wanted the entire ordeal to be over almost as much as she did. Besides, she wasn't going to just trust his word alone. She had every intention of taking the list to another source for independent verification.

If Draco was curious what brought about her change of mind or why she came to his flat so late at night, he didn't ask any questions. He could tell that something had her agitated and upset. Insisting that they open a bottle of wine, Hermione was thankful for his suggestion. She really could use a little something to calm her nerves and her previous stay in his flat taught her that he had excellent taste in wine.

By the end of their second glass, she was calm and more than a little excited about the prospect of what the night held in store. They hadn't done anything more than snog like a couple of hormonal teenagers since that Sunday afternoon months earlier he'd been able to persuade her to spend a few hours in his flat. Maybe he would betray her again. It wasn't as if she could really trust him after all, but she'd missed his touch, _craved_ the way he made her feel when they were together.

It came as no shock to either of them that they weren't able to make it beyond the sofa where they enjoyed their wine before their clothes were hastily removed. When they were alone and allowed themselves to succumb to the temptation of the forbidden, sparks always flew. Hermione had no regrets about her decision to use her body as a means to get the information she desired. If she was truly honest with herself regarding her motivations for being there, she would've done the same just because she wanted to. The promise of a list simply gave her a flimsy excuse to give into the desires of her body. Draco was an excellent distraction from the turmoil in her mind.

Their first round of a promised many was eerily reminiscent of the night they drank too much fire whiskey on the twentieth anniversary of their world turning to complete shite. She would always carry around fond memories of that sofa and the debauchery it witnessed.

Draco sat up on the sofa and dragged her across the cushions to straddle his hips. Thrusting deeply into her needy, slick core, Hermione threw her head back and groaned. He loved her to be on top because of how she unafraid to lose herself in the pleasurable rhythms. And at that angle, it also gave him the chance to pull each of her nipples into his mouth as he wished. He never made it a secret that he could lavish her body with his tongue for hours. She certainly had no complaints.

"I'm so glad you knocked on my door tonight."

Any attempt she might have made to respond was forgotten the moment the wizard grabbed her hips in a tight grip and proved to her with his determined movements just how much he meant what he said. She couldn't think beyond the sensations overpowering every cell in her entire body. If he was making up for lost time, she would gladly enjoy the ride. All worries and concerns temporarily were forgotten as she gave herself permission to just feel. No one said she couldn't enjoy how she obtained the information she wanted on Rodolphus' cohorts.

"I should've never let you walk out the door months ago."

He emphasized his words with steadily increasing possessive thrusts. She didn't care what he said. She could hardly understand words as the intensity of his motions threatened to push her over the edge. If he wanted to declare his desire to murder her when they were finished, she wouldn't have minded just so long as he didn't stop what he was doing. His name was on her lips when she tumbled over, dragging his pleasure along with hers. Neither of them moved from the sofa until they could breathe normally again.

Somewhere in their exertions they'd missed the chiming of the midnight hour. It was so easy to lose track of time when they were alone. Draco carefully pushed Hermione out of his lap, steadying her when her still-wobbly legs threatened to give out. As she led her to his bedroom by the hand, still neither of them spoke. There was no need.

Once back in his bed after such a long absence, Hermione realized she'd missed being there. More than just thigh-trembling deviance took place between the ultra-soft luxurious linens. When their bodies were too tired for another round, the two of them stayed up talking about all manner of topics when she'd been there before. Despite their less-than-cordial school years together, they didn't have a terribly complicated past. Not like she did with her husband. It was easy to imagine what her life might've been like if he'd entered it sooner. Would she have married Antonin? Would Rodolphus still have gone through with his complicated plans? She could almost convince herself that life would've been much better.

"What happened here?"

Draco lightly ran his fingertips over the bruises on her beck. They were still visible despite the potions she'd taken. Tender to the touch, she flinched.

"William Wood tried to kill me when I was in St. Mungo's. Almost succeeded."

"What?"

He was visibly disturbed by her statement. She tried to brush off his concerns while she gave him only the barest of details. Talking about her attack was hardly how she wanted to spend her time in his bed. Wanting to lighten the mood, she laughed and tried to make a joke.

"I recently found out that my husband is fucking Ginny Weasley. Finding that out and failing in his quest to murder me would make Wood's week."

Draco was confused if his furrowed brow was any indication.

"Ginny and Will have never been a thing."

It was her turn to be confused. She'd _seen_ them together. Ginny exerted a certain amount of control over the clearly unhinged man. What other explanation could there be?

"Ginny's got a weird friendship with him, but no, they were never together. She's not his type. He's gay."

"I don't believe you."

Not offended by her refusal to believe him, Draco laughed.

"The night he kissed me years ago would seem to prove otherwise."

"Oh."

"Why do you think he's jealous of the idea of me with Ginny? It's not because he wants Ginny for himself."

She knew there was no point in arguing. Obviously he knew more about the man's personal preferences than she did. All she really knew about him was that he really wanted to kill her. Something else she remembered bothered her about the revelation of Wood's sexuality.

"Why would Ginny tell me that she and Wood had a daughter?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe she's embarrassed by who the real father is and he agreed to help her co-parent."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know any more about the non-traditional family the witch created. Knowing about Wood opened up a lot of possibilities Hermione didn't want to consider. It was bad enough knowing that Ginny was having an ongoing affair with her husband. The thought that… no, she refused to allow her mind to travel down dangerous paths.

"He's determined to kill you."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're right. If he'd been the least bit competent, he would've succeeded."

A disturbing thought came to her. The cottage she had been staying in was secure, but what if Wood decided to use the tracking spell to come after her when she was in Draco's flat? After she voiced her fear, he simply kissed her to stop the nervous rambling he feared was coming.

"He won't be able to track you here. I have very advanced wards on my flat. Even your paranoid husband would be impressed."

She hoped he was right. Sensing that Hermione still struggled, Draco kissed her again.

"And if by some miracle he's able to find this flat, I promise you, Hermione, he's not leaving it alive."

His lips gently brushed the bruises covering her throat.

"I'm already tempted to seek him out and dispose of his as it is because of what he did to you."

There was anger and passion in his voice as he spoke the words. Hermione still wasn't sure what Draco's true feelings for her were, but she believed him when he said he wanted to end Wood. It was also likely selfish. Years of being essentially blackmailed by the cretin couldn't have been easy. Wood dangled Draco's freedom and his very life in front of him. More proof the man was an amateur. Death Eaters understood how quickly prey could become predators.

"I want him dead. You want him dead. My husband wants him dead. And I highly doubt we're the only ones. It'll happen soon enough."

"I just hope he doesn't get another crack at hurting you before it does."

"I can take care of myself, Draco."

He sighed.

"I know you can. Just wish this was all over. I'm almost beginning to miss the days when the Dark Lord was alive."

While she could certainly understand his frustration with all of the uncertainty and confusion taking place in their world at the present moment, Hermione knew she could never agree. She wasn't missing life under the Dark Lord one bit. Maybe she had power and a pampered existence while everyone feared her, but it wasn't a comfortable way to live. She'd only been able to survive as long as she did because of her potions addiction. Without them, she had no idea how long she could've kept going.

"Why did you agree to help me? And don't tell me it was just to get me naked again."

It was unnecessary to point out that considering the crumbling of her life and her dying marriage, it was highly likely she would've ended up in his bed again with or without promises of even the barest of assistance. Even in seemingly happy recent days with her husband she thought about Draco entirely too often. Her question seemed to catch him off-guard. He considered his answer carefully before speaking.

"Because you're all alone. You don't have anyone on your side right now and I think it's only fair to even the playing field."

Though she might not have been entirely convinced that he was being honest, his answer at least made some sort of logical sense. If he cared about her at all, he wouldn't want her to be at a disadvantage.

"I don't even know why we're talking at all with you naked in my bed."

He gently kissed her bruises again, moving his lips gradually down the front of her body.

"No more talking. The only words I want coming out of your mouth are…"

 _Kiss_.

"Yes."

 _Kiss_.

"Harder"

 _Kiss_.

"Fuck."

 _Kiss_.

"Draco."

The feel of his tongue slipping between her thighs and landing straight on the sensitive nub he found there made her see stars and forget all about the serious conversation they'd just been engaged in.

"Fuck, Draco! _Yes_."

She could feel him smile against her slick skin.

"That's my girl."

It was hardly the last opportunity she had to utter those same words. Before the night was all over, she was reduced to incoherent moans.


	277. October 3rd

October 3rd

Hermione didn't rush to leave Draco's flat even when the night she promised him in exchange for the list was technically over. When he teased her about staying longer, she told him that the night was for the list, but the morning was all for her. He had no complaints and made it worth her while to laze around his flat until well into mid-afternoon.

Returning to the cottage wasn't what she wished to do. As she had limited options, she couldn't be picky. There wasn't even a home for her to sneak back into in Hogsmeade. Even if she could guarantee that Rodolphus or one of the idiots that he employed in his plan for world domination, or whatever ridiculous idea he had planned, wouldn't find her, there was nothing but a massive hole where her home once stood. Augustus' house would be watched and there was always the chance that Alecto would find her there again. Besides, she didn't want to give her ex-lover any sort of hope that there could be a future together. Even when she lived in his house with her husband and son, she caught him looking in her direction when he thought she couldn't see him with a wistful expression in his eyes. He would probably do whatever she asked him to do for the rest of his life.

So it was back to the hated cottage. Truthfully, if it hadn't belonged to the brother-in-law that she loathed, she might not have minded the location. It was a charming piece of real estate. Very secluded, it was one of those places that few would ever be able to find unless they knew it was already there. After living for twenty years on center stage where every single one of her movements and decisions were examined under a microscope, she didn't mind the seclusion. In fact, given her choice, she would gladly live in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her life.

It was uncomfortable being in the cottage without Antonin. There had been a shifting in the way that it felt to be there that made her uneasy. Maybe it was mostly related to the fact that she was missing her husband. Or, rather she was missing what she _thought_ she might have found with him. But because her life was never simple and frequently it was full of heartache, it was not meant to be. She would have to stay in the cottage until she came up with a better idea. Staying with Draco might have been an enjoyable way to spend a night, but it wasn't a long-term solution. They were on opposite sides of the conflict. Even with the peace they'd decided upon while they were inside his flat, neither one of them could guarantee that would continue indefinitely.

Waiting for Draco to get the list she wanted was difficult. Hermione's patience had grown very thin. When they finally decided they could linger in bed no longer, they separated at the front door of his flat with a lingering kiss and promise that he would get what she asked for. She knew it would take some time. Draco would have to be careful how he approached his uncle. Rodolphus was a suspicious man after all. The first day back in the cottage she slept away thanks to the exhaustion that plagued her body after a delightful night of too little sleep.

The second day was a little more frustrating. After sleeping in as late as she wanted, Hermione grew restless. There was nowhere for her to go if she left the cottage. Considering how her previous forays into the wide world had gone, she wasn't looking forward to walking out the front door. Much like the days when she was back on the run, she didn't know what to do with herself. It was an existence that she knew she couldn't keep living.

Somehow she managed to fall asleep on the sofa in the main room of the cottage just from sheer boredom. That and she knew that she might have pushed her body too hard in Draco's flat. She was still recovering from her almost strangulation and the attack in Hogsmeade. Ignoring the fact that she promised herself she wouldn't take another, Hermione downed an entire vial of one of the potions the Healers prescribed. She could stand with a little numbness even if it wasn't nearly as effective as she wished. Night had fallen and she cursed herself for allowing her body to sleep so late. She would never get her schedule back on track if she kept at it. The potion helped to relax her enough that when she slipped underneath the hot, bubbly water in the bathtub, she didn't have any trouble dozing off again.

The sound of the bathroom door opening woke Hermione up out of the sleep she'd fallen in accidentally. Evidently the pain potion was stronger than she expected. Taking an entire vial was likely too much. Based on how cool the water in the tub had gotten, she'd been asleep for awhile. Expecting, and perhaps hoping, to see her husband enter the room, she was startled to see Aubin Dolohov enter the room instead.

She'd grown too complacent, too sure of her safety to give much thought to the very real possibility that her brother-in-law might eventually return to his own home while she was still there. Feeling exposed as the bubbles in the bathtub had long since dissipated, she covered as much of her skin as she could with her arms. Realizing what she was doing, Aubin rolled his eyes and tossed her a towel.

"There is _nothing_ that you possess that I'm the least bit interested in seeing."

Hermione hated the horrible man. Never once had they ever been in the same room together when he didn't find it necessary to insult her in some manner. She never could understand what it was about her that he found so loathsome. Unless it was simply his suspected Malfoy blood peeking through and he had no use for Mudbloods. But, even that was a flimsy excuse for his hatred. Hadn't she just spent many pleasurable hours in the company of his possible nephew? When she was wrapped in a towel and climbing out of the water, Aubin pointed to the bruises on her neck.

"Did my big brother do that to you? Shame he clearly has no follow through."

Despite having just woken up from a very pleasant nap, she didn't have the energy to deal with her difficult brother-in-law. She _never_ had enough energy for that odious task.

"What are you doing here, Aubin?"

"It's _my_ house. What are _you_ doing here?"

He was blocking the only exit out. The room felt too small with the two of them inside. What was he playing at? Aubin never did anything without an agenda. Hermione sighed, unsure what to tell him. It was Antonin's idea to use his house to hide in. She didn't want any part of it, but didn't exactly have a choice in the matter.

"I've been back about a week now. Hated to leave Italy, of course, but something told me I needed to come back, needed to _check_ on how things were going. Even in Italy we're hearing rumors that all is not going well here."

Hermione didn't want to give the man any power over her. If he knew how uncomfortable he was making her, he would stop at nothing to increase his obnoxious actions and speech. Experience taught her that he was more malleable if she just gave him the chance to speak. She only wished that they could've had whatever discussion they apparently needed to have when she wasn't naked, wrapped in a towel.

"You know, I found it very strange when I was here several days ago that I couldn't find my house. I mean, I knew exactly where I left it, but when I Apparated here, I couldn't see it. Couldn't get near it. Wandered around the immediate area searching for it."

"You were the one following me that night."

He smiled, an expression that only served to make her more nervous. For such an attractive man on the surface, there was a darkness underneath the skin that always bothered her. Antonin and each of his brothers were handsome in various ways, no doubt due to the unlikelihood that any of them shared the same father. Where Alain was warm and friendly, Aubin was cold and his face was twisted in a constant sneer. Alexandre was quiet and unassuming, but likely one of the kindest men Hermione had ever met; his younger brother always demanded to be the center of attention and was more selfish than any three people combined. And the differences between Antonin and Aubin were quite simply too numerous to name.

"Clever girl. Glad to see your mind isn't completely gone. Yes, I followed you. Couldn't imagine why you would be anywhere near my home."

Once out of the bathtub, Hermione picked her dressing gown off of the sink where she'd laid it to rest. Her brother-in-law watched every single movement she made, no doubt assuming she was going to curse him with her wand if given the chance. Though it bothered her to have him staring at her while she covered her naked body in the dressing gown, she did it anyway. She tied the belt at her waist and dropped the towel that was still wrapped around her to the floor. When she reached into the pocket of the dressing gown, she bit back a string of uncharitable words for her carelessness. She'd left her wand in the pocket of the robes she was wearing before her bath - the robes that were lying in the middle of the bedroom floor. Had she allowed her mind to become so distracted that she let her wand out of her sight for a single second? She wasn't even safe inside the cottage despite Antonin's assurances that she would be.

"Imagine my surprise when I returned this evening and my house is back. Very strange. I imagine my brother didn't stop to consider the consequences of casting a Fidelius Charm on a home he wasn't actually the owner of. Even his large brain forgot that once the Secret Keeper is dead, the owner can find the structure just as easily as those who remained alive in possession of the secret. Anyone can really. Using a house that belongs to someone else and not getting their permission just negates the entire spell after the Secret Keeper is dead."

Having her wand in her possession would've given her the chance to blast the smug smirk off of the horrible man's face. In the chaos of her attack in Hogsmeade and then William Wood's attempt to kill her and every other horrible thing that had happened, she hadn't stopped to consider the fact that with their Secret-Keeper dead, the Fidelius Charm her husband cast on the cottage was no longer valid. Yes, it _should_ have been a thought that she considered, but she had to remind herself that she was only human and unable to anticipate _everything_. Antonin was very likely even smarter than she was. Certainly he had more experience than she did and even he didn't seem to remember that their safe house would be left exposed. Of course, very few people in the world even knew it existed in the first place and her husband was operating under the assumption that his little brother wouldn't return any time soon. _And_ she did suffer a concussion that horrible day Hannah was murdered. Maybe she was losing her mind.

"Well, just let me gather my things and I will _gladly_ leave you alone in your horrible house."

Aubin's smile did nothing to put her at ease. He was the sort of pathetic cretin that only was happy when others around him failed. If he was pleased, she knew that something very bad was in store for her. She needed to get out of the cottage as quickly as possible. It wasn't safe to linger there any longer. Not when he was clearly up to something. She wasn't sure where she would go. Maybe Draco would let her take refuge in his flat for another night until she found something more permanent.

"Is your husband around? Should I expect my big brother to be joining us any time soon?"

He stepped away from the door to allow her to exit.

"No, he won't be coming here."

"Excellent. Just what we want to hear."

One step outside of the bathroom she looked up to meet the furious gaze of one William Wood standing in front of the door that led to the rest of the cottage and the only exit. Aubin stepped up behind her, practically breathing down her neck.

"Oh, forgive me, Hermione. I forgot to tell you that I've brought an old friend to visit."


	278. October 4th

_Author's Note : For those of you convinced that Hermione is somehow "stupid" for leaving her wand in the other room, how many of you carry a loaded gun with you into the bathtub when you're at home? She felt safe there and had no reason to believe her brother-in-law was even in the country. And just like anyone can break into our homes no matter how many safety precautions we take, you wouldn't call a victim of a home invasion "stupid" for believing they were safe in their own home. Or would you? I wouldn't. (And I've actually walked into a home invasion before. Terrifying experience!) Like I said in the first chapter, you will never ever read a story of mine where Hermione is perfect at all times and makes no mistakes. Perfection is boring and unrealistic. ;)_

* * *

October 4th

Hermione was fucked. Utterly and completely _fucked_. Alone in a cottage in the middle of nowhere with two men that would love to see her dead and seemingly no way out. In the first moments of the bizarre, terrifying situation she found herself in, all she could focus on was the sound of a clanging clock in the next room. Late enough that midnight had approached, she knew that she couldn't expect her husband to just drop by unexpectedly. He would have no reason to be there that late and after she practically demanded that he return to Ginny's bed, he knew that he wasn't wanted. No one would be coming to her defense.

"Will and I were in the same year at Hogwarts. Rivals on the Quidditch pitch, but able to find some common ground when we were alone in the Quidditch changing rooms."

There'd been speculation in the Dolohov family that Aubin's interests didn't lie solely with women, but no one had ever been able to get a straight answer from him or proof. Not that Hermione cared one bit whose bed the horrible man climbed into. It was none of her business and the less of her life spent thinking about him, the better. She couldn't imagine that he would bring his old school boy lover to his secluded cottage for anything other than a nefarious purpose that would leave her dead.

"I was surprised to hear that Will and I had a common enemy."

Aubin was the sort of man who liked to hear the sound of his own voice. If any further proof was needed that he was Lucius Malfoy's younger brother, that would certainly help the case. Merlin and all of the Knights of the Round Table knew that when Lucius was in his cups, he couldn't shut up and those days he was _always_ in his cups. Hermione only half-listened to the man's speech as she tried not to make it obvious she was staring at the discarded robes in the middle of the floor. She would have to move very quickly if she wanted to get her wand out of the pocket before either of them could stop her. Twenty years as a Death Eater and then years before that fighting on the other side gave her somewhat of an advantage to those that stayed on the outskirts of the action.

"You murdered his little brother and I've never forgiven you for turning _my_ brother into a pathetic, Mudblood loving fool. I used to have respect for my brother. Even hope that I could help him when he rose to power as the new Dark Lord."

That was the first Hermione had ever heard of her brother-in-law being the least bit interested in Antonin's activities. Following his arrest at the end of the first wizarding war, all three of Antonin's younger brothers saw him as a cautionary tale. None of them wanted to end up with their life ruined in Azkaban. When the Dark Lord finally won the blasted second wizarding war, they continued with their lives outside of the borders of their native country out of fear that they would be somehow pulled into the violence. They only returned for brief visits. Aubin never seemed to want to even be in the same room as his eldest brother for more than an hour or two at a time every five or six years. Knowing that he hoped to be of assistance when Antonin became the Dark Lord was a surprise indeed.

"But now I understand that because of you and that mongrel that fell out of your well-used vagina, he no longer has any aspirations for power. Just wants a quiet life when he should be the next Dark Lord. It's _his_ by rights."

Hermione firmly believed that her brother-in-law was at least half-insane. As someone who was at least that much and likely more, she thought she could recognize the signs of one about to lose complete contact with reality. It was interesting to hear that Aubin was aware that Antonin wanted nothing more than to be with his family. Where did he learn that? She knew she'd told a few people in confidence the same. Maybe through one of them the message eventually made its way to Aubin. Or perhaps Antonin was now openly admitting that he didn't want to participate in any sort of power struggle for the head of the regime. It didn't matter. All that mattered in that moment was getting the fuck out of the cottage.

She had to make her move quickly to get to her wand. One misstep and it was all over. Waiting until she noticed the two men share a silent look between each other filled with meaning, Hermione ran towards the bundle of robes on the floor. She could just feel the fabric between her fingers when a spell shot at her by one of the wizards sent her flying across the room. Slamming into the wall, she felt her breath knocked out of her. Before she could even fall back to the floor, rough hands grabbed her and dragged her to one of the dining chairs from the kitchen that had been brought into the room while she was still in the bathroom. Clearly, they came prepared. Ropes shot out of the end of Aubin's wand, binding each of her limbs to the chair. Her hope was waning.

"Not fast enough, I'm afraid."

It was the first time that William spoke since she came to the sickening realization that he was there. She'd underestimated him time and time again over the previous nine months. Somehow she got the impression that he would never be able to succeed in his dastardly plans. Maybe if he didn't just happen to be former, or possibly current, lovers with the brother-in-law who hated her, she might have been correct. Once she was tied up and completely at the mercy of the two men, she knew that she'd been very wrong to think him nothing more than an annoyance. She should have taken care of him months earlier. It wouldn't have been difficult.

"Because of _you_ , Will and I have both lost brothers."

"I'm going to enjoy taking my time with you. There won't be any Healers to interrupt us this time."

Stalling was the only weapon she had at her disposal. The longer it took them to complete their task, the more chance she had of _someone_ stumbling upon their treachery. Hermione hoped that Antonin could sense that she was in danger and come seek her out. How many ridiculous novels had she read over the years where the heroine had a special connection with her love that they could just know when the other was in danger? It was all balderdash, to be certain, but for once, she tried to cling to the hope that it wasn't. Neither of the wizards would be a match for her husband.

"How did you even know I was here in the cottage? I didn't think you would care to come back here when everything was still so chaotic. You've always struck me as one who doesn't care to get his hands dirty, Aubin."

A smack against her cheek with the back of his hand was his initial response. She would have to be careful with how much she provoked her brother-in-law. He'd grown up pampered and given the impression that there was nothing he could do wrong. Thanks to his worthless Fawley grandparents he was a self-absorbed, entitled, overgrown brat. The wrong word would send him over the edge. Concerned at first that she'd said it too soon, she relaxed slightly when he smiled.

"Will knows a handy tracking spell. Said he's been looking for you for weeks after you were forced to flee Hogsmeade, but he never could find you. I imagine you've been hiding in places with strong wards and possibly even Fidelius Charms? My big brother is the paranoid type."

The brother of the first man she murdered circled the chair she was tied up in. Even in the short period of time since she last saw him as he tried to strangle the life out of her, he'd grown even more agitated. He was a man at the end of his tether. Shame that she was going to have to figure out a way to end them both if she managed to get out of there. They would've made a perfect couple, she thought sarcastically. Moving to stand in front of her, William took over the rest of the story.

"I knew this general area even if I couldn't see the cottage. Aubin and I have met here many times over the years."

"I _really_ don't want to hear about your sex life."

She hissed in pain at the feel of a blade slashing across her right cheek. He'd moved his hand so swiftly she didn't even know what he was doing until the blood started to well up in the wound. Perhaps he hoped to extend her suffering to a death by a thousand cuts or something equally dramatic. It was almost enough to make her roll her eyes. They were both complete amateurs. To give herself something to focus on rather than her fear, she took to internally critiquing every single mistake they were making. And there were a number.

"It didn't take much to put the pieces together that you were hiding in Aubin's cottage. I sent him an owl with my suspicions."

"And then he came here from Italy and you waited for your chance? Lovely story. Can we get on with this?"

Aubin slapped the cheek his lover just sliced. She almost cried out in pain, but managed to bite her tongue. Giving them the satisfaction of her screams was too much. They didn't deserve them. She would do whatever it took to make sure they didn't break her.

"You've made a lot of enemies, _whore_. How long do you think it'll take my big brother before he finds your body? I imagine that'll push him over the edge. Gone will be his hopes for a quiet life. He'll be hungry for vengeance. Maybe he'll even decide to take his rightful place as the Dark Lord after all. For reasons I've never understood, he actually loves you."

The scowl on Aubin's face made Hermione roll her eyes. She was done talking. Nothing physical they did to her body would be worse than having to listen to them speak. As terrified as she truly was deep down, she was oddly relaxed about the whole situation. It was really no more than what she deserved. How many people had she done that very same thing to over the years? Perhaps it was about time she got a taste of her own potion.

"You know, Aubin, I've never used an Unforgivable before."

Hermione almost hoped that William was referring to Avada Kedavra. At least then she wouldn't have to continue with the embarrassment of a torture session. She could've taught them both so much about the proper way to bind a prisoner and to cause maximum pain. A tug at her bindings proved that she could _probably_ get out of them if they left her alone. As much as the thought grossed her out, she hoped they would be the type of people who found violence and torture to be exhilarating. Rabastan was the sort. He never could get through a session without getting hard. A few times they'd even taken advantage of his reaction in the middle of an interrogation. They were able to give some of their victims an entertaining show shortly before they died right there in one of the locked side rooms on Level Eleven. If Aubin and William found violence to be stimulating, perhaps she could slip out of the ropes when they were too busy sucking each other off or defiling the sheets to notice what she was doing.

" _Crucio_!"

There was more than enough hatred inside of William Wood to make his first Unforgivable successful. Writhing in pain, Hermione couldn't keep her promise to herself that she wouldn't scream. Inexperienced casters of that spell could be highly dangerous. Stuck in the same position because of the rope, she didn't have much of a chance to move around. Sharp pain inside her skin indicated that she'd broken at least a couple of bones. She might have broken more if he didn't let up soon after starting. He didn't have the stomach to keep up the steady stream of Dark magic required to make that spell work. Few did.

She lost track of time. When William warned her that he was going to take his time, he hadn't been lying. Each of the wizards took their turn inflicting pain on their victim. Sometimes they used spells. Other times they'd use their hands and their feet. The cut on her face was far from the only cut they inflicted. Her dressing gown was in tatters before long. Soaked in her blood, it was impossible to tell what the color of the fabric once was. William grew more confident in his application of the Cruciatus Curse. As she screamed her still-healing throat raw, she thought about the night she killed Amycus Carrow. Would they let it go that far? Or would they take pity on her before that moment?

Any hope that she would be able to break out of her bonds were dashed as time wore on. She lost count the number of times she suffered under the burning pain of the Cruciatus. Both wizards took their turn trying it. So many years outside of the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, she'd forgotten how to withstand the pain. Her body was out of practice. And each slice to her skin robbed her of more and more blood. She was growing woozy, unable to keep her head up. Only the tall back of the chair kept it propped up.

The two men began to argue about what they were going to do next. She opened her eyes up as much as she could to watch. With their backs to the bedroom door, neither one of them even noticed when another person entered. Hoping that it was Antonin after receiving a psychic message she tried to send him, she was able to see the newcomer strike both of her would-be murderers in the back with stunners. Convinced that she was saved or she was dead and it was all simply a fantasy, she closed her eyes, no longer able to stay awake. The last thing she remembered before succumbing to the darkness was the feel of her body being carefully lifted off of the chair and carried.


	279. October 5th

October 5th

Every cell in Hermione's body cried out in pain. Though not nearly as sharp as when she was still back in the damned cottage underneath the knives and wands of the two idiots she'd somehow managed to allow to trap her, she wasn't completely healed when she woke up. Bright sunshine shone through an open window straight into her eyes. As much as she wanted to complain about how thoughtless it was to leave the windows uncovered, she couldn't. Whoever was taking care of her obviously saved her life.

The softness of the sheets told her immediately whose flat she was in. If she made it out of the current war alive, she was going to have to get the name of whatever shop Draco bought his bed linens from. She smiled to herself, afraid to chuckle lest she hurt herself. How did Draco even know where to find her? And how was his timing so bloody perfect? _Well_ , she thought. _Perhaps not_ that _perfect._ She'd almost died. If the enigmatic wizard hadn't found her when he did…

She stopped her line of thinking from traveling too far down a road it shouldn't. It didn't matter what _might_ have happened. It _didn't_. Draco was somehow able to make to the cottage she was tied up in and save her before Aubin and William Wood were able to kill her. Nothing else mattered. All dwelling on what could have been would do was drive her mad. She didn't need any additional help in that endeavor.

When she felt strong enough to move around, she carefully lifted up the bedcovers. Dressed in one of Draco's soft vests, she couldn't see the wounds that the horrible monsters inflicted on her. She checked underneath the fabric to find the slashes that Aubin made across her torso were covered in thick bandages. After her savior brought her unconscious to his flat, he'd tended all of her wounds and made her drink foul healing potions. The acrid taste of the concoctions still sat on her tongue. More than just getting her out of the cottage, he'd clearly saved her life more than once. She wasn't going to survive long without help. Too much of her blood had been drained.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

There was evident relief in Draco's voice when he entered his bedroom just a few short minutes after she woke up. Tension in his shoulders dissipated when he saw her eyes open. Had he really been worried about her? He held several vials in his hand. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he started uncorking them and pushing them into her hand. Seeing no reason not to trust the wizard at that point thanks to all he'd already done, she swallowed them without question. If he wanted her dead, he'd already had plenty of opportunity.

"I wasn't sure when you would wake up. Or, honestly, _if_ you would wake up. I didn't want to take you to St. Mungo's. There'd be too many questions asked and after what you told me happened the last time you were there, it's clear it's not safe there any longer."

The potions helped to dull some of the pain she was still experiencing. Days would likely pass before she felt like herself again. It had been a long time since she'd been put through so much physical strain. Though she still felt very weak, she was already feeling much better than she had in the cottage. Whatever he'd done for her worked.

"What happened? How did you even know where to find me?"

Draco took the empty potions vials from her hand and set them on the table next to the bed. He took a deep breath before answering her question. It truly was a miracle that he was able to rescue her at the perfect time. How did he always seem to _know_ when she needed him to arrive? He had the same uncanny ability to sense she was at her wit's end when she was staying in the Resistance village. Every time she was ready to walk away permanently, he would approach her and say just the right words to keep her from leaving. When she was being rescued, in those few moments she was able to stay conscious, she assumed that her rescuer was Antonin. Who else would have a reason to be there in the middle of the night?

"I tracked you there. I'd tried to find you a couple of weeks ago after you came to my flat. The spell kept bringing me near there, but I couldn't even see the house or get close to it. Thought I'd give it a try again just in case you were somewhere else. I was able to compile a fairly detailed list like you asked for."

"And you just _had_ to bring it to me in the middle of the night?"

His cheek flushed the lightest pink and she bit back a smile. There were few reasons to show up unannounced at a person's house in the middle of the night. For being such a talented tracker who was used to being fairly sneaky in his duties, he was being all too transparent. She knew the answer before he even gave it.

"Yes, well, I selfishly hoped that you'd be so grateful for the list that you and I could give it another go."

Laughter bubbled out of her chest at his honesty. Almost immediately she regretted it. Sharp pain in her side proved that she was right about having broken bones. Whether it was due to the repeated bouts of the Cruciatus Curse or the repeated punching and kicking the wizards enjoyed, she knew at least one of her ribs was broken.

"Careful! You're still healing."

Draco tutted after her like an annoyed mother hen. Smoothing down the bedcovers she'd mussed, he did what he could to make her feel comfortable. She knew that the fact that he'd put her inside his own bed, and not in the guest bed as he did the last time he slipped a potion into her tea, was significant. Was he trying to prove to her that he meant what he said about caring for her? She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind. That was hardly the time to think of the inconvenience of a wartime romance. There were other much more important issues to worry about than whether or not a wizard fancied her.

"I didn't have any Skele-Gro, but I'll make sure to get some today. I thought you might have broken bones, but I wasn't sure. Diagnostic spells aren't my strength and I was mostly worried about getting the bleeding to stop. I must've poured three blood replenishing potions down you when you first got here. I should probably get some more, but I don't want the apothecary to be too suspicious."

Rambling because he was nervous, Hermione found him endearing. She could only imagine what he'd gone through in the time from taking her out of the cottage to getting her to his flat. It must have been terribly frightening for him to be all alone. Though it took much of her remaining strength to do so, she lifted her hand to rest her palm against his cheek. He calmed at the simple touch.

"Thank you for saving my life, Draco. I… I don't know how or why you found me, but I'm very glad that you did."

"You were all alone. _Somebody_ had to do it. Your husband certainly…"

He stopped himself before he said more than he should. There wasn't any need for him to continue. She knew what he wanted to say. Antonin _should_ have been there with her. She shouldn't have been left alone when she'd only _just_ been almost murdered. As angry as she knew she could've been at Antonin, she just couldn't summon up the emotion. _She_ was the one who told him to go, who practically threw him out of the house that wasn't even hers. If she hadn't insisted that he leave, he would've been there and there was no way that his brother and William Wood could've gotten close enough to her to give her so much as a paper cut. She would have to take the responsibility for that.

"So you tried to track me again?"

"Yes, and that time I was able to see the cottage. Couldn't see it when I tried before."

A sadness settled over Hermione that she was sure he didn't miss. He was too perceptive to not notice any change in here. Staring at her for a few beats, he sighed.

"Abbott was your Secret-Keeper, wasn't she?"

She could only nod. Talking about Hannah was too hard. Maybe one day she would be able to do so freely, but not yet. She still felt a tremendous guilt about her part in the woman's murder. Thorfinn was right. She _was_ cursed. Everyone that was foolish or unlucky enough to be in her life suffered. Draco gently squeezed her hand.

"Shame about her. I always liked her… even in school."

Seeing an opportunity for levity and a chance to lighten the mood ever so slightly, Hermione smiled.

" _You_ fancied a Hufflepuff?"

" _Shh_ , don't tell anyone. Wouldn't want to damage my reputation."

His cheeky wink made her laugh again. Aware of the damage to her ribs, she was able to keep from injuring herself further. Whether he realized it or not, he was actually helping to keep her calm. She appreciated his efforts. Somehow she didn't feel nearly as frightened as she did.

"I'm glad I entered when I did. You weren't going to last much longer. They were out of their element. Didn't know what they were doing. Neither one of them knew how dumb it was to turn their backs to the door. I was able to stun them both thanks to the element of surprise. They didn't even see me coming. Fools."

"And I'm glad they were amateurs and I'm glad that you were randy."

He chuckled as he gently kissed her forehead.

"You're staying here until you're completely healed, even if I have to tie you to the bed."

She couldn't resist the urge to tease him again.

"That could be fun."

"I should've tied you to my bed months ago and never let you leave."

The air in the room grew thick with tension. It wasn't the first time he made a comment about wishing he'd been able to keep her tucked away in his flat. She didn't regret leaving. Not only was she able to save Aberforth Dumbledore from an early death, she was able to discover a side to her husband that she didn't know existed. She'd also uncovered the memory charms and spells that Rodolphus implanted in her mind. As much as part of her would've liked to have been able to stay in his flat longer, she was glad she left.

"I meant what I said earlier, Draco. Thank you. I owe you my life."

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with how the conversation turned. Would he always feel that way about her gratitude? She thought it likely. Malfoys were a strange breed and he was no exception.

"Rest. You've been through quite an ordeal. I'm going to leave to get some more potions."

Hermione watched him leave the room, convinced that she would never understand the man. She owed him so much. Turning on her side to do as he suggested and rest, her eyes landed on the table next to the bed where he'd placed the empty potions vials. On prominent display where it would've been impossible for her to miss it, she saw her beaded bag with her wand lying on top of it. Not only did he put himself at further risk the night he saved her by retrieving the bag he knew she always carried, but by leaving them next to her, he was letting it be known that she wasn't his prisoner. She could leave any time she wished. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer as the potions she imbibed began to take effect, she was comforted by that reminder. She was there because he _wanted_ her there and no other reason.


	280. October 6th

October 6th

Rest and a frightening amount of potions helped Hermione start to feel like normal. At the very least she no longer cringed in pain every time she took a breath. Despite being very inept and out of their depth, her brother-in-law and William Wood were effective in almost causing her downfall. They should be proud of themselves. That was, of course, when they weren't fearing for the moment that she would eventually get back up and come after them. She was done being so passive. Wood had been a mere annoyance that she didn't take seriously. That had been _her_ mistake, one that she wouldn't make again.

When she felt strong enough to actually get out of bed on her own, she made her way slowly to Draco's bathroom. Her previous stay in the flat gave her an appreciation for the luxurious bathtub he possessed. Though not nearly as comforting as the one that was blown up when her Hogsmeade home was destroyed, it was still quite nice. She needed to soak her battered body in the hot water. As she turned on the taps and watched the bathtub fill up with soapy water, she tried to push away thoughts of what she was going to do next.

Every moment of her life stretched ahead of her caused her a great deal of nervousness that she didn't want to admit to. How was a Gryffindor who was once one of the most feared high-ranking officials in the regime of Lord Voldemort actually scared of the unknown? Hadn't her entire life been a series of unexpected trials and tribulations one after another? She'd survived those. There was no reason to be afraid.

But, she was. Slipping under the water, she allowed her mind to clear as the heat of the water covered every inch of her tired, bruised skin. The calm didn't last long. Long before she was ready she was back to considering her next move, the options for the rest of her life. Forgetting what was happening outside of the flat she was in was impossible. As much as she might have wished to live within a protected bubble of ignorance, she knew she couldn't. That sort of existence was unsustainable. Eventually, the outside always came inside.

Should she try to find Antonin to warn him about his baby brother? A petulant part of her believed that he wouldn't even care what happened to her if he learned. He'd already made it clear that he didn't want her in his life any longer. Even when he felt an obligation to keep her safe after she was attacked in St. Mungo's, he hadn't been willing to look past her mistakes to move forward. Sleeping on the sofa in the next room hurt her feelings more than she really wanted to admit to. Was it just petty insecurity that kept her from rushing out of the flat at the first chance she had to warn him?  
She was worried that Aubin might hurt Oliver. _That_ would be the only reason she would seek out her husband, to let him know that his brother held such hatred for his nephew. Thankful that he was tucked away somewhat safely in the castle, she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly for the time being. A time would come when she would have to make it crystal clear to all of those that might wish harm on her son that to do so would mean the end of their pathetic existence, but she knew she would have to wait. Going after her enemies when she wasn't at full strength would only put her in danger. She was weak in that moment. She had to be patient enough to heal and improve.

Aubin had been a surprise that she never would've expected. While she had never been under any delusions from the moment they met that her brother-in-law didn't hate her, she was unaware of the degree. Did he really blame her for Antonin's refusal to seek out the power of the Dark Lord for himself? She knew he was a selfish man who wouldn't lift a finger to do anything unless he could be certain that it would benefit him in some way. She simply didn't understand how he could've let it get so out of control. To participate in torture and attempted murder just to get back at her? He was every bit as unstable as the wizard he'd apparently had an ongoing love affair with.

"Mind if I join you?"

Draco's voice cut through the worst of her thoughts. She hadn't even been aware that he was home. Either he'd just returned or he'd been kind enough to remain perfectly quiet while she rested. Half of his clothes were already pooling on the floor before she met his eyes to smile. It wasn't as if she could really deny him entrance into his own bathtub, especially not when she considered what a lovely distraction he would make. She leaned forward to allow him enough space to climb into the water behind her. The moment he was settled in comfortably, he tugged her backwards until her back rested on his chest.

It felt so bizarre to be back in his flat, almost like the previous several months never happened. She wasn't the same person she was back in May when she was unsure what she was going to do about the trouble she was in with the Resistance. No, but she was still uncertain about her future. Maybe a part of her would always seek out Draco and the safety of his flat when she didn't know where to go next. Hadn't he proven after nine months of following her around that he could help calm her down at least? Somehow the future didn't seem as frightening when she was hiding in his flat. It was an illusion, of course. Not meant to last forever. Perhaps she should look throughout the flat for hidden vents pumping out calming potions in aerosol form. Or he was slipping something to her in her food that made her not worry so much. Anything was possible.

"You're deep in thought."

He didn't have to even ask. Just stated it as fact. Hermione sighed. Did she want to talk to him about what was bothering her? Yes, they might have set up an odd sort of truce inside his flat, but that didn't mean they were on the same side. Once they were outside, they were enemies. He'd already proven more than a few times that she didn't have his loyalty. If it would help him to get what he desired, he would betray her. Hardly a good reason to stay in his flat and relax with him in his bathtub. She was so contradictory at times that she drove herself mad. Had she always been like this? Thanks to her potions and whatever it was that Rodolphus did to her mind, she wasn't even sure who she was any longer. Or even who she'd ever been before.

"I was thinking about my horrible brother-in-law and whether or not I should warn Antonin what he did."

"Do you not think he deserves to know that his brother tortured and tried to _murder_ his wife?"

There was a note of anger present in Draco's voice that she hadn't heard very often in their previous interactions. She felt the corner of her mouth curl into a private smile. What would he do if he was faced with those two men again? Would he make them pay for what they tried to do to her? She hoped that he would. A stray thought that perhaps his only concern for her well-being was because Rodolphus ordered his minions to leave her unharmed soured the brief thought. It was always possible that Draco only cared about following orders. He'd made no secret of the fact that Rodolphus was his family's ticket to respectability again. _Nothing_ else mattered to him than making it so his family was no longer a joke to the rest of wizarding society. If he had to get his hands dirty to keep her protected, he would. He might not even like her or want to have her in his flat. She tried to ignore the disappointment that the thought brought.

"No, you're right. He does deserve to know. His brother is a lunatic. It's only a matter of time before he hurts someone else. Maybe you won't be there to stop him next time."

"Do you know where your husband is?"

She sighed again, wishing that they weren't spending their time in his bathtub talking about her husband. It was awkward to think of the man she was married to and the one she dreamed of having a future with up until recent days while she was naked and in the arms of another. Even if Draco hadn't touched her inappropriately once since the night he saved her life, it felt wrong. She didn't want to imagine Antonin talking about her when he was alone with Ginny or with that bitch Andromeda when she was still alive.

"No, I don't. I have a suspicion though."

"Ginny?"

"Probably. I should find him and warn him. It's only fair."

The weight of the last several days seemed to fall on her shoulders again. Sensing the tension in her body, Draco gently ran his hands over her arms, offering what comfort he could. She appreciated the gesture, even if the feel of his touch made her question a number of other things that had absolutely nothing to do with her husband or his younger brother. It was hard to concentrate when he was touching her, a sensation that wasn't entirely unappreciated. She liked that she could be distracted.

"So why would your brother-in-law want to kill you?"

"Who knows? He _claims_ it was because he thought I was the one who was standing in Antonin's way of becoming the Dark Lord, but I think he'd get rid of me for no reason other than he just hates me. Like I said, he's a lunatic. I hope he gets that from his Malfoy genes and not his Fawley. I don't want my son at any further risk of going crazy."

"What? His _Malfoy_ genes?"

Hermione gave him a brief overview of what she knew about Elspeth Fawley Dolohov and her inability to stay inside the bed of her own husband. Evidently, Antonin had more in common with his father than he wanted to claim. Draco listened to the theory that his grandfather Abraxas was the father of the horrible man with little emotion or surprise. Extramarital affairs were common in the Pureblood circles. Usually, the guilty parties were more careful at preventing pregnancy, but accidents happened.

"I've heard the name Aubin Fawley before, but I didn't know who he was. No idea that he was Antonin's brother."

She rolled her eyes.

"Not surprised he doesn't go by Dolohov. He's no more a Dolohov than you are."

"He's been meeting with Rodolphus. His name is actually on the list I gave you."

In the excitement of being tortured and then being stuck in bed under strict supervision from Draco, she hadn't yet had an opportunity to look at the list he'd compiled. There was no need just yet. When she was feeling better, she would study it in detail. Hearing Aubin was potentially working with Rodolphus didn't surprise her in the slightest.

"What does he want with Rodolphus?"

"To be part of his plan, I'm sure."

"Are you ever going to tell me what that plan is?"

Draco's chuckles told her all that she needed to know. He wouldn't be spilling any of his uncle's secrets any time soon. Though it frustrated her, she'd grown used to being around men who kept her in the dark. She would learn what she needed to without his help, if necessary. Besides, the feel of his lips on the sensitive skin of her neck distracted her from considering the matter any further for the time being.


	281. October 7th

October 7th

Hermione woke up the next morning before Draco did. Whatever he had been doing outside in the big, scary world was taking its toll on his body. He didn't get nearly enough sleep. Part of her wondered if there would ever come a time when _anyone_ involved in the whole mess of who would take over the ruling of their country would be able to spend an entire night in bed asleep. They were all wearing themselves thin. After he took his time in the bathtub _distracting_ her from the fact that he wouldn't answer her question about Rodolphus' grand plans, he had to make his excuses to leave. He didn't return home until she was already in bed again.

The hours she spent alone convinced her that she couldn't just stay there hidden in Draco's flat while Aubin ran loose around the country. For all she was aware, he'd already found his brother. She had complete faith that Antonin would be able to take his younger brother in a duel, if necessary. Blood was important to her husband. Even though he'd never been close to Aubin and didn't even like him much at all, he felt a responsibility to him because they were family. He deserved to know what happened.

Sneaking out of the flat wasn't as difficult as she thought it would be. Draco's exhaustion kept him asleep while she moved around the bedroom dressing as quietly as she could. If he could sense she left the flat, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. She hoped that she wouldn't be gone long. Though it wasn't the best idea she'd ever had, she felt solace and comfort staying in his flat. For the time being, she would return. Until a better offer presented itself, she knew that she would be safe there.

Outside of his building she looked around the immediate area to make certain no Muggles were near enough to watch her disappear. When she was convinced she was alone, she focused on that horrible day when she witnessed her husband alone with his mistress. She felt her blood pressure begin to rise with her anger. They made her feel like a fool that day. Of course, when the logical part of her brain took over, she reminded herself that she had no right to be upset by what she witnessed. It wasn't as if she was innocent or faithful herself. Hadn't she allowed Draco to take her mind off of serious matters just the previous day when they were in the bathtub together? _That_ certainly hadn't been innocent.

She forced herself to calm down when her feet landed in the immediate area of Ginny's house. If she was walking into a trap, she had to be at her most alert. William Wood was the witch's best friend. There was every reason to believe that she might walk up to the house just to find the cretin inside. She had to be ready. Holding her wand firmly in her hand, she used the other to knock on the front door. Ginny opened just a few short moments later, also holding her own wand in her hand, prepared to duel.

"Is my husband here?"

Hermione didn't even wait for Ginny to answer or to invite her in before she pushed past the witch to step inside the main room of her tiny house. Neatly kept, the simple room reminded her so much of the Burrow that for a few moments she forgot to breathe. Nostalgia was a powerful emotion, one that tended to sneak up when one wasn't even aware. Turning around to face her startled hostess, Hermione refused to allow the woman to intimidate her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Hermione. Why would your husband being anywhere near my home?"

"Because you've been fucking him. Don't even try to deny it. I saw it with my own eyes."

Ginny started to sputter out a response, but Hermione held up her hand to stop her. They were wasting time. If Antonin wasn't there, she needed to find out where he was. She was on a time-sensitive mission. Realizing that she couldn't deny the truth, Ginny sighed.

"No. Antonin isn't here. I haven't seen him in days. Not since you were in St. Mungos."

"Where _your_ best mate tried to kill me."

"Pity he failed."

Anger swept through Hermione like a brush fire. Was that truly what the woman thought of her? Clearly their friendship once upon a time no longer meant anything. She was about to let fly a long burst of expletives when the sound of the bedroom door opening caused her to jump. Spinning on her heel, she had her wand ready to curse anyone who meant her harm.

"Mummy, I'm not sleepy anymore."

Ginny rushed across the small space to shield her daughter from any potential danger. Hermione felt her mouth open in shock at what she was seeing. At just around four years old, the little girl didn't look much like her mother at all. With dark brown hair and dimples, she resembled Oliver when he was the same age. Even though Ginny tried to shield her daughter from Hermione's view and was quick to order her back into the bedroom, the damage had been done.

"Does he know about her?"

"Not yet. Haven't quite figured out how to tell him."

A churning began in Hermione's stomach. She feared that she was going to be sick. Right there was the daughter that her husband had always wanted, the piece of his family he always believed was missing. All it would take was just one four word sentence and any future they'd hoped to have together would be gone forever. _You have a daughter_. Would he give up any hope that he could reconcile his family if he was given the opportunity to start over with a new one? Of course she wasn't sure if he was even still interested in his current wife. Though he claimed that night at Hogwarts that he didn't want her in his life anymore, his actions when she was in the hospital indicated that he was still in love with her. One sentence and that might all be gone.

"Are _you_ going to tell him?"

Hermione considered her answer before she gave it. The right thing to do would be to be completely honest with her husband, but that certainly hadn't been what either one of them had done in over thirteen years of marriage. They'd been able to perfect keeping secrets to an art form. But, this was different than anything they'd ever come up against before. If Antonin discovered she knew that he had a daughter and she _didn't_ tell him, he probably would never forgive her. There were just some acts of deception that couldn't be excused.

"No, I won't tell, but _you_ should. Antonin will have a hard enough time forgiving you for not telling him already. If he finds out from someone other than you… it won't be pretty."

Ginny sighed, her shoulders heavy with worry. She knew without being told that that was the truth. If whatever she had with Antonin was more than just meaningless sex, she would've already learned that he desired more children, a larger family. Hermione watched her as she considered her options. Rarely had she ever seen the younger witch so nervous and unsure of herself. Once she passed through the awkwardness of her third year, Ginny had been nothing but confident.

She remembered the day in London that she stopped Hermione and her son on the pavement. It unnerved her to watch her stare at Oliver. In the back of her mind she worried about kidnapping or other potential harm coming to her son. She just couldn't understand what Ginny would find so fascinating about her son. All of the pieces began to click into place.

"You're in love with my husband, aren't you?"

To her credit, Ginny didn't even try to deny what was so obvious. Hermione almost laughed. How did everything in their world become so topsy-turvy? Would it ever be normal again or was this the new normal? Never knowing what to expect? It seemed so strange to realize that the girl she'd once been friends with was actually in love with Antonin. If she was told even just a few years earlier that that was ever a possibility, she would've laughed in the face of whomever suggested it. Even seeing the proof on Ginny's face was still hard to fathom. Considering it further, Hermione found that she couldn't keep a cold laughter from escaping her mouth.

"He's about as different from Harry as it's possible to be."

Ginny's brown eyes glared into Hermione's. When she spoke, her tone was every bit as hostile as she'd ever heard it before. She was reminded of the snarky, sarcastic way Ginny snapped at her in Hogwarts when Hermione tried to speak about Quidditch. She couldn't remember the details of the discussion, too many years had come and gone since it happened, but she _did_ remember how hateful the younger witch's voice had been.

"I'm well aware of that, Hermione. Am I supposed to remain in love with a dead man for the rest of my life? I was _sixteen_." She sighed, some of the heat in her tone dissipated. "Besides, it's not like it even matters. He doesn't feel the same way about me. He's made that _perfectly_ clear to me repeatedly. Still loves you more than any intelligent man should."

Ginny's bitterness was impossible to miss. Some of the tension and fear that Hermione felt knowing that the witch shared a daughter with her husband began to lessen. He still loved her. That meant something, didn't it? She pushed away those thoughts. They could be considered at a later date when she wasn't being glared at by the hateful bitch she hated. Besides, there were pieces to this puzzle that still didn't quite fit together. Wising to move past any reminders of Harry, even though she was the one who brought him up in the first place, Hermione wanted to understand the details. She'd been lied to.

"You told me that William Wood was the father of your daughter."

"No, I said that Will and I had a daughter together. I never said he was the father."

Hermione couldn't stop the annoyed roll of her eyes. Frustrated and becoming more like the formidable witch she remembered, Ginny explained that William was the only other person who knew the truth. For whatever reason, he'd agreed to help her lie to everyone else about where her daughter came from. Bearing the child of a Death Eater, especially one as high-ranking as Antonin, was an unforgivable crime amongst the Resistance. If it was discovered, she would be ostracized and never trusted again.

"There are just a couple of problems I can see with your plan, Ginny. First, Wood's gay and secondly, your daughter looks _exactly_ like my son did at that age. And my son looks _exactly_ like his father. How do two redheads have a child with her coloring?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders.

"We told everyone that it was a drunken night and Will was curious. Seemed like the only chance either one of us would have to be a parent. And I told my brothers that red hair would make her a target. They think I use a glamour on her."

It was a lie that most would be able to see right through if they were interested. No doubt the Weasleys, at least those that were still in contact with her, chose to believe whatever she told them simply because the truth would make all of their lives more complicated.

"What's her name?"

"Maisie. I wanted to name her after my mum, but Percy already named his daughter Molly. Will said we should give her a proper Scottish name if we wanted to try to convince everyone he was her father."

She felt her eyes start to fill with tears, a weakness she never wanted Ginny to see. Antonin would fall in love with his daughter within seconds of seeing her. She was absolutely beautiful and she was everything he ever wanted.

"I promise I won't tell Antonin about her, but I meant what I said, Ginny. If you don't, he'll never forgive you."

"Thank you, Hermione."

"Just promise me that you'll keep a stronger leash on Wood. If I see him again, he's dead."

Escape from the too-small house couldn't come swiftly enough for Hermione. No longer as concerned about finding Antonin as she had been earlier in the morning, she rushed outside to Apparate back to Draco's flat.


	282. October 8th

October 8th

Draco never asked Hermione what it was that had her so distracted and upset when she returned to his flat following her visit to Ginny's house. As part of their agreed upon truce, whatever happened outside of his flat was none of the other's business. But, that didn't stop him from watching her out of the corner of his eye for the next twenty-four hours with concern. Maybe he was worried that she was about to have another one of her infamous _episodes._ She didn't know what went on in his head.

"I have somewhere I need to go this morning."

She made the announcement over breakfast. They'd settled back into the same sort of routine they had months earlier before she ran back to her husband. Most of the time it was pleasant and comforting, but sometimes it felt like she was living a dangerous lie. The peace they'd concocted couldn't stay indefinitely. Not when there was so much uncertainty outside.

"And I assume it is something that you can't tell me about?"

"Yes. Are you going to be an arse and track me when I leave?"

It was said playfully, but she meant it. The fact that he knew how to track her wherever she went was unsettling. Was it any wonder that Rodolphus had been able to find her the night she went to Knockturn Alley? Or even to her own home in Hogsmeade? At any point in time, Draco's uncle might order him to track down her location and she knew that he would comply.

"No, as diverting as that sounds, I actually have something to take care of myself this morning. I promise not to track you."

Of course she wasn't naïve enough to believe that he was being completely honest. She would have to make certain that her visit was completed quickly. Besides, it was too dangerous to linger long as it was. It wasn't as if she was entering friendly territory.

Hermione exited Draco's flat shortly after their conversation. A request that she try to be careful was practically shouted at her from the kitchen as she walked out the front door. Why did all of the men in her life insist on telling her the same thing over and over again? She was well aware that it was dangerous out in the big world. Did they think so little of her capabilities that they had to keep treating her like a child? It was enough to drive her round the bend.

It had been an entire month since she last knocked on Ron Weasley's kitchen door. She hoped that in that time he hadn't changed his mind about wanting her to be on his side. After the strange meeting she had with him and his older brother Percy, she had been nervous about returning. Thankfully, the door was answered by Ron himself. A bright smile greeted her. He didn't waste a moment stepping back to allow her entrance.

"I can't stay here long because I'm fairly certain Draco Malfoy will be tracking my location soon."

Furrowing his brow in confusion, she waved off any questions even before he could ask them. Her association with Draco would be too difficult to explain and she felt positive that Ron knew about it, he wouldn't want her anywhere near him or his family. She would be dangerous. They took a seat at the kitchen table.

"I've been given a list of known associates of Rodolphus'. I wanted to ask you to verify its authenticity."

Ron accepted the piece of parchment silently, confusion still present on his features. Likely this wasn't how he expected his morning to unfold. Hermione didn't care. If he really wanted to prove to her that he was trustworthy and that she should consider joining his side, he would complete this favor for her. He took his time reading each name on the list, never allowing his facial features to give away his thoughts. Once possessed of an extremely expressive face, part of his training with Rabastan taught him how to guard his thoughts and feelings.

She'd read the list so many times by then that she was sure she had it mostly memorized. Most of the names hadn't been a surprise at all, but some of them were. Like Hannah's father. Mr. Abbott was high up on the list. She couldn't understand why a man like him, who loathed and detested the Death Eaters, would ever consider throwing his lot in with one of the most notorious. It reminded her of Thorfinn declaring he wished that he'd taken Rodolphus up on his offer months earlier. Maybe it would've kept Hannah alive. As much as she hated to admit that he was probably right, he was. Associating with her was what got her killed. No one would ever be able to convince her otherwise.

Almost all of the former Death Eaters were on the list too. Including Draco and his father. Knowing that she would show the list to someone else for additional verification, he made it as authentic as possible. It would seem suspicious if his name wasn't on it somewhere. Every moment that he read the list, the wider his eyes grew.

"Where did you get this list, Hermione?"

"Nuh uh. I'm not revealing my sources."

If the wrong person discovered Draco's treachery, he would be in deep trouble. Likely even dead. She didn't want to run the risk that he would dragged into any bother for helping her. Even before he saved her life from the damned cottage she was almost positive that she already owed him her life. There were a few times while she was on the run that he saved her and he was instrumental in getting the ingredients for the polyjuice potion that saved Aberforth's life. She pushed away the inconvenient reminders that he'd also betrayed her when it was necessary to further his own gains. Their relationship was _complicated_ to say the least.

"All right, but this is a _very_ good list. Some of the names I wasn't even aware of."

"Rabastan keeps a lot from you?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He's gotten paranoid. Doesn't trust me as much as he used to."

She remembered her first visit to Ron's house when Rabastan just randomly showed up at the front door while she was there. It had been difficult to believe him when he assured her that it was an awful coincidence. She didn't believe in those. Most of her reason for going back the next day was to test him. If Rabastan dropped by again, she would've never believed another word he said. Ron had plenty of opportunity to warn his mentor that she was there. The fact that he didn't helped her relax. Maybe there really was more of her old friend still there than she knew.

"I'm still not sure that I want to join the group you and Percy are a part of."

There seemed little reason to beat about the bush. Her concerns about their organization were many. She was always a little leery of working with any part of the Resistance. Many issues with them cropped up over the years that had been difficult to forget or forgive. Putting the past aside to forge an alliance might not even be possible. Some hurts still lingered. Also, knowing that the Resistance was in such disarray did nothing to allay her fears. She'd seen how dangerous in-fighting could be and she was in no rush to put herself back in the same turmoil.

"I understand. There's history there."

"Yes, a lot of it."

She remembered her bizarre conversation with Ginny from the day before. Even after spending almost twenty-four hours thinking of nothing else, she was still at a loss. It all felt so surreal. Hermione despised that she was afraid of how _her_ life would change if the truth got out. Everyone was right. She really was selfish. Everything was always about her and it always had been.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

Ron's concern pulled her out of her thoughts. Embarrassed, she tried to assure him with limited success that she was all right. It wasn't as if she could trust him like she used to. Though she held on to a tiny flicker of hope that that might change, she couldn't tell Ron what had her so agitated and worried. Did he even know his sister had a daughter? Probably. If he'd been in contact with Percy for years, the subject would've come up. She wondered if Percy knew the truth of his niece's paternity. He was far from stupid and he was often underestimated.

"Yes, sorry. Just haven't been sleeping well."

"That have anything to do with the faded bruises on your face and neck? And that deep cut on your cheek?"

Part of her wanted to tell him the truth of what happened to her, but she had to keep reminding herself that just because she _wanted_ their friendship to return, didn't mean it had already happened. There was a time in her past when she trusted the wizard with her life. They weren't there again yet. For all she knew, he was still working for his old mentor. Alliances were ever-shifting in their unpredictable world.

"Yes, partly."

She offered no further explanation of the reminders of the injuries she still carried on her skin. Magic could aid in the healing of wounds and sicknesses, but nothing was absolute. Draco did what he could in the privacy of his own home to tend her life-threatening wounds. If it took a little longer to heal than what she could expect from a stay at St. Mungo's, so be it. She never wanted to go back to that dreadful place again. Fearing that Ron might ask her more questions about her health, she changed the subject.

"What's happening with the Resistance? I understand that it's been a bit _chaotic_."

"It has been, but I really don't know much. Percy won't tell me everything. I just know that the leaders are starting to turn on each other. With the Dark Lord dead, some of them feel like they no longer need the Resistance and others feel like it's needed even more. There's also a concern that there are spies inside passing along private information about their structure and plans to those who don't need to know."

Every organization of any size since time began had their spies. It was nothing knew. Of course there existed some within the ranks of the Resistance. Hermione just wish she knew which ones were suspected. She had a few theories, but without knowing more, she couldn't be sure. Certainly William Wood wasn't looking like a really trustworthy member after teaming up with his old _friend_ to try to murder her. Or perhaps Aberforth was resentful that none of his fellow Resistance members helped to get him out of prison. It could be anyone. Speculating wouldn't get her very far.

"Thank you for your help, Ron. I appreciate you looking over that list, but I can't stay longer."

"Because of Malfoy?"

"Yes, I don't want him tracking me here."

They said their awkward goodbyes at his back door before she left. She was glad that Ron was of the opinion that the list was a valuable piece of intelligence. And she wanted to trust Ron because that would mean that Draco was being honest too. Something inside of her really wanted Draco to be honest with her. She was sick to death of lies. After thanking Ron one final time for his help, she returned to Draco's flat.

Her host was still inside his home when she entered the front door. Based on his position on the sofa in the lounge and the fact that he was still wearing his pajamas, it appeared that he had done as she asked and not tracked her to Hogsmeade. Still, the unsettling thought that he knew exactly where she'd been and why plagued her. She couldn't stay in his flat much longer. The paranoia would drive her mad.


	283. October 9th

October 9th

Waking up in Draco's arms was an experience that Hermione could get used to quite easily. Though he hadn't attempted anything beyond the gentlest of kisses since her near-murder brought her to his flat, even when they were in the same bathtub, he'd made it clear without saying a word that when she felt her body was healed and she wanted him again, he would be there. She was able to push away her nagging fears that she couldn't trust him when she was enveloped in his embrace. It really was quite pathetic how she could ignore his past betrayals just because it felt _nice_ to be there alone with him.

She knew that he was aware of her visit to Hogsmeade the day before. He might have tried to make it seem like he was disinterested in her activities and hadn't even bothered to get dressed for the day, but somehow she was aware that he followed her to Ron's house. Maybe it was because she told him not to or because he probably would've done it anyway. She couldn't be certain if he was simply acting under orders he'd received from his uncle or if it was something he did for his own personal reasons. Just one more thing to worry about. She feared her brain was reaching its full capacity. Regardless of his reasons, she knew she would be foolish to remain in his flat for much longer.

A few days had come and gone since Hermione had the unsettling conversation with Ginny when she was looking for Antonin. With the shock of the discovery of her husband's daughter beginning to wear off, she remembered her reason for trying to find him in the first place. Draco only stunned William Wood and Aubin. They were both still alive doing whatever they wished. If Aubin crossed Antonin's path, he could be in danger.

Pulling herself out of Draco's arms, Hermione excused herself to the large connected bathroom. Going to Ginny's had been a failure. She didn't know where else to go next. Part of her feared that Thorfinn would hurt her if she went to him again. _No_ , she decided as she showered and prepared for another day. _Thorfinn wouldn't want Antonin near him either. Not yet._ His wounds were still fresh. She missed having a mentor, someone she could trust implicitly who would always be honest with her even if she didn't want to hear the truth. Before they were married and their relationship got complicated, Hermione had that with Antonin. And for a brief period of time, she had the same with Rodolphus.

An idea struck her as she was drying her hair, one that she was probably insane, but hadn't that described virtually all of her recent decisions? There _was_ someone she trusted to be honest with her if she asked. Years might have come and gone since they last were anything resembling friends, but she knew she could trust him. By the time she was dressed and walking back into the bedroom she'd been sharing, she made up her mind to seek him out. He would know what to do next. He _always_ knew what to do.

"Leaving again?"

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss Draco. There was a note of concern in his voice. Maybe he feared she was running away again just like Antonin always worried. Though she knew it was dangerous to remain, she didn't want to leave nor did she have anywhere else to go.

"For a few hours."

She wouldn't give him any further details. He didn't ask. After another kiss that quickly deepened, she pulled away lest she convince herself to stay. There was enough temptation in that bed to encourage her to push her worries aside a little longer. She was feeling much stronger, almost completely healed. Giving into the silent pleading in his grey eyes would only satisfy her for a short time. Gently him back onto his pillow, she stood.

"Please be careful, Hermione."

She was exhausted being told the same thing over and over. Without promising him, she left the room. Her nerves were already on edge. It didn't seem right to start the day by cursing her host. Not after he'd been so generous about sharing his home.

The entire journey from Draco's opulent flat to Kingsley's dingy one only took a few minutes, but in that time she almost managed to talk herself out of visiting the former auror. He'd made it perfectly clear the last time they spoke that he wasn't interested in joining their side because he hated her husband and fought alone. Would he really be interested in giving her counsel on what she should do next? Deciding the worst that could happen was him saying 'no', she knocked on his front door.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Kingsley was surprised to find her standing just outside his home. She started to say something in answer to his question, but her words were cut off by the wizard pulling her into a tight hug. He hadn't been so demonstrative in his affection towards her for years. Was he really that pleased to see her again? Something felt off about the whole thing. She couldn't ignore her concerns even as she allowed him to pull her inside and close the door.

The first odd behavior of Kingsley's she noticed when she was inside his flat was the way his eyes kept cutting to the closed bathroom door. He wasn't alone. She couldn't imagine that she wasn't in any danger. Not caring in the slightest that it would be considered rude and she might be no match for his decades more of experience than she possessed, she removed her wand from her pocket. She'd already been a victim one too many times in recent days. She wasn't going to let it happen again. Ignoring his questions, Hermione squeezed her wand, never taking her eyes off of the bathroom door. It was always possible that Kingsley just had a woman in his flat. Hermione couldn't afford to take that risk, however. She had too many enemies. The doorknob turned and the door opened.

"Kings, have you seen my..?"

It wasn't a woman after all. How Hermione managed to stumble upon the place where her husband was in that exact moment, she didn't understand. Fresh from the shower and clad only in a towel, Antonin stared at her like he didn't trust what he was seeing. Of all of the places they could find themselves in together accidentally, how was it possible that they were in Kingsley's flat? Kingsley claimed they'd always hated each other.

"Look who just popped by, Antonin. Astonishing luck, isn't it?"

Antonin was across the small room in seconds. His arms wrapped around Hermione and crushed her tight against his chest. A deep sigh of relief fell from his mouth. Had he been worried about her?

"I went to the cottage. You weren't there and there was blood everywhere."

The depth of emotion in his voice threatened to overwhelm her senses. She could only imagine what he thought when he stumbled upon that scene and no indication that she was still alive. He had to have been terrified. Coupled with the fact that she had already almost been murdered at least twice before in recent memory, he had every reason to be frightened. Releasing his tight grip on her body, he stepped back enough that he could see her face. Running his fingertips gently across the mark on her face that hadn't fully healed yet, he looked sick. She knew how bad it looked. At least three inches long just underneath her eye, the mark would be there permanently. Both she and Draco tried to heal it with charms and potions. Nothing worked. The blade that Wood used was clearly cursed. Her prior experiences with cursed blades taught her that there was nothing that could be done about it.

"What happened?"

"Your brother, I'm afraid."

"Alain?"

His fear that his oldest younger brother was the culprit behind her attack almost made her laugh. While she never got the impression that Alain liked her much, she thought it had more to do with the way she treated his brother and nephew than anything to do with her heritage or blood status. On that point, she could agree wholeheartedly with her brother-in-law. She _wasn't_ kind to her family when she was under the influence of her potions. She hoped that he came away with a better impression of her after his last visit.

"No. Apparently, your baby brother's ex-boyfriend is none other than William Wood. They've recently reconnected. Maybe this time those two crazy kids will make it work."

Antonin _hated_ when she was flippant about her own safety. Sometimes she made jokes at inappropriate times. She wasn't sure when the bad habit started, likely some time after she became a Death Eater and she had to deal with horrors beyond her previous imaginings. Dark humor was common amongst people who lived around constant death. Sighing when she saw how frustrated her husband was, she grew more serious.

"Wood tracked me to the cottage weeks ago, but because of the Fidelius Charm couldn't see it. He knew the general location though because of his past romps with your brother that I don't even want to think about. He owled Aubin and he came back. They were able to see the cottage after Hannah… well, it was bad. It's only because of their incompetence that I was able to get away."

To remind himself that she was still there and all right, Antonin pulled her back into his arms. It felt good to be back there. Attempted murder had a way of pushing away even the worst of marital woes for the short-term.

"I swear that we will make them pay for what they did to you."

She caught Kingsley staring at them over Antonin's shoulder. The reason _why_ Antonin was there still wasn't clear. Feeling the urge to make another joke to ease the sudden tension in the room, she pushed back a little to look in her husband's eyes.

"Why are you in Kingsley's flat? Are you two having an affair?"

The grimace on Kingsley's handsome face followed by his loud laughter answered her question before Antonin could even open his mouth. Stepping further back from her husband, she could see Antonin roll his eyes as the owner of the flat muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'he wishes' under his breath.

"Kings and I have been working together for a while now."

"How long?"

Both men exchanged a silent look at her question. When it seemed like neither of them would answer, she repeated herself. Antonin sighed.

"Eight years, was it, Kings?"

"Yes, that's when she… _yes_. Eight years."

It was impossible to miss Kingsley get flustered by the seemingly simple question. There was more to the story than they were saying. Eight years was a long time to have a secret partnership. Maybe it wasn't the most appropriate time to ask questions, but she wanted to know everything. Before she could ask a single one, Antonin continued.

"I had a bad feeling the other night. So I went back to the cottage and found nothing but blood. I was afraid it was Rodolphus."

"No, just your brother and my insane stalker, I'm afraid. Let's kill them both. I'd really hate to have to spend an entire Christmas with them."

She could tell that he was seriously considering it. Family meant a lot to Antonin. Even though he despised some members of his, he valued blood. Very little would entice him to want to actually murder his own brother. While torturing and attempting to kill his wife would definitely push him closer to committing murder, there was one fail-proof way she knew would nudge him in the right direction.

"Aubin says that he resents Oliver and me for keeping you away from the Dark Lord's position. Said that he hates us both and when he was done killing your 'Mudblood whore' that he'd go after the 'mongrel that fell out of' my 'well-used vagina'."

Anger that she'd rarely seen exploded onto his face. He'd been exceptionally angry with her the night that she admitted to ending her pregnancies without telling him. Standing in the middle of Kingsley's flat, he was even angrier. Aubin was a fool for threatening their son. She could tell that it was only a matter of time before he went on the hunt.

"Where have you been staying, Hermione?"

"Doesn't matter. It's safe."

For a reason she wasn't quite sure of, she wasn't ready to leave Draco's flat. Not yet. And she certainly couldn't tell Antonin where she was staying. He wouldn't understand. Instead of directing his anger towards her, he simply kissed her firmly on the mouth, the first affectionate gesture she could remember from him since that night in the castle.

"I suppose I deserve that."

She didn't want to have a fight, especially not in front of Kingsley. To his credit, Antonin simply kissed her again and promised her that he would find his brother. Neither of those men would ever touch her again. She believed him. No further mention was made of her current living arrangements. That was a discussion that they could have another time when emotions were less high.

"Thank you for inviting me in, Kingsley. Oddly enough, I came here to get your opinion on whether or not I should search for my husband and for any tips that you might have to point me in his direction."

Kingsley laughed.

"Glad I could be of some help."

She allowed her husband to kiss her one final time before she made her excuses to leave. After she returned to Draco's flat, she considered what her next move would be. It seemed that Antonin had his little brother and hopefully, William Wood taken care of. She could start working on her own plans.


	284. October 10th

October 10th

Content with the fact that her more-than-capable husband was currently on the hunt for the wizards that hurt her so badly, Hermione felt free to dwell on other matters. She was growing weary of sitting on the sidelines while the action was happening outside. The dramatic change in her feelings about the war startled her at first, but swiftly she was able to push the concern away. As much as she might have preferred not to get involved with the violence and power struggle, remaining neutral was no longer an option. Too much changed in the previous several months to go back to living with her head in the sand. While it was highly likely that her time had come and she wouldn't survive to a ripe old age, she had to do something.

She stared at the collection of names on the list Draco gave her. It wasn't as if she really needed to read them. Every single traitorous name was seared into her brain. Looking over the physical list simply helped her to focus. As thorough as the list of Rodolphus' co-conspirators was, she knew of at least two names that weren't listed. Likely their contributions were believed to be unimportant enough to include. Hermione knew better than most that seemingly insignificant acts weren't worthless at all. They added up over time.

"I have to leave for a little while. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."

"You don't have to tell me every time you need to leave your own home, Draco. I'm not your keeper."

There'd been an odd shift between them since she returned the day before from Kingsley's flat. Maybe it started even before that, but seeing Antonin again reminded Hermione that she couldn't afford to be selfish. Not anymore. It was no longer Hermione versus the rest of the world. Even if she was never able to patch her relationship up with her husband, though his actions showed her that he was likely well on his way to forgiveness, she still had a son who needed to be protected. Draco could probably feel that she was pulling away again.

"Will you still be here when I get back?"

If she wanted a less complicated life, Hermione would've told him that she wouldn't and find another place to stay. Her presence in his flat complicated both of their lives. But, for a reason she didn't understand, she didn't want to leave. Not yet. Draco was also in no hurry to push her out the door. It was very possibly a decision they would come to regret very soon.

"Yes, Draco. I will still be here."

Relieved by her answer, he crossed the flat to make his exit. Looking up at the clock over the fireplace, Hermione was surprised to see that it was almost ten. She wasn't aware she'd been studying the list for as long as she had. Waiting just a few minutes after Draco's departure, she slipped out of the flat. She hadn't been lying when she told him that she would still be in his flat when he returned. If her plan went smoothly, she had every intention of being back before he came home.

For the first time since the day the Dark Lord died, Hermione Apparated to the Ministry of Magic. Though careful to avoid the actual building itself, she was closer than she'd been in months. Most of the Ministry officials would already have made their way inside the building hours earlier. Only a few believed themselves above working regular hours. Even fewer who despised using the Floo Network. Fearful that his movements were being tracked and because his wife's nosy sister worked as a Floo Network Regulator, Rabastan preferred Apparating to the office. There was only one door to the secure building that could be accessed from outside by those that worked within.

Hermione found a hiding place from where she could keep a close watch on those coming and going from the building. Thanks to an incident with a lost and drunken Muggle soon after the war ended, the entrance to the Ministry was no longer in a public toilet, out of order or otherwise. Too many complaints from the officials _encouraged_ those in charge of security to find another way to conceal the employee entrance. Far less interesting, but a great deal more sanitary, a cloaked door was hidden in a brick wall much like Platform 9 3/4. She hoped as she kept her surveillance that Rabastan hadn't already entered the building before she arrived. Before she continued with her plan for the day, she wanted to be sure that he wouldn't be a complication. Dueling him had never been an enjoyable experience.

Five minutes after ten, an annoyed Rabastan appeared only steps away from Hermione. Worried at first that he would spot her, she relaxed when she saw the scowl on his face as he stomped towards the entrance. He really could be a petulant child. Evidently his morning had not gone well. It wasn't much of a stretch to believe he'd just come from his own home instead of one of his simpering mistresses. The thought made her laugh even as she pushed aside her own bitterness. Lord Voldemort's plan to create a stable regime through forcing his Death Eaters to marry created a large number of unhappy marriages. She wondered how many of the ordered marriages would dissolve in the aftermath of his death and how many would continue to limp along, miserable and unfulfilling.

Once she was satisfied that Rabastan wasn't about to backtrack and leave the Ministry, Hermione thought about the wretched Lestrange Estate in Norfolk that she loathed and despised. Moments later she stood in front of the ornate gates at the front of the property. She was able to cross into the grounds with no resistance. Keeping her eyes on the manor house, she ignored the shadow of the Dower House a short distance away. If she allowed herself to remember that she was in danger of being spotted by Rodolphus, she would never have the strength she needed to complete her trek to the front door.

Hermione expected a house-elf to answer the front door after she rang the bell. None of the Lestranges had ever been much for completing even simple tasks for themselves. Gemma Farley assimilated to her new lifestyle quite quickly after her arranged marriage to Rabastan was finalized. So when Madam Lestrange was the one to open the front door, Hermione was startled enough that it took her an extra second longer than it should have to disarm the frightened and confused witch.

"Your wards are terrible. Does Rabastan care so little for his family that he would leave you so exposed?"

Gemma didn't know what to say in response. She had never been a fighter and her fear was palpable. Always hiding behind her powerful husband, she never needed to protect herself. Holding Gemma's wand in one hand and hers in the other, Hermione held all of the power and Gemma knew it. She began to back up, but Hermione followed. There was a very important reason she was there that day and she wasn't to let anyone deter her from her task.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The squeak of Gemma's voice coupled with her question made Hermione laugh. She certainly wouldn't lose any sleep over ridding the world of the horrible woman. Following Antonin's confession that they'd had an ongoing, long-term affair in retaliation for their spouses' infidelities, she felt even more justified in ending the woman's pathetic existence. But, at least in that moment, she was more valuable to Hermione alive than dead.

"Not today."

Gemma's shoulders fell with relief and she looked like she was about to cry. It was pathetic. Hermione had no patience for weak women like her who didn't even know how to defend themselves. Snapping the woman's wand in two, she tossed the pieces onto the priceless rug underneath their feet. With her hand free, Hermione grabbed Gemma's throat in a tight squeeze.

"I'm here to give you a warning, Gemma. A warning I want you to take _very_ seriously."

They were close enough to a wall thanks to the idiot's insistence on backing up that Hermione was able to push her against it with little effort. She wanted Gemma to feel powerless, to remember what it felt like to know Hermione held her life in her hands.

"If your daughter so much as _looks_ at my son unkindly again, I'm going to forget all about the 'No Violence' policy at Hogwarts."

She could feel Gemma gulp underneath her hand.

"I will go up to the castle and teach your _precious_ Julia just exactly what it is that her daddy does at the Ministry. Wasn't her birthday this summer? She's seventeen now, legally an adult. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences."

To further emphasize her point, Hermione slammed Gemma's head against the wall. Tears rolled out of the terrified woman's eyes. Her weakness made Hermione laugh again. There was no sympathy to be had for a woman who didn't learn how to take care of herself in their dangerous world. Maybe the witch was raised as a proper Slytherin Pureblood wife with no ambitions beyond ensuring her husband's success. Still didn't matter to Hermione. There was no excuse for weakness.

"Do I have your promise as a fellow concerned mother that no harm will come to my child?"

Gemma didn't hesitate for even a moment before frantically nodding her head.

"Good, because Julia isn't your only child. If _anything_ happens to mine, I'll do the same to each of yours."

"I… I promise. Please don't… please don't hurt my children."

Just to make herself feel better and because perhaps she still had a little bit of resentment towards the woman for fucking her husband, Hermione slammed Gemma's head against the wall one final time before releasing her grip. The witch slid to the floor, sobbing as she went. Most of Hermione's anger began to dissipate at that moment. It was hard to be angry with someone that she had no respect for. Gemma was pathetic. At least she was able to remove two names from the list, even if Gemma and Julia Lestrange hadn't been deemed important enough to include. If they truly knew what was good for them, neither woman would be a problem again.

Not wanting to run the risk that either one of the Lestrange brothers would discover that she was there, Hermione ran as fast as she could to the gates. Anti-apparition wards would never allow her to leave the area any closer to the house. She knew that it would take nothing more than a house-elf delivering a message to Rabastan at the Ministry to get him there in seconds. Lingering could be her death.

She didn't allow herself to relax until she was walking through Draco's front door. A pain in her side kept her from moving too quickly. While she was running on pure adrenaline towards the gates, she'd been able to ignore the sharp twinge.

"Where have you been? You said that you would be here when I got back."

It was difficult to miss the slight panic in Draco's tone. Hermione rolled her eyes. She really didn't have the energy for any further dramatics.

"And _you_ said that you would be gone for a few hours."

Another step into the interior of the flat sent even more pain through her torso. Seeing her grimace, Draco closed the space between them. Without bothering to ask for permission, he lifted her jumper to get a look at her side. Blood trickled down her skin.

"I'm not even going to ask you what you've been doing or where you've been, but couldn't you have at least been a little more careful? You've opened up one of your wounds."

He led her to his bathroom like a naughty child to tend to her cuts.

"Sometimes I wish I'd spit in my uncle's face and told him to bugger off when he ordered me to track you down the first time."

His words made her laugh, temporarily forgetting her pain. There was simply no way she would ever believe he truly meant it.


	285. October 11th

October 11th

Eventually, Draco stopped being in an unpleasant mood. He didn't appreciate Hermione sneaking out of the flat just to injure herself again. Despite repeating herself that it was never her intention to aggravate some of her severe wounds, he was still upset. After allowing him to clean and tend to the worst of the bleeding cuts on her side, she did her best to avoid him for the rest of the day. Even as they both climbed into the same bed to sleep later that night there was distance between them.

A restless night did nothing to improve Hermione's mood the next morning. She'd tossed and turned all night getting very little sleep. Her mind was fixated on her visit to the Lestranges' family home. While she was confident that she made the right decision in confronting Gemma and appealing to her as a mother, she did worry about the potential ramifications of the act. Though he certainly never claimed to love his wife and hardly even seemed to tolerate her usually, Rabastan was prickly about his family. If he believed that Hermione posed a threat to his children or even to the woman he never really wanted to marry, he could be unpredictable, even willing to go against his brother's orders to exact retribution. Rabastan adored his children. It was his one redeeming quality.

When she could stay in bed no longer, she quietly made her way into the bathroom, hoping Draco wouldn't wake up. She wasn't sure she had it in her to have another argument with the man. Whatever it was that was happening between them made less and less sense as their time together wore on. She knew she couldn't trust him. Not really. How could she expect anything to happen of any value between them if she couldn't trust him not to betray her again? If the world was different and she didn't have her husband and he wasn't actively working with the same man who fucked her mind up so thoroughly, maybe there could've been something real between them, but they were both just fooling themselves. Allowing his flat to be a refuge from the outside world only created a bubble of denial they could hide in. They weren't facing reality.

She allowed the hot water to cascade over her body in hopes it would drown out her thoughts. A change would have to happen very soon and she'd never been a big fan of those. Strong arms slid around her waist from behind, startling her out of her depressing thoughts. It was dangerous to be so distracted. Draco's lips pressed against her shoulders, making her forget all of her concerns again. Was it a spell? Could he manipulate her like his uncle? Or was it something less insidious but no less powerful?

"I don't like waking up to find you gone."

"I couldn't sleep."

"There's too much going on in that great big brain of yours."

He didn't push for anything beyond languid kisses and soft touches. Her body was still recovering from her attempted murder. Neither of them rushed through the shower. They simply enjoyed each other's company. It was nice and it felt so normal that Hermione knew they were living in a fantasy. None of it could be sustained. She needed to end it before she got to the point where she couldn't. When she turned the taps off, Draco groaned.

'"I'm not ready to leave this yet."

"Then stay."

She turned the water back on, but even as she did so, she knew that wasn't what he meant. Draco was speaking more about the fantasy world they'd created together. It was simply easier to pretend like she didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't move to stop her when she stepped out of the shower, simply stood there under the water watching as she dressed. Once she was ready to face the outside world, she rushed out of the room. Without even waiting for Draco to follow or long enough that she could tell him goodbye, she left the flat. If she was planning to return later that day when she was finished with her mission, she still wasn't sure. Maybe. Maybe not.

Her destination that morning was Hogsmeade again. All of her thinking she'd done when she couldn't sleep the night before highlighted a major flaw in her plans. Knocking on Ron's kitchen door once more, she hoped that they might be able to work it out. For the first time since she started dropping by his house unexpectedly, it was Romilda who opened the door and not Ron. Hermione had never liked the witch, especially not when they were in Hogwarts together. The feeling was mutual.

"What do you want?"

"I'm selling Witch Weekly subscriptions. What do you think I'm doing here? I need to see Ron."

Romilda glared at her unwanted visitor before stepping aside to allow her entrance. Hermione was led to the kitchen table and ordered to remain there while the lady of the house fetched her husband. Not that Hermione minded being left alone. In fact, when it came to being around Romilda, she preferred it. Just because the Weasleys were one of the rare love matches within the Inner Circle didn't mean Hermione cared much for the woman her former best friend married. There was always a fear that she would be betrayed by the odious woman.

"Hermione, is everything all right?"

Ron spoke through clenched teeth with bight red cheeks. Evidently, he'd not enjoyed a pleasant discussion with his wife. Gesturing to the kitchen table to invite his guest to sit, they each took a chair.

"Yes, it is. I wanted to tell you what I'm doing with the list that you looked over the other day."

It was a big step involving Ron in her plans. If he was still working for his old mentor Rabastan, she could be in a great deal of trouble. They might decide collectively that she was more trouble than she was worth, Rodolphus' orders be damned. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a part of the old Ron still tucked deep inside the Death Eater just as she hoped there was a part of the old Hermione somewhere inside her. Just having her sitting in his kitchen put Ron and his entire family at risk. She felt like she owed him something.

"I'm going to be taking out every single person on that list. Not sure how for everyone just yet, but I will."

He stared at her without speaking for a few beats before nodding his head and smiling.

"Excellent. I like that idea. Most of them are horrible, disgusting people and the world would be a better place without them in it."

She was glad that they could agree on something. It was still a work in progress, but she needed to anticipate future problems.

"You're on that list, Ron."

"And are you planning on taking me out too, Hermione? Because I verified that list for you in good faith."

"Of course I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be ridiculous. But, if I attacked everyone on that list _but_ you, that would look rather suspicious, wouldn't it?"

Ron had always possessed a master strategical mind. Even when they were children he was an expert at wizarding chess, able to see ten steps ahead of everyone else. His talents were put to good use under Rabastan's tutelage. When Hermione made her statement, he nodded and smiled widely. He even seemed excited.

"We're going to have to make it look good. Maybe we should get my brother Percy to help us."

"If you'd like to. I haven't really thought out the logistics yet. Just that we have to do something."

He excused himself from the room long enough to send his brother an owl. Or whatever method of communication they used. Hermione wished she still had her enchanted galleon from her Dumbledore's Army days. That had been a sheer stroke of genius to invent those. It was a shame that none of her ideas in recent years came anywhere close to those. One of the side-effects of taking so many potions was loss of brain function. She hadn't lost her mind, but there were certainly days she didn't feel as sharp as she once did. Maybe some of that would come back eventually. She didn't hold out much hope.

"I sent Percy a message. If he's free, he'll pop in."

Once settled back at the kitchen table across from her, Ron appeared more relaxed around her than he had since they were both back in Hogwarts. It was _almost_ possible to imagine that twenty years hadn't passed and that maybe Harry was just in the next room about to join them. Of course, thoughts like that did nothing but depress her. It was best that she try to forget all about the past. All it did was remind her of what she'd lost. That was no way to ensure she had a future worth living.

A quarter of an hour passed of them exchanging ideas on how Hermione could make it look like she was trying to kill Ron without actually doing him any harm when there was a light tapping at the kitchen door. Ron rushed to answer it to allow his older brother inside. Though he might have once been the sort of sickening bootlicker that longed for position and ingratiated himself wherever possible with those who held any sort of power, Percy was much more reserved than his younger self. Experience and hardship thanks to Lord Voldemort's regime taught him some valuable life lessons. He no longer vied for position and he wasn't a fan of meaningless chatter.

"I was under the impression that we would never hear from you again after our last meeting, Hermione."

"Yes, well, I'm still not entirely sure I should be here."

Recognizing the potential for awkwardness, Ron stepped between them to explain to Percy what they'd been trying to do. He gave a brief history of Hermione's list and what they were considering doing to make it _look_ like she was targeting him as well. Interested, Percy took a seat across the table from Hermione and asked for an overview of their plans.

Despite it having a rather rocky beginning, Hermione found her conversation with the two Weasley wizards, Percy especially, to be rather enjoyable. It was _almost_ like being back at the Burrow. With the three of them, it didn't take long before they had a solid plan. Another part of the strategy would be to ensure they didn't try it _too_ soon. If all went as planned, a few weeks from then, they could draw the heat off of Ron.

"Romy won't mind doing her part to make it seem like she's angry enough with me to leave. Since the baby was born, she's been exhausted and irritable. She'll see running off to her mother's and taking the littlest ones with her as a holiday."

Hermione hoped he was right, but didn't press the issue further. Domestic disturbances would be a plausible reason to explain why Romilda and their children weren't inside the home when she attacked it. Sometimes pretending to be angry with a spouse led to actual hurt feelings. Ron assured them both that they would work it out. Wishing to change the subject, Hermione turned her attention to Percy.

"I've heard there are issues within the Resistance. Is that true?"

"I wish I could tell you that it wasn't, but it is. When you were in Devon, we could already feel the shifting in our group, but since You-Know-Who died, it's grown even worse. None of us know who we can trust. I'm almost certain that Rodolphus Lestrange has a spy in our midst, but we haven't discovered who."

When she was in the Resistance's village, she remembered having a conversation with Rodolphus the first night he appeared to her in his animagus form. He claimed that only Ginny and Aberforth Dumbledore knew who he actually was. She couldn't imagine that Aberforth would be the spy, not after he'd been so angry with her when she told him that she didn't want to spy for the Resistance. That only left Ginny. She hated to think that was true, but after learning what other secrets she was capable of keeping, Hermione couldn't discount the possibility.

"How is Ginny? I haven't seen her in a long time."

"Ginny's been acting strangely. Ever since she had to bring her daughter back. She seems nervous about having her in the country."

The look Percy gave Hermione after his last statement struck her as odd. He was an intelligent man. Likely he knew more about the true paternity of his niece than Ginny believed. Though she was dying to speak to someone about Ginny's secret love child with her husband, that wasn't the time or the place.

Ginny had proven that she wasn't above lying if it suited her purposes. When she was in Devon, Hermione thought it odd that Aberforth would allow Rodolphus to stay in the village. Maybe Dumbledore didn't really know. That would mean the only plausible spy for Rodolphus would be Ginny. It was enough to make her head pound. She wanted to go back to Draco's flat and crawl back under the covers in his bed to forget everything for just a little while.

After reviewing the plan for their subterfuge one final time, Hermione made her excuses to leave. She wasn't surprised to find Draco's flat empty. Either he was secretly tracking her or he had other business to attend to for his uncle. It didn't really matter. Her exhaustion hit her thanks to her poor sleep the night before. She was asleep the moment her head hit Draco's pillow.


	286. October 12th

October 12th

Another awkward morning with Draco passed. With each day that she lingered in his flat, Hermione felt the two of them drifting further and further apart. Not that they were all that close to begin with. Their relationship, if it could even be called that, had been odd from the very beginning. Unhealthy even. Of course, she wasn't sure that she would even know what to do with a relationship that wasn't. She hadn't had a healthy relationship with anyone since her fourth year when she had her brief dalliance with Viktor Krum. Though memorable, it wasn't long-term. Maybe if it had been allowed to continue, they would've fallen into the same pit of unhealthiness as all of her other relationships. _She_ was probably the problem.

If Draco was surprised to find her in his flat when he returned hours after she did from whatever mysterious mission he was on, he didn't say so. Neither one of them were brave enough to actually put their concerns and fears into words. Perhaps by giving voice to their worries, they believed they would bring them to life. It was an immature method to handle the situation. Death Eaters were emotionally stunted thanks to the path they'd chosen to travel down. Hermione wasn't sure it was ever possible for any in their ranks to have meaningful, fulfilling relationships with anyone.

Guilt plagued Hermione every single second that she was awake and the emotion colored her dreams as she slept. She believed that the reason she was no longer content to stay with Draco and why she wasn't rushing to escalate their physical relationship again was because of that wretched emotion that consumed her. She felt guilt that she was essentially living with a man who wasn't her husband. Guilt because she fought against her old friends for so many years. Guilt because she didn't feel guilty about making the hard choices that allowed her to survive. Guilt because she was a terrible mother. Guilt because she'd been an even worse wife. If she allowed herself, she could sit in a puddle of guilt for the rest of her life and never find the way out. It was why she couldn't always focus when she was around Draco, why she dwelled on him when she wasn't near him. The biggest source of her present guilt came from protecting the wizard and actually seeking out his company.

Once she had a fear that Draco was able to mess with her mind the way his uncle could. Maybe that would explain why she felt so fuzzyheaded around him or why when she was making love to her husband thoughts of the pale haired wizard and all of the debauched acts they'd committed over the previous year seeped into her mind. But, no, she knew better. He was a manipulative arsehole without a doubt. One who fought for himself and had his own nefarious agenda. That didn't mean that he was fucking with her mind using magic. No, it was different. He was fucking up her mind with an emotion that she tried never to allow herself to feel.

Regret was more powerful than guilt. Every time she stepped into Draco's presence Hermione felt it wash over her in waves. How much different would their lives have been if they'd been free to pursue an actual, innocent relationship? She didn't think it was possible that they would've been able to get past their differences while they were at Hogwarts together, but what about afterwards? When they were both adults and had matured? If the war ended with a victory for Harry Potter and those that believed him to be the Chosen One, there was a possibility that she could've had an honest relationship with Draco. Fallen in love and had a future. She'd pushed aside the fantasies when they were together in their stolen moments. Living with him, waking up next to him made it almost impossible to ignore. She felt like she was living in a haze when she was around him, not because of magic or potions or anything else external. She was fighting a losing battle within herself because she regretted that they would never have a chance to be normal. She wanted to love him even when she knew it was impossible. Neither of them were the people they _should_ have been able to grow into. It was a dangerous game to live on regrets.

She needed to get out of Draco's flat if she wanted to breathe normally again. Every second she was there she felt a choking in her throat, a heaviness in her heart, and a clenching in her guts. Ensuring that everything she owned was still inside her beaded bag, Hermione left sometime around mid-morning. Draco wasn't even home to watch her leave or to demand she tell him where she was going. Maybe it was easier for him if he avoided her as well. With her destination in mind, she Disapparated away from Draco's building to a much less fashionable section of the city.

Kingsley smiled brightly when he opened the door to find her standing there. Inviting her in without hesitation, Hermione wondered if the wizard was playing his own part in the intricate game. Paranoia was a sure sign that she was losing her mind, she decided. Of course everyone had their own agenda. She couldn't allow her fear to distract her though. One glimpse around the tiny flat told her that Antonin was no longer there. Not that she expected him to stay long. He had an important mission to complete after all.

"Antonin left my flat about ten minutes after you did and I haven't seen him since."

"Have you always been able to read minds or am I a special case?"

She was teasing him and felt her spirits buoyed when he laughed. Gesturing to the sofa she'd spent weeks on in the past, he invited her to take a seat. A small part of her was disappointed to learn that Antonin wasn't there. She was worried about him and curious about his success in tracking his brother down. But she also couldn't deny that she was excited about the prospect of being able to speak privately with Kingsley. She had a number of questions swirling around in her exhausted brain to ask him.

"I've been expecting you to drop in for a few days now. Couldn't imagine it would be too long before you returned to satisfy your curiosity."

"You're right, of course. I _do_ have a lot of questions. It was a bit of a shock to show up on your doorstep the other morning and find Antonin here. You said that you two hated each other."

"We did and sometimes we still do."

If the man was going to speak in riddles, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to remain patient for long. She wanted answers, not more questions.

"You both said the other day that your partnership began eight years ago. Why?"

Kingsley sighed, but his smile never left his face. No doubt he'd been preparing himself for days for the line of questions she would ask. She resolved that if he didn't give her answers, she would just walk away. Life was entirely too short to remain rooted in place for nothing more than just sheer aggravation.

"My wife was murdered."

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn't anything close to that. Hermione knew nothing about the years between the end of the war and present day when it came to Kingsley. He was a complete mystery. She'd thought for years that he was dead. It seemed impossible that anyone could live for two decades off of the Ministry's radar. She wasn't sure how he did it.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I wasn't aware you were married."

"She was a wonderful woman. We were married seven years. Not long enough, but they were good years."

"Did I know her?"

He shook his head, emotion evident all over his face. Even so many years after her death it was difficult to talk about the woman he loved.

"She was a Muggle. Didn't even know that witches and wizards existed. I shielded her from our world, promising myself that I wouldn't tell her anything unless we had a child who started to show signs of magic."

"How did she…?"

"Artemius Jugson…. Fucking bastard."

Jugson was one of the Death Eaters in the Inner Circle that rarely got any attention. Hermione hardly knew him before his untimely demise because he mostly kept to the sidelines. He'd seen enough action that he wasn't eager to climb his way to the top. Besides, he had a disgusting belief about Muggle-borns that made her loathe and despise the monster from the beginning of her career. More than a few times he made it clear to her that he believed she should've been murdered long before she was ever able to pick up a wand.

"We were having a wonderful night out and the bastard appeared out of nowhere. It was an accident. I led us too close to Diagon Alley without even thinking about it. After so many years away, it's easy to forget. He was coming out of the Leaky Cauldron when he spotted me. Remembered me from a few times he was on the wrong side of my wand in my auror days. I tried to get us away, but I wasn't fast enough. He thought it was funny to kill her while I watched unable to defend either of us."

Hermione loathed the vast majority of the Death Eaters. Most of them were cruel and homicidal. She wasn't surprised to hear about the murder of Kingsley's wife in the slightest. It was how some of the bastards played with their prey. Kill their loved ones and _then_ kill them. She hated that she was guilty of doing the same in the past.

"I didn't even have a wand on me. Didn't think I'd need one. When my wife fell, there was a crowd. He wasn't able to finish me off. Had to run like the coward he was. When I got back to our flat, I dug through cartons in the cupboard until I found my wand. Went back to the Leaky Cauldron to try to find him. Found your husband instead."

"And he _helped_ you?"

"Eventually. Must've caught him in a generous mood. He took me to a pub, if you can believe that, to come up with a plan. He'd suspected that I would come back to try to kill Jugson. Said he wanted to get rid of Jugson too. Something about him insulting his wife."

"That's not surprising. The rat _hated_ me. I didn't even listen to half the words he said."

"I didn't know at the time that _you_ were Antonin's wife. Wasn't important. We came up with a plan and killed the arsehole. Didn't bring my Mary back though. Fucking bastard."

It was still so bizarre to Hermione to hear about the fairly good deeds her husband committed that she wasn't aware of. Killing a wizard because he insulted his wife? She struggled to understand how she could've lived with the man for twenty years and not known the first thing about him.

"The _real_ reason I took you in when you were sick wasn't because of our friendship or the Order days. It was my way of thanking Antonin for his help. Seemed fair. I saved his wife and he helped avenge mine."

"And you've been working together ever since? What about the day I asked you to distract him so I could help Aberforth escape?"

His face split into another one of his wide grins.

"Who do you think sent him the owl that morning?"

She rolled her eyes, annoyed with both men.

"I told him that you were up to something and had asked me to create a diversion. That's why he ran out over breakfast. Had to make it look real."

"I hate you both."

Deciding that she didn't want to hear anymore, Hermione confided in him her plan for the list she'd received. She wanted to know if he thought it was a good one. For a reason she didn't understand, she still valued his input. When she was finished, all smiles and laughter were gone. He was back to being the formidable auror she remembered.

"It's a good plan, but I only have one question."

"What is that?"

"Do you know what Lestrange's plan is?"

"No."

"Maybe you should figure that out before you decide it isn't worth considering first."

Something about the wizard's response made her ill at ease. Was he actually suggesting that she defer to Rodolphus if it turned out he had a good plan? An uncomfortable feeling she couldn't shake crawled over her entire body. She thanked him for his time and made her excuses to rush out of his flat.


	287. October 13th

October 13th

Hermione was able to push aside all of her concerns about staying in Draco's flat for another day. When she practically ran from Kingsley's flat, there wasn't even a hesitation on her part to return. She felt safe when she was inside its walls, something she hadn't experienced since she was in Cornwall with her husband, her ex-lover and her son. It might have been wrong to return and continue to live in the confusion, but she didn't care. She just wanted one more day of safety.

After she returned from Kingsley's flat, she was in no hurry to leave again. She tried to return to some semblance of normality in the daytime while she waited for Draco to return home. Or at least attempted to keep her mind occupied. When he walked in late that night to find her back on his sofa, she could see the visible relief all over him. He might have set up his wards to inform him the moment she arrived, but she knew that it was different actually seeing her with his own eyes.

If she wanted her plan to attack all of the people on the list of Rodolphus' allies to be successful, she knew she couldn't wait too long. The world was already too restless. Despite hating every single person who worked for the Daily Prophet and believing that ninety percent of what was printed within its pages was complete rubbish, Hermione knew the world was getting dangerous. Homes and businesses were being attacked just about every single day. Some from the Resistance side and others from the side of the former Death Eaters. It seemed that no one was safe from violence.

"You're far away again. Where'd you go this time?"

The sound of Draco's voice snapped her back to reality. They were both seated on the large sofa in his lounge. He was sipping at a glass of fire whiskey as he read a book and she was holding that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet but not actually seeing any of the words. It was a quaint, domestic scene that would've felt normal if the world outside the front door wasn't so chaotic. She found herself relaxing in Draco's flat far more than she should. That was the main reason she knew she couldn't stay much longer. But, even as she considered leaving, she kept contradicting herself. One moment she couldn't wait to leave and the next she was terrified to take a single step out of the door. Perhaps some of her mental issues weren't related to her potions or Rodolphus' memory charms at all. She'd lived a hard life filled with violence. It made sense that there would be some lasting neurological effects.

"Do you really want to know, Draco? You might not like the answer."

"You can tell me anything you want."

His voice made her long to trust him, but she knew it would be foolish. Hadn't he already proven that he would stop at nothing, including turning her entire life upside down, just to satisfy the orders that came from his uncle? She wished that she understood what the draw of Rodolphus was, what he was trying to accomplish that so many people were willing to risk their lives and their integrity to throw their lot in with his. It had to have been good. Remembering Kingsley's words about trying to find out the actual plan of the madman who fucked with her mind and messed up her memories, she grew angry inside again. What was Kingsley's angle? Could he be trusted? She worried that her husband had allied himself with another person who would betray him. Antonin had the worst judgement in people, it seemed. After all, what sort of fucked up person falls in love with the monster he helped to create?

She shook her head, desperate to dislodge the thoughts that were threatening to drive her mad. Antonin was in love with an illusion, the _promise_ of the woman she could be. Just like so many pathetic women who had fantasies of 'fixing' the men they loved, he still clung to the hope that he could love her enough to make her into the person he wished she would be. Millions, perhaps _billions_ , of women since the beginning of the time failed in their quest to change their men. Loving the potential of a person was madness. While it was always possible that a person could become their best self, it was just as likely that they could become their worst self too. Antonin was in love with a fantasy, a fantasy that she wished she could give him. All she had to offer was her brokenness. Who would ever desire that?

"I saw my husband the other day."

Draco closed his book with a deep, heavy sigh. Setting it down on the table in front of the sofa, he turned his entire body to look her in the eye. She wasn't sure why she admitted the truth or what would happen next, but it seemed important that she tell him. He should understand that it would only be a matter of time before she sought the man out again. There was too much history to just forget him and move on.

"Where? What happened?"

"Doesn't matter where. It was actually an accident, if you'll believe it. I didn't know he would be there."

"Did you go back to Ginny's?"

She shook her head, ignoring the fact that she _had_ gone back days before. The thought of talking to anyone about the conversation she had with the woman who was fucking her husband made her sick to her stomach. There was nothing that Hermione could offer Antonin that would mean more to him than the daughter he didn't know he shared with Ginny. She suspected that Percy knew the truth about Maisie. If she caught him alone at any point in the near future, she would confront him about it.

"Antonin returned to the cottage after you rescued me. Found it empty except for my blood and was worried."

"He was relieved to see you?"

"Yes, he was. Very much so."

"Because he still loves you."

The hint of petulance in his tone put Hermione on edge. She didn't want to argue with him about her husband's feelings for her. Where would that get them? There was always a possibility that when the dust settled on their new world that everyone would get a chance to start over. Maybe the simpler life she longed for would be possible. It might even be possible to be more than just a late night, hidden dalliance with the man who had once bullied her in school. She didn't know. All of them could be dead before it was over and then it wouldn't even matter. But she knew that she never wanted to be with another man that she couldn't trust. If Draco wanted to prove to her that he could be honest, there might be hope. After all, she didn't expect her husband to want anything to do with her once he found out about his daughter. He'd probably build a new family with Ginny and she'd only get to see her son on special occasions and half the holidays a year. If Draco wanted to build something real out of the inevitable wreckage of her marriage, he would have to prove to her that he could be trusted.

"Yes, he still loves me. He wants to make his brother and Wood pay for what they did to me."

"And then what? Then what will you do, Hermione? Go back to him to rebuild some perfect, little fucked-up family? Is that what you really want?"

"I don't know what I want, Draco, but I know what I _don't_ want. I'm tired of being kept in the dark, of not knowing what you're really up to. I don't want to keep pretending that it's not a big deal that I have no idea what you're doing or why you're still with your uncle even after everything you know he's capable of doing."

She knew that it was unhealthy for her to continue to be around a man who didn't seem bothered at all by the epic mind fuck his uncle subjected her to, even if it was hard to walk away. How long could she keep ignoring the fact that Draco was involved with her enemies? Why did she keep coming back to his flat when she knew it was best that she avoid him? Once the conversation was started, she knew that she had to get some answers. No longer would she stay hidden in the dark. It was too frustrating and they were literally dealing with life and death.

"You said that Rodolphus had a good plan, a plan that you _wanted_ to see be successful. Why? What is his plan?"

"Hermione, I've already told you that…"

"You've told me _nothing_ , Draco. _Nothing_. Why is his plan so good? How am I involved? Why would he order that I not be harmed?"

Reluctant was not a strong enough word to describe Draco in that moment. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. None of the questions she asked were met with any suitable answer. Hermione grew more and more frustrated. She was exhausted of not knowing what was happening. Ignorance might be bliss for many, but it wasn't for her.

"Are you just going to stay silent? Are you not going to answer _any_ of my questions?"

Draco had a tendency to withdraw into himself when he was uncomfortable or afraid. It was a personality trait she'd noticed years earlier when they were in their sixth year. He isolated himself while he tried to figure out how he was going to fulfill the impossible task of murdering Albus Dumbledore. Faced with an angry Hermione, he retreated inside himself again. Perhaps not to the same extent, but it was enough to prove that he had a bad habit of running away when life got difficult. Rising to his feet, he crossed the lounge and headed straight for his bedroom. The slamming of the bathroom door moments later seemed to indicate he was done talking.

She'd had enough. If he wanted to behave like a petulant, spoiled brat because she asked him some hard questions, so be it. She didn't have to stay there any longer. Once she did a sweep of the flat to be certain she'd left nothing behind, Hermione left. She walked out of the front door with the intention of never returning. Draco couldn't be trusted. And perhaps even more upsetting, he didn't believe that _she_ could be trusted either.

It was almost midnight. The streets were dark and the night air was cool. She couldn't linger outside his building without a solid plan for very long. As tempting as it was to stay there longer in hopes that Draco would come searching for her to apologize and spill all of his secrets, she knew that was a naïve hope. She focused on her next destination, Disapparating away before she could talk herself into lingering a moment longer.

The gates to the Lestrange Family estate were still open. Hermione scoffed. Clearly, the idiots hadn't learned their lesson days earlier when she attacked Gemma. Or maybe they hoped that she would make a repeat visit. It didn't really matter. Protective wards on the gates or not, she knew she was taking a big risk being there again. If Rabastan saw her, he would be out for blood. _No one_ threatened his children without repercussions.

She ignored the looming manor house to focus her attention on the Dower House. Though her feet felt like lead with each step she took, she forced herself towards the house. Either she would die that night or she would finally have some answers. Sitting around being lied to or ignored was no longer enough for her.

Rodolphus opened the door to his home after a single knock. When his eyes fell on his guest, he smiled brightly and stepped to the side to welcome her inside.

"I've been wondering when you were going to come."

Hermione took a step forward, ignoring all of her fears and concerns. If she wanted answers, she would have to be brave enough to go straight to the source.


	288. October 14th

October 14th

Actively seeking out the wizard who sought to ruin her life was a drastic risk that Hermione knew she had to take. Sitting around just waiting for the next terrible event to happen was no way to live. Neither was being ignorant of what was to come. Clearly, Rodolphus had a plan for her and she wanted to know what it was. Maybe she would come to regret crossing over into enemy territory, but something told her that she would regret not going even more.

Rodolphus led her to the lounge, an unnecessary task as she knew every square inch of that house quite well. There had been countless nights over the years that she'd spent time in his home. Sometimes there were wild parties with dozens of other like-minded Death Eaters enjoying the debauchery they loved. Other times it was just the two of them, but they had just as much fun together. She'd enjoyed her time there, never once having a bad experience thanks to the alcohol, the potions, and the mind-blowing sex.

She tried to push away the pleasant reminders of the house while she followed the wizard. If she allowed herself to remember there were times that she cared very much for the horrible man, she might put herself into even more danger than she already was. Rodolphus was dangerous. She couldn't afford to forget that for even a moment if she wanted to be able to walk out the front door again.

He didn't say another word to her until they were both seated on the same sofa in his opulent lounge. Even for being a much smaller house than the manor, it was no less luxurious. Lestranges throughout history enjoyed their comforts. Rodolphus was only a short distance away. His eyes raked over her entire body in an obvious appreciation. She hated when he stared at her like he knew exactly what she looked like without her clothes on. Mostly because she knew he _did_. It was hard to ignore how many times they'd spent hours in that very house tumbling across his bed and rolling onto the floor. The man was insatiable when he was in the proper frame of mind. Too many years in Azkaban denied him the pleasures of the flesh that he enjoyed so much. He tried to make up for lost time whenever he could.

"What happened here?"

When he lightly brushed the very tips of his fingers across the new scar under her eye, Hermione flinched. He'd moved so quickly that she wasn't even aware he was going to touch her until he already was. It was further reminder that the man held a lot of power. Unfortunately, a lot of that power could be held over her if she wasn't careful. The touch was gentle, only lasting a moment before he dropped his hand.

"William Wood almost got his wish."

Rodolphus' eyes narrowed. Whether it was confusion or the beginning of a fit of rage, she wasn't sure. Realizing he probably didn't know the history, she gave him the briefest of explanations. She really didn't want to discuss what happened that night in Aubin's cottage again, but knew she likely was going to have to a few more times at least. It wasn't a small scar, after all. One day it might fade to be almost unnoticeable. While it was still healing, however, it was all she could see when she looked in a mirror. She tried to avoid mirrors whenever possible.

"I killed his little brother years ago. He's been hungry for revenge. Teamed up with Antonin's youngest brother Aubin to track me down to Aubin's cottage where I was hiding."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

She didn't want to give him any further explanation as to why Antonin wasn't there with her when the attack happened. It was part of his plan to do what was necessary to break up her marriage. Just when they were doing so well, he'd been behind the plot to rip the Dolohovs apart. If she told him that his machinations had been successful, he might have found pride in his accomplishments. Besides, she was fairly certain that he already knew it worked after the loud row they'd had in Hogwarts. Of course, Draco probably already told him whatever he wanted to know. Instead of elaborating on her marital status, she continued her story.

"They tortured me for a few hours. Almost succeeded in killing me."

Rodolphus was furious. She could tell by the clenching of his fists and the vein that was popping out of his forehead. Perhaps it was sick to be happy about the fact that he was furious when she was hurt, but she was. While she didn't have the first clue what his eventual plans were for her, at least she knew that she wasn't a target. At least not yet. That would probably happen later.

"I'm glad to see that you were able to get out of that horrible situation."

The statement was made through clenched teeth. She wondered if Aubin was given the same warning as all of the others to leave her alone. If he was, the full wrath of the wizard in charge would be brought down on him. Hermione bit back a grin. Aubin was an idiot. Two very powerful wizards wanted him dead or at least in a great deal of pain. It wouldn't be long before he feared for his own life. Rodolphus tried to hide his anger, but she knew him well enough to know he was affected.

"Your brother-in-law clearly misunderstood the orders he was given when he approached me a few weeks ago. He was to leave you alone completely. I didn't even want him to speak to you. Clearly, we will need to renegotiate our arrangement when I see him next."

The obvious explanation for Rodolphus' plans was that he was setting himself up to be the next Dark Lord. For whatever reason, many of their former comrades flocked to him and wished to join his side. Was it because they believed he was a stronger candidate for power than Antonin or any of the others who might be interested? Hermione tried to remember all of the times they were together in the past when they discussed the future. Either they never once mentioned what would happen in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's death or the memories of those conversations were lost thanks to her reliance on those damned potions.

"What sort of 'arrangement' do you have with that bastard? And for that matter, what are your plans? No one will tell me."

Rodolphus appreciated when a person was forthright with him. More than a few times in the past he told her that he liked when she just came straight out with a question or a criticism. He was of the opinion that life was too short to spend it analyzing nuances and reading signals and signs. Her questions didn't catch him off-guard. No, he probably was expecting them. The grin on his face proved that he wasn't bothered at all.

"It's actually quite simple. I'm not sure why no one you've asked has been willing to explain it to you yet. I have nothing to hide."

He leaned back against the sofa, perfectly at ease in his own home.

"Then tell me, Roddy. What are you trying to do?"

"The regime has been unstable for years because it relied on a single person. As long as the Dark Lord was still alive, we knew who was in charge. Once it became clear that he wasn't going to live forever despite what he claimed, there was no clear leader to take over. The problem with the way our society has been set up is we can't rely on a single person. Not only is that too much responsibility to place on the shoulders of one person, Dark Lord or not, it's not sustainable. Problems get ignored. Issues fall through the cracks."

Several times in the past she thought that Rodolphus missed his calling. Just like her husband, he should've been a teacher. Hermione learned more from those two men than she did from just about everyone else who ever taught her. They had a rare gift, an ability to draw their students in and encourage them to seek out more information. It was interesting to imagine how much different their world could've been if they'd become professors instead of Death Eaters.

"I want to reinstate the Wizengamot."

It was such a radical idea after twenty years without one. There had been rumors that it would be reinstated during the Dark Lord's lifetime, but nothing ever came of them. Most of the esteemed members of the Wizengamot at the time of the end of the last war were murdered or disappeared completely from public life. The Dark Lord didn't want _anyone_ to have the least bit of power unless he gave it to them. He was the one who appointed his trusted Death Eaters to various positions in the government. A collective body of witches and wizards making decisions without him was simply unacceptable.

"And I imagine you are the one making the decision as to who gets appointed?"

"I am merely trying to organize enough like-minded individuals who want to secure the future of this country into a manageable group of legislators."

Truthfully, reinstating the Wizengamot and allowing a collection of citizens to make the necessary laws and decisions wasn't a terrible idea at all. At least they wouldn't all be subject to the whims of a madman. Many times in the past twenty years she'd disagreed with the Dark Lord's orders, but it was a death sentence to argue. But she didn't think that was everything. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that there wasn't more to his plan than what he was telling her. Rodolphus would only tell her what he wanted her to know. It was enough that he was telling her _something_. No one else would.

"I have been recruiting members of all of the best Pureblood families."

She rolled her eyes. Of course it would come back to blood purity. It _always_ did. Rodolphus might enjoy rolling around in the sheets with a Mudblood, but he didn't want one to have any sort of power in the society he lived in. Sometimes it was easy to forget how old-fashioned and backwards the men in her life could be. It was like they were living in a society at least a hundred years older than the one the Muggles lived in. Maybe one day they would catch up with the Muggles. She didn't believe she'd be alive to see it though.

"I know what you're thinking, my dear, but there's a reason why the Pureblood families have endured for as long as they have."

"Is that why you ordered Hannah Rowle to be murdered in broad daylight in the middle of Hogsmeade? Because you wanted to recruit her husband to your side?"

Rodolphus was offended by the suggestion. There were times he could be read like an open book.

"I had _nothing_ to do with her murder. On my word as a Lestrange, absolutely nothing. I was furious when I heard about it."

"Certainly sounds like something you would do. Weren't you trying to pick off all of Antonin's supporters?"

"Why would I order the murder of a woman I was actively trying to recruit? Her father already agreed, but I was having trouble convincing her husband to join. I wouldn't do anything to hurt either one of them. Not until I was certain they wouldn't agree."

There was a certain amount of honor that Rodolphus had when it came to his word as a Lestrange. It was never something that he said lightly. If he claimed that vehemently that he had nothing to do with Hannah's murder, she couldn't help but believe him. As if to further his point, he slid his hand through her curls to rest on the back of Hermione's head. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. What was he going to do next?

"When I heard you were injured in that attack, I wanted to rip whoever did it from limb to limb with my bare hands. I _still_ want to."

She believed him. Nothing about his countenance or in his eyes showed him to be lying. Knowing that he was being completely honest in that moment, she knew she had to take her chance.

"And what are your plans for _me_ , Roddy? Why did you want to hurt me?"

His shoulders slumped and he exhaled. He almost seemed _hurt_ , like she'd just insulted him. There was a time when she thought she understood the man. No longer. He was a complete mystery.

"All I've ever wanted, Hermione, was you by my side."

He followed up his admission with a press of his lips against hers. Startled, she gasped, allowing him entrance into her mouth. Just like outside of the White Wyvern, she knew it was wrong to kiss him back, but she couldn't stop herself. There was a lot of history between them and it was hard to ignore it. Seconds after she kissed him back, she came to her senses. Pushing him away, she jumped up and ran out of the Dower House. He didn't follow.


	289. October 15th

October 15th

Draco didn't ask Hermione where she went when she returned to his flat. She was glad that she didn't have to come up with a suitable lie. If pressed, she wasn't even sure where she would begin. The entire meeting with Rodolphus still made her head spin the next morning. After tossing and turning all night thinking over every single word he spoke, every single move he made, the only explanation she could come up with was Rodolphus had finally gone completely insane. Antonin always said that when it came to the elder Lestrange brother, one man went in to Azkaban and another came out. Perhaps the horrors of spending so many years having the dementors sucking out all of his best memories and feeding on his emotions finally got the better of him.

She didn't believe that Rodolphus was in love with her. The very idea was preposterous. If anything, he saw remnants of the woman his late wife used to be tucked inside Hermione. Antonin and Augustus both seemed to believe that he manipulated her mind in order to mold her into his perfect ideal. His love for Bellatrix had been obsessive and very unhealthy. When she was killed by Molly Weasley in the final battle, he'd been inconsolable for months. Even the Dark Lord didn't seem to mind when he disappeared for weeks at a time to hide at the bottom of a bottle. Hermione wanted to ask him more questions about what he did to her mind and why, but the very thought of being back in his presence again filled her with a dread she couldn't shake. The next time she approached him, he might never let her leave again. He was unpredictable and clearly unstable.

All through breakfast Hermione could feel Draco's eyes on her. He was desperate to ask her questions, but not nearly enough to risk another row. It wasn't her intention to return to his flat when she left Saturday night. She'd planned to find somewhere, _anywhere_ else to hide. But in her worries and fear after rushing out of Rodolphus' house after the very confusing kiss, she didn't even hesitate to return to Draco's home. He met her at the front door to welcome her back. Though they were both alone in the flat for most of Sunday together, he didn't broach the subject once. Likely he was hoping that she would bring it up first. She hated to disappoint him. She had no intention of doing so.

In order to keep her mind occupied and to keep from blurting out what she didn't want Draco to know in her frustration, Hermione read over the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. She had to laugh to herself. It wouldn't be a proper Monday morning without an article written by Rita Skeeter tucked away inside the paper declaring that Madam Dolohov was insane. Truthfully, she was surprised that they hadn't run out of ways to call her crazy yet.

She knew that she had Albert Runcorn to thank for the relentless coverage of her mental health. He'd always made her feel like she was less than everyone else, like she was rubbish that had no business even speaking to the other members of the regime. But, of course, that didn't stop him from trying to get under skirts when he'd been drinking which only grew more frequent as the years wore on. As one of Rodolphus' top supporters and high on his list, she wondered if she could figure out a way to use him for her own purposes. Or if she could just get rid of him. No one would shed a tear at his death, least of all his poor wife.

"I'll be back later."

Hermione was out of the flat before Draco could even respond or ask her where she was going. Not that she would've told him either way. Apparating to Diagon Alley, she directed her steps towards the main offices of the horrible newspaper. It was past time that she had a visit with the editor in chief. Monday mornings were typically a busy day as the reporters and the rest of the staff decided their weekly assignments. Hermione pushed the main doors to the office open, startling several within.

She still felt a great deal of satisfaction in seeing that there were those who were still afraid of her. Despite printing all of the lies they wished about her mental health, many of the souls gathered on the ground floor of the building stared at her with wide eyes, fearful of what she might do next. It was tempting to just start cursing the wretched beings, but she stopped herself. The last thing she needed was to get caught in violence she couldn't get out of or arrested.

"Madam Dolohov, may I help you?"

The young witch at the reception desk practically squeaked when she spoke. Hermione bit back a laugh.

"I'm here to see Albert Runcorn."

"I don't see that you have an appointment."

"I don't need one."

She wasn't about to let some chit at the front desk keep her from her goal. There was a very important discussion she needed to have with the arsehole who was in charge of the newspaper. Ignoring the trembling girl's requests that she wait, Hermione pushed through towards the offices. It wasn't the first time she'd been there. She knew exactly where she could find Albert.

Halfway to the Editor's office, she was stopped by a smirking Alecto Carrow emerging from her office. When it was determined after the war ended that she was complete rubbish at being a professor and would likely cause more harm than good to students if allowed to continue in her position, another job was found for the horrible witch. It suited everyone, especially Alecto, just fine for her to be away from children. She loathed every moment she was back in Hogwarts. Alecto pointed at the cut underneath Hermione's eye.

"Who should I send a bottle of fire whiskey to to thank for that?"

Hermione wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match with the witch who would undoubtedly lose every single time. Once it was made evident that Alecto was simply using her and pretending to be her friend, she no longer felt the slightest bit of loyalty to the bitch. Plastering a smile on her own face, Hermione lowered her voice so none of the curious onlookers could hear what she was saying.

"Try to feel secure in your position all you want, Allie. You're not important. You've never been important to anyone and that's never going to change."

"Fucking bitch."

Alecto moved her arm, posed to strike Hermione across the face. Her intended victim was able to stop the act with a simple spell that left her arm frozen in the air. She smiled even wider.

"Do I have to remind you, Allie, that Rodolphus' orders were to leave me unharmed? See? I'm _important_ to him."

The sudden arrival of Albert Runcorn to the room stopped any further conversation. Hermione removed the spell on the furious Alecto's arm and gladly followed Albert when he invited her into his office. Not content to let her walk away without getting one last threat in, Alecto followed them to the door.

"This isn't over, bitch. I'll make you pay for what you did to my brother, orders or not."

"Oh, sweet Alecto, I'd _love_ to see you try."

Once inside Albert's office with the door locked, Hermione felt some of her confidence begin to slip away. Something about the wizard always put her on edge. She wasn't sure how he was able, but somehow he'd always made her feel like she was a helpless fly caught in a sticky spiderweb. The smile he gave her across the top of his desk did nothing to dispel her worries. Maybe she'd made a mistake coming to see him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning, Hermione? It's rather unexpected, is it not?"

"I'd like to file a formal complaint against your journalists. I'm _not_ crazy."

His laughter should've been a pleasant sound. Perhaps there were women who would find it charming, but Hermione knew him too well to be fooled. He was dangerous and not someone that should ever be discounted.

"Really? Are you certain about that? Because your past decisions would seem to indicate otherwise."

"And are you _ever_ going to move on, Albie? That was fifteen years ago."

Nothing annoyed her more than when the past was brought up to be thrown into her face. They had a history. Years earlier when the Dark Lord was insistent that his followers find a suitable mate and begin procreating for the good of the regime, Albert approached Hermione with a marriage proposal. He wasn't in love with her. Far from it, really. She didn't think he even liked anything about her. He was simply a man who was interested in making a lucrative business arrangement. As the Dark Lord's favorite, she could assist him in his rise to the top. She'd almost been tempted to accept his offer. After all, he was an attractive man and there was a certain allure to him that she found interesting. It was during the three year period when she and Augustus weren't together. No one else was knocking on her door offering marriage. But because she believed the Dark Lord would never force _her_ to marry, she turned him down. He ended up marrying someone else to satisfy their master's orders like a good, little soldier. A couple of years later she was ordered to marry and Albert was no longer available. It made him bitter and angry towards her ever since.

Albert was the sort of man to desire something, or someone, only because he was denied. Over the years she'd known many men just like him. It was predictable and sad really. Though they'd never shared more than one heated kiss after they'd both been drinking over a decade and a half before, she'd seen him staring at her across many rooms ever since. She wondered if she could use that to her advantage. He was just a scorned man with hurt pride after all. Those were her speciality.

"Why are you really here, Hermione?"

No longer content to sit across from him, she stood up from her chair and moved around the large desk. Perching herself on the edge of his desk, only a short distance from him, she could tell that he was trying not to appear affected by her proximity.

"The articles you keep printing about me are untrue and they're upsetting my son."

He smiled, removing his eyes from where he'd been ogling her thighs to look into hers.

"The public is very interested in your mental health, especially after what happened so publicly at the Dark Lord's funeral."

"That was an unfortunate incident beyond my control. I was drugged."

His laughter made her skin crawl. She didn't want to be in the same room with him for much longer. Her patience was wearing thin.

"Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"Not especially. Certainly not for me. One of your employees was responsible. Ask Alecto about it. I'm sure she'll be glad to tell you all of the details."

Albert leaned back in his chair making it no secret that he was looking her body up and down. She suppressed a shudder. Why did he have to be so disgusting?

"If I stop printing articles about you, what do _I_ get in return?"

She forced herself to put on the most flirtatious smile she possessed. Leaning forward, she ran her fingers down his arm.

"My gratitude."

The grin that split his face made her feel even more like helpless insect caught in a trap. She couldn't allow herself to forget for even a moment that he was a very dangerous man.

"Surely we can think of something better than that."

Hermione hopped off of the desk and leaned over to whisper directly into his ear.

"Stop printing them for a few days and we can negotiate some sort of deal that I imagine we can both find _satisfactory_."

Following up her request with a kiss to his cheek, she rushed out of the room, eager to be free from the confines of the wretched building. Outside on the pavement, she rubbed at her lips in a vain attempt to get the feel of the man's skin off. She only hoped that she right in the fact that cultivating him as an asset would be to her benefit. She'd hate to think that entire display was for nothing.


	290. October 16th

October 16th

There wasn't a single mention of Hermione in Tuesday's edition of The Daily Prophet. She checked every single page at least three times just to be certain. While it was entirely possible that Albert Runcorn was only keeping his end of the bargain for a single day to make it seem like he was willing to comply, she knew better than to believe him after just one day. If he made it to the end of the week without mentioning her inside the newspaper, she would return to his office and they could renegotiate the terms of their arrangement.

It helped that Albert was entirely too predictable. All of the men at the top of the regime were the same way. She'd had decades to study them and learn their weaknesses and proclivities. Some liked their alcohol too much and others their potions just like hers. There were those that thrived on violence and the screams of their terrified victims. Most of them, however, liked their pleasures of the flesh, especially with much younger witches.

Before she was married and ordered to become a mother, she was young enough that most of the men in the Inner Circle, whether they openly admitted it or not, wanted to be with her. It also didn't hurt that she was more confident in her own sexuality and in her own attractiveness the older she got. While she'd never been particularly ugly, once she'd had her oversized front teeth fixed and she started to take a bit more of an effort in her appearance, she was proud of what she looked like. Others noticed the change too. The dirty, disgusting Death Eaters who were old enough to be her father enjoyed being with one as young as she. It made them feel like they were young again themselves. She'd used her youth to her advantage, especially as she worked her way up the ranks. Several valuable alliances had been made while she was on her back. It was something that she would never feel shame about. When one was fighting for survival, they would be fools not to utilize every weapon they possessed.

Albert was going to be easy. If he chose to cooperate, she'd lure him in with promises and maybe even allow a few touches. Having the head of the regime's propaganda machine at her disposal would be a valuable resource. She wasn't sure how she was going to use him yet, but it would come to her when necessary. It was amusing how easily men like him could be manipulated. Did he even know he was so predictable and pathetic?

"Something amusing?"

Draco stared at her across the table as he sipped at his tea. Few words had been spoken between them in several days. There had been an awkwardness that fell over the flat. Despite lying next to each other every night in the same bed, there was a distance that couldn't be ignored. She knew that it would only be matter of time before one or both of them exploded. What they were living couldn't be sustained for much longer. Both of them were guilty of ignoring what was so clear.

"I was just noticing how the quality of journalism just keeps getting worse and worse every single day."

"Is there another article about you in there?"

"Surprisingly, no. Maybe that's why it's not very entertaining to read. I've been enjoying seeing what sort of lies they'd come up with about me next."

"Alecto mentioned that you stopped by the Daily Prophet offices yesterday."

Hermione sighed, knowing where their conversation was going. It was always going to be only a matter of time before the news of her visit got back to Draco. He'd disappeared for several hours the night before. No doubt he'd run off to talk to Rodolphus and his little traitorous mates. He probably hoped that she would slip and tell him the purpose of her visit so he'd have something useful to report back to Rodolphus. It was exhausting being unable to trust the man she was living with. Every word she said was analyzed and every step she made was recorded.

"I thought we made an agreement that whatever happened outside of this flat was our own business?"

"Did I ask you why you were there?"

"No, but I imagine you were about to."

He couldn't deny what was obviously the truth. Instead of speaking, he simply sighed and went back to his tea. Silence continued for several minutes. When his breakfast was over and he could seemingly stand to be around his houseguest no longer, Draco rose to his feet. Before he could step away and hide for the remainder of the day as he was apt to do when it became uncomfortable between them, Hermione asked him a question she'd been wanting to ask for weeks.

"Will you teach me your tracking spell?"

Her question caught him off-guard even though he should've been aware that eventually she was going to ask. Hadn't he teased her when they were staying in the tent together in the middle of the forest that he knew that her biggest weakness was her thirst for more knowledge? Her curiosity kept her rooted in place months earlier when it was dangerous to be alone with the man she didn't know she could trust. Draco stared at her, unblinking for a few beats. His reluctance to acquiesce to her request was obvious.

"I've told you before that that is a secret, Hermione."

"Yes, it was a secret from the Death Eaters who would no longer need you if they found out how to track their opponents themselves. That was before the Dark Lord died. Wouldn't you say that circumstances had changed?"

He sighed. It wasn't going to be easy to get him to agree, but she was determined. Did he not understand how frustrating it was not knowing how to complete the spell he could so easily? Hermione imagined that it would come in handy when she started fulfilling her plan of getting rid of the people on the list. If she wanted to learn it, she knew that she would have to convince him to share the secret. It wouldn't be easy. Nothing worth having was ever gained without a little bit of sacrifice.

"It's only fair that you teach me, you know. Since you can track me wherever I go even when I specifically tell you _not_ to."

"You're paranoid, Hermione. I haven't been tracking you when you leave the flat."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Draco. I thought you had more respect for me than that."

If he denied again that he didn't track her, she was going to force him to teach her the spell. She had been too easy on him over the past several months. Perhaps part of who she was under the Dark Lord's power was gone once the potions were no longer a daily part of her life. Maybe even Rodolphus altered her brain somehow to change her personality. But, from the first day that she began her training with Antonin twenty years earlier, her determination that she would not become a victim again only encouraged her to fight dirty and fight hard. Draco would see how vicious she could be.

"The other night while you were taking a shower I went to see Rodolphus."

His grey eyes widened. It was possible that he wasn't lying about not tracking her _that_ particular night. She was under no delusions that he didn't know she went to Ron Weasley's house or that he didn't know she went to Diagon Alley before Alecto told him. If he already knew that she saw Rodolphus, he would've been able to hide his surprise just a little better.

"What could you have possibly been thinking, Hermione?"

The words he used were the same words her husband hurled at her when she admitted weeks earlier that she'd gone to Hogsmeade twice to meet with Ron. She hadn't appreciated them coming out of Antonin's mouth and she certainly didn't appreciate when Draco said them. Did no one in the entire world trust her to take care of herself? Was everyone just sitting around waiting for her to completely fall apart? It angered her more than she could describe to know that people she cared about, people who claimed to care about her, thought so little of her mental capabilities.

"I was _thinking_ that he would tell me his plans if I just asked him."

"And did he?"

"For the most part."

She was also under no delusions that she understood everything that Rodolphus was doing. There was only one person alive who knew all of his plans and he wasn't in the habit of sharing them with just anyone. No one would ever be privy to all of Rodolphus' secrets. It just simply wasn't how he operated.

"What do you think Rodolphus would think if he found out that _you_ gave me the list of all of his supporters? Do you think he wouldn't demand retribution for that betrayal?"

It was easy to forget that Draco was a Death Eater who earned his place at the table just like she did. With his desire to be away from the bulk of the Inner Circle and to be alone, it was easy to underestimate him. When it was clear that she was threatening to blackmail him, he was furious. Hermione remembered that he'd already proven he was a dangerous man when it suited him. She hoped that she hadn't pushed him too far. Quickly, before he could blow up in his anger, she made him an offer.

"Teach me the tracking spell and I swear I will never tell Rodolphus about the list. We can even take a wizard's oath if you want."

He calmed only slightly. Offering to prove her sincerity with an oath was no small gesture. If he pushed for an Unbreakable Vow, he could even hold her life in his hands. She wouldn't be able to tell Rodolphus the truth about the list as long as she was alive without fear of dying.

"Would it help if I also promised never to teach anyone else the spell?"

At least five minutes passed before Draco made up his mind. Frustrated that he'd been backed into a corner, he finally agreed to teach her how to track. But, only after she made a vow that she would never tell _anyone_ about the list or the spell. He didn't even make her take an oath on her wand to her surprise. Of course, if she was honest with him and told him that she'd already shared the information about the list with at least three other people, he might not have been so agreeable to teach her.

"You already know the first step. You'll need something that belongs to the person you wish to track."

The entire lesson took no more than ten minutes. Hermione was almost disappointed that the spell was so simple. Once she had the incantation and the wand movements locked away in her brain and she'd been able to perform it successfully a few times, she understood why Draco had been so afraid of the other Death Eaters learning the spell. _Any_ one of them could've cast it. Even those who weren't especially blessed with brains would be just as good a tracker as he was if given the proper tools. He really would've been disposed of if the secret of his spell got out.

"Thank you, Draco."

She followed up her words with the first kiss they'd shared in days. Though it didn't escalate past a kiss, it was a good step to move them back into the right direction.


	291. October 17th

_**Author's Note : Thanks again to all of you awesome people who have been so encouraging lately. This challenge just gets harder and harder every single day! Some days when I feel like it's impossible and I'll never get it finished, your encouraging reviews help more than you know! You never know when your kind review is exactly what a struggling writer needs. So thank you. I appreciate each and every one of them.**_

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October 17th

Out of respect for Draco, Hermione waited until he was asleep to use the tracking spell on her own the first time. He was a perceptive enough wizard to know what she was going to do first, but there was no reason to flaunt her decision in his face. It was always going to be a sensitive subject between them. While it wasn't at one point, a lot changed in the months since she'd last been a guest in his home. He knew it and she knew it.

It hadn't been difficult to get Antonin's pajamas back from Draco. He had made no effort since the day they tracked him to Ginny's to return the article of clothing nor had he made an effort to hide it. With the pajamas back in her possession, Hermione snuck out of the flat.

She needed to check in with her husband and see with her own eyes that he was all right. After seeing him at Kingsley's flat, she could tell there was still a potential future there. He might be able to forgive her for lying to him. Maybe not any time soon, but one day. The fact that she was hopeful that she could possibly save her marriage should've surprised her. It didn't. Her entire life changed over the course of just a few months and there was no possible way to go back.

Outside in the darkness, she held Antonin's pajamas, hoping that the spell would still work on them. An entire month had come and gone since the night their son was attacked and Antonin last wore them. Some of the effectiveness might have worn off. In Draco's brief tracking lesson he explained that clothing was the hardest item to track with. Magic only worked on it some of the time. The best item to use was jewelry, preferably with precious stones. Jewelry held the magic the longest. When she asked which possession of hers he used to track her, Draco grew silent and his cheeks flushed the lightest pink. She never did get an answer out of him, but she was tenacious enough to try again. Eventually, she was certain he would tell her what she wanted to know.

Casting the tracking spell on Antonin's pajamas was deceptively simple. Part of Hermione struggled to believe that anything could be that easy. What if it was a trap, another betrayal? She knew she wouldn't feel confident in her ability to track until she laid eyes on Antonin. Focusing on the pajamas that were glowing blue as Draco showed her they should, she Disapparated away from the building, worried that she was going to fail.

She landed in a quiet area that seemed far from any city. Isolation was dangerous in her current situation. Worried that she'd been lured into a potential ambush, Hermione took several deep breaths and surveyed the immediate area looking for any danger. All she found was a collection of small holiday cottages. None of them had any lights on and she didn't have the first clue where to start looking for Antonin. If she picked the wrong cottage, she could put herself in a very awkward position with an irritated Muggle. They had an annoying tendency to call the police when they were frightened or bothered. That was an aggravation she didn't need.

The cottage closest to where her feet landed made the most logical sense to approach first. Like all of the others it was completely dark. _Unlike_ all of the others, the windows were all covered up. When she took a few steps closer to the door, she could feel a familiar prickling against her skin. Antonin would never allow himself to relax inside a home that wasn't properly warded. Feeling more confident that she'd picked the right cottage, she knocked on the door. As she waited for the occupant to answer, she tried to push away the thoughts that she was glad the spell didn't lead her to Ginny's house. The less thought about that woman, the better.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

She exhaled in relief when she saw a sleepy Antonin standing in the doorway. Up until that moment she still had a fear that it was all going to be another trap. She knew it was risky to seek him out with Draco's spell, but it wasn't as if she'd been a stranger to committing dangerous acts in recent days. A small smile on his face proved Antonin was pleased to see her even if he was a bit confused.

"Are you alone?"

If he had a guest inside, Hermione didn't want to push her way in. After seeing him in the flesh with Ginny, she never wanted to come face to face with another one of his illicit affairs. The next time it happened she was afraid she wouldn't be able to calm her rage again. She still itched to slice Ginny's throat open and crucio her husband every time she recalled that day.

"Yes, I am. Come inside."

Stepping into the small, but clean space, Hermione was pleased to discover he was telling the truth. A glance at the bed revealed that only one side had been disturbed. She knew she was being hypocritical by being relieved that Antonin wasn't with another woman. After all, she was basically living with another man. Even if they'd done nothing more scandalous than kiss and shower together since her last attack, she _was_ sharing a bed with a man who was not her husband. If Antonin uncovered the truth of her sleeping arrangements, it would get very ugly. To distract herself from those thoughts, she held up his pajamas.

"Thought you might want these back."

He laughed as he took them out of her hands. She never could resist a smile at the sound. It was one, sadly, she hadn't heard much of in a long time.

"Is it silly that I was disappointed I wouldn't see these again?"

She shook her head and smiled. Everyone had their own possessions that brought them comfort. Somehow they became even more important in times of uncertainty. The space Antonin inhabited hardly had enough room to turn around in. He gestured to the bed, the only piece of furniture that would accommodate them both. Sitting next to each other on the edge of the bed, neither one of them seemed to know what to say to break the awkward silence. There was so much they needed to talk about that it was almost overwhelming. Hermione wasn't sure she had the energy to do it all in one visit.

"I wanted to check on you to make sure you were all right."

"How did you find me?"

"I tracked you."

When it became evident that she wasn't going to explain herself any further, Antonin grew annoyed. He tried to hide it, of course, but she'd been his wife long enough to recognize the signs. She made a promise that she wouldn't share the spell with anyone. That included her husband. If he knew how she was able to find him, he wouldn't stop annoying her until she taught him. They were frightfully similar on that score. He was stubborn and prideful enough not to ask questions he knew wouldn't be answered. Taking pity on him, Hermione continued their discussion in another direction.

"Where are we?"

"Cumbria. I confounded the Muggle that owns these cottages. Ministry's too chaotic right now to track any magic against Muggles, especially if I didn't actually _hurt_ him."

"Why here?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"It's quiet."

"I'm surprised you're not staying at Ginny's house."

The petty words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn't really want to have a fight. That wasn't her reason for being there. Antonin wasn't in the mood either based on his heavy sigh. Hermione wished she could take back what she said but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

"Ginny was… Ginny was a mistake. I was angry and not thinking clearly. It never should've happened. I regret it."

She didn't have to wonder if her husband was telling her the truth or not. It was written all over his face. He meant every word. She almost felt sorry for Ginny. _Almost_. Clearly, Antonin's feelings weren't the same as hers. Hermione was tempted to seek the other woman out just to deliver the news that her husband wasn't in love with her and only used her for angry sex. Wouldn't Ginny just love to hear that? She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling at the bitch's misfortune.

Of course, all of that could change once Antonin knew about his daughter. Suddenly, Hermione felt less secure. Ginny could offer him what she wasn't able or _willing_ to offer. With her Weasley genes, she could probably give him a dozen children if he wanted. Antonin could learn to love Ginny if he desired that kind of life or at the very least he could love his children and be content with that. Hermione wasn't going to change her mind about more children. Even if her body wasn't damaged beyond repair, by magic or Muggles, she wouldn't have another child. It wasn't what she wanted. No child should ever be born unwanted. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry I brought her up. Let's not talk about her."

But, she reminded herself once more, the damage had already been done. Neither one of them knew what to say. All Hermione could think about was the little girl who had her husband's dimples. Should she tell him the truth even if she promised Ginny she wouldn't? If it came out that she knew and didn't tell him, it would be bad. Really, really bad. He might never forgive her, especially after the lies she'd already told him. She had no idea what to do.

"I've been looking for Aubin, but he doesn't want to be found."

Grateful to have a topic other than Ginny to discuss, Hermione relaxed ever so slightly. It was disconcerting to hear that her brother-in-law hadn't been dragged out from under whatever rock he was hiding. With William Wood as his partner, in more ways than she wanted to think about, he had more resources. Not only did Wood know the tracking spell and clearly still had one of her possessions, he had connections to a large group of people that hated her very existence. Maybe even Ginny would help them. She seemed to want Hermione out of the picture badly enough.

"Aubin has always been closer to Alex than Alain or me. I'm not sure where he's at or if he'd even be willing to help."

Alexandre Dolohov had a tendency to avoid his family. Not that Hermione could blame him. The Dolohovs were a little intimidating. She didn't think he would be interested in emerging from wherever he was hiding to get in the middle of a family squabble. Especially not one that would likely end in the death of one brother, possibly two.

"Where have you been staying?"

"Somewhere safe."

She wouldn't even know where to begin to explain how or why she was living in Draco Malfoy's flat. It would create a blazing row that made her exhausted just imagining. It was best that they change the subject.

"I had an interesting conversation with Gemma Lestrange the other day. Threatened her children if anything should happen to Ollie. I feel confident that he's safe now."

Perhaps any other husband would be horrified to learn that his wife was threatening other women's children with physical violence, but not Antonin. His loud laughter was contagious.

"I did the same thing to her. No wonder she was so frightened to see me."

"At her house?"

"Oh, no. I confronted her in Diagon Alley. She always has a long lunch with her mother and sister on Tuesdays and then she spends the afternoon shopping or…"

Realizing he'd said too much, he cleared his throat.

"Meeting my husband in some seedy hotel, I'd imagine."

He didn't deny it. He didn't have to. Rolling her eyes, she couldn't believe what a fucked up pair they made. Maybe they were proof that there was someone out there for everyone. Her eyes fell on his left hand resting on his knee. She tapped his wedding ring with her finger.

"You're still wearing it."

His right hand closed over hers; his fingers rubbed her ring finger.

"And so are you."

Hermione was tempted to say that it was simply habit that made her continue to wear it, but that seemed disingenuous. The air in the too-small holiday cottage grew thick and it seemed to occur to the married couple at the same time that they were on a bed together again. Antonin's entire body moved closer to hers though he didn't try to kiss her. He spoke again in a whisper, heavy with emotion.

"When I saw all of the blood in that cottage and couldn't find you, I went a bit mad."

If she stayed in that room another second, she knew that she would never be able to leave again. Was that what she wanted? She still wasn't even sure. Standing quickly to her feet, she stammered out that she should let him get some sleep. He reached for her, but she was too quick. On the way out the door, she picked up the wristwatch she'd given him for his fiftieth birthday that he'd laid next to the bed and slipped it into her pocket.

Returning to Draco's flat was a bad idea, one that she knew she would come to regret. But, she knew she had to go back. At least one more time. As she slipped under the covers of the bed they shared, she stared at the wizard's back. She felt guilty. What she didn't know was if she felt guilty because she was in Draco's bed or if it was because she'd snuck out to see Antonin. Maybe she'd never really know.


	292. October 18th

October 18th

Draco waited an entire day to ask Hermione whether she tracked her husband or not. Maybe he hoped if he was patient enough she would confess on her own. She didn't. They'd already established that what happened outside of his flat was off-limits to discussion. She wasn't allowed to ask him where he went on his mysterious missions and he wasn't allowed to ask her where she disappeared to when she thought he was asleep. It was an arrangement that was destined to fail at some point.

Her late-night visit to Antonin's cottage followed by at least a solid hour of lying awake analyzing every word that was said meant Hermione wasn't interested in rising from bed early the next morning. By the time she woke up and forced herself out of the cocoon of comfort she enjoyed in Draco's bed, he was already gone. As she showered alone and then prepared her own breakfast to eat in solitude, she tried and failed to push away the very valid concern that Draco was reporting to her uncle that she knew how to track her husband and done so successfully. What Rodolphus would make of that knowledge was unknown to her. Maybe nothing, maybe everything.

She was already in bed when Draco finally returned. It was the longest stretch of time he'd been gone at one time since she'd been there after her attack. Either something important was happening or he was just that determined to avoid his houseguest who'd clearly over-stayed her welcome. Hermione was more inclined to believe the latter. Not that she really understood the first thing about the man nor had she ever. One moment he was claiming he was falling in love with her and the next he was betraying her to his uncle. Either the wizard was even more contradictory than she was or he was playing a game she didn't understand the rules to.

Before he slipped into his bed next to her, Draco took the time to enjoy his shower. Tempted to join him, if for no other reason than to gauge whether he was angry with her or not, she chose to remain in bed. He might not appreciate her barging in to his private time. So she waited. It was well past midnight and inching close to one before he pulled back the covers on his side.

"You were gone a long time."

His heavy sigh of frustration indicated he hoped she was asleep. If she had any doubts as to whether he was avoiding her, they were gone. She sat up, not willing to just roll over and go to sleep without having the conversation they needed to have. Draco climbed into bed but didn't close his eyes or turn his back.

"Yes, I was gone a long time and I'm very tired. Can we please just go to sleep?"

It was tempting to give in to his request. Peace was a commodity, exceedingly rare in their present world. Even a single peaceful night could hardly be found, but she wasn't going to just let him brush her off. They were both fooling themselves with the idea that they could keep staying in the same flat together. It didn't make the slightest bit of sense. Why did they ever think it would work? She should've left the _moment_ she had enough physical strength to walk out the door without passing out.

"How's your uncle?"

Draco groaned. Even Hermione was annoyed with her question. She could heard the pettiness in it and she didn't care for how shrill she sounded. Some traits, it seemed, would never change no matter how old a person grew. Not willing to drop the subject since she brought it up, the wizard sat up and stared at her across the bed with increased frustration swirling in his grey eyes. He was nearing his limit.

"He's doing very well, thank you. Asked after you. How's your husband?"

She wasn't the only one who could be petty when it suited. While she wasn't surprised to hear he was aware she tracked Antonin, his remark about Rodolphus unsettled her. What did he mean? Was Rodolphus aware that she was staying in Draco's flat? They were _supposed_ to have a truce inside his home. Was that simply another lie? She wouldn't be surprised. He hardly seemed to know how to go through life without lying. At least to her. Maybe he told the truth to everyone else.

"Rodolphus knows I'm here?"

Realizing what he'd said, Draco sighed. Some of his anger appeared to dissipate, but Hermione wasn't ready to relax just yet. He was still too unpredictable. They both seemed to just be getting started.

"No, he doesn't know you're here."

"Why would you say he asked about me?"

"Because he did. I've been ordered to track you every day and give him a report."

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was. Rodolphus might have explained the broad strokes of his plan to her when she asked him that night she went to visit him. He had yet to, however, tell her what purpose she served. There had to be something special about her if he was ordering her to be unharmed and for Draco to give him a daily report. His claims that he simply wanted her by his side were the ramblings of a lunatic. If that were true, why hadn't he _insisted_ she stay with him? Why did he allow her to run out of the Dower House? To run out of Knockturn Alley the night he pushed her up against the bricks and kissed her until she forgot to be afraid of him for a moment?

"And what do you tell him?"

"The truth. I tell him that I've been able to track you and that you're well. Of course it's not that hard to track you when you're in my flat. It's only when you decide to leave to go to London or to Weasel's house or to find your husband in the middle of the night that I have to expend the slightest bit of effort."

She already suspected that he followed her to Hogsmeade when she went to Ron's. Having him admit it out loud made it all seem so much worse. Was she putting Ron and his family in danger because of her association with him? If she brought up the fact that she'd gone to his house, would Draco find it even more suspicious? Twenty years might have come and gone since they were last friends, but she didn't want him hurt. Not anymore. Most of her anger towards her old friend had long since disappeared. Deciding that she would only make Draco more curious if she mentioned his name, she rolled her eyes and pretended like she wasn't bothered.

"I see you're not denying that you went to find your husband."

"Why should I? Apparently, you already know everything."

The fact that he was jumping straight to accusing her about her husband was encouraging. Either his jealousy was overpowering his desire to learn more about her association with Ron or he didn't think there was anything worth mentioning there. She decided to she would try to keep the topic on Antonin as much as possible. Draco fell right in line with her plans. He _really_ didn't like her tracking her husband in the middle of the night.

"I know you took his pajamas."

"Yes, well, it wasn't as if you were really trying to hide them, so I suppose I took your bait. And yes, I did go looking for him. I wanted to know if he'd made any progress on finding his wretched brother."

"Or maybe it was because you were worried about him?"

There were times when she was around Draco that he confused her to no end. She was fuzzyheaded and her head pounded in pain just being in his presence. It was easy to assume that he was casting a spell on her or that he was able to manipulate her mind like his uncle. But, she knew better. What she felt around him was nothing like how she felt around Rodolphus when he was in her mind. It was also nothing like when she was undergoing the intense sessions with Babajide Akingbade. When someone was rooting around in another's brain or casting a spell on it in any way, it was obvious. The victim of the spell couldn't ignore the feeling. Perhaps that was why Rabastan was tasked with ensuring that she was always under the influence of potions. She would have to find out why the additional potions were added. Did they open her mind up to the point that she couldn't even tell when Rodolphus was inside it? She wished that she knew more about potions. Once she was no longer in Hogwarts, she dealt with that branch of magic very rarely.

No, what he did to her was not a spell. Despite there being many instances that she didn't understand her thoughts or feelings when she was around Draco, there were other times that she could see him quite clearly. He was an expert at building walls around himself. It took one to recognize another. When he was conscious in his efforts to remain aloof and unreadable, she would never be able to see what he didn't wish for her to see. Other times, when he was at his most emotional, she could see his barriers slip. Though she might never understand anything about the wizard if she had to spend every single moment of the rest of her life in his presence, she knew one fact that was absolute. He was very jealous of Antonin. Maybe because she'd spent twenty years living with a man who struggled moment by moment to control his prodigious jealousy she could recognize the signs. No matter how he tried to hide it, Draco was jealous of her husband. She didn't really understand _why_ , just that he was.

"Yes, Draco, all right? It was a little bit of both. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to see if he'd been able to find his brother, but yes, I wanted to make sure he was all right."

"You love him."

A snort of a laugh erupted out of her mouth before she could stop it. What a ridiculous notion! As if she had ever been _in love_ with her husband. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and call him an idiot. No, her feelings for Antonin were _complicated_ , but that didn't mean she loved him. Their marriage had been forced. She hardly even knew the man thanks to years of potions and memory charms and violent blows to the head. If she included all of the instances she'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse in her time as a Death Eater, there was a high probability that she had permanent brain damage. Even then, she knew that she didn't love Antonin. She didn't love _anyone_. Not even Augustus. A month in his house taught her the truth of that sad fact. It was possible she'd _never_ loved anyone.

"I'm afraid you've gone barmy, Draco."

"No, I haven't. Maybe you can lie to yourself, Hermione, but you're a shit liar to me. I've known it for awhile."

She refused to believe that anything he said about her feelings for Antonin were the truth. He didn't know about their marriage, didn't know about any of it. He didn't know about the lies she told Antonin for years, about the deceptions she'd committed. No, that wasn't love. Draco was mistaken.

"I don't understand why you're even here when you really want to be with _him_."

"You already know that I found him the other night. If I wanted to be with him, don't you think I would be there?"

He threw the covers off of his body and jumped up from the bed in a huff. She sighed, knowing that it wasn't going to get any easier. Nothing she said seemed to make the least bit of difference. Clearly they'd reached the moment when she needed to make her leave. Though it pained her to get up, she rose to her feet. Draco stared at her across his large bed.

"I don't want you to come back."

She could appreciate that at least he was finally being honest. What they'd been dancing around since her night of torture was unsustainable. He wanted more than she was willing to give him. Or he was a complete liar and nothing he'd said or done since she'd arrived was the truth. It was possible she would never know which was the truth. Picking up her beaded bag from the table next to what had been her side of the bed, she had nothing else to keep her in the flat. Nothing to say to the wizard who'd been such a bizarre part of her life for almost an entire year.

While Draco remained rooted in the same spot in his bedroom, Hermione took her leave. She wasn't sure where she would go next, but that didn't really matter. It wasn't _that_ long since she'd last had to be creative in finding lodging. Finding Antonin was the most logical choice except she wasn't ready. There was still too much unresolved between them. She needed to find somewhere she could be alone.

As she passed the sofa where they'd first kissed, her eyes fell on the book he'd been reading. A silver chain, far too nice to be a simple bookmark, kept his place. Hermione slipped it into her pocket. Maybe she would need a way to track _him_ at some point. She really had no way of knowing what the future held in store for any of them.


	293. October 19th

October 19th

After leaving Draco's flat, Hermione didn't have the first clue where to go next. It was something that she should've considered in the days since she started to be well enough to move around. But, as she'd been doing for a long time already, she chose _not_ to think about the possibilities, to ignore the reality of the situation. Finally, after at least a quarter of an hour of wandering around the dark and dangerous streets expecting someone to jump out of the shadows, she made her decision.

She wasn't sure who was more surprised to see her cross the threshold of The Three Broomsticks: Madam Rosmerta or an extremely intoxicated Thorfinn. Once she considered the fact that it didn't matter where she went Rodolphus would be able to find her thanks to his nephew, she remembered the warmth and coziness of the familiar inn in Hogsmeade. If she thought it odd that she kept returning to the village she swore she would never go back to, she chose to ignore it.

"I'm not staying here a moment longer if you let that bitch stay, Rosie. She ruined my fucking life."

Every word that fell out of Thorfinn's mouth was so heavily slurred it was difficult to decipher. Hermione sighed, failing to keep from rolling her eyes. She didn't want to be around the wizard any more than he wanted her there.

"I just need a room for a few days. I promise not to bother any of your clientele."

Madam Rosmerta hadn't survived as long as she had in her business by denying a paying customer, especially not a dangerous Death Eater. Many times over the years she'd had to prove her loyalty to the regime by entertaining the Dark Lord's faithful in her inn and tavern. Hermione knew that the woman considered her a traitor, but she didn't care. She just wanted a clean room to sleep. Moving her eyes between Hermione and Thorfinn, she finally relented after several tense seconds. Sliding a key across the bar, she directed her newest guest to a vacant room. As Hermione climbed the stairs, she could hear the drunken shouts of Thorfinn declaring he'd never return to The Three Broomsticks again followed by Rosmerta's insincere claim that she was glad to hear it because she was tired of having to levitate his heavy arse off of the floor each night.

Hermione cast a silencing spell around her room as soon as she entered. Listening to the grief of the wizard was too much for her to bear. She knew that she would burst into tears if she allowed herself. The guilt she felt about her part in Hannah's death would likely never go away. Exhausted from both of her emotional encounters that night, she drank too much of one of the potions she'd been given after leaving St. Mungo's just to help her sleep.

She didn't emerge from her room until Friday morning when the first patrons of the day entered for their breakfast pint. How Rosmerta was able to keep such demanding hours was one of her mysteries. The woman appeared to never need sleep. Hermione took a seat at an empty table as far away from everyone else as possible. One of the tavern's helpers set a plate filled with a delicious-smelling breakfast in front of her with a copy of The Daily Prophet next to it.

Remembering her agreement with Albert, she picked up the newspaper with a smile. Not a single mention of her name was made in the entire issue. He'd kept his promise at least for four days. Considering the number of articles he'd allowed to be printed since the fall of the Dark Lord, that was a bloody record. It was clear that he was trying to do his part at least. After she finished her breakfast, Hermione decided it was time to pay him a visit and negotiate the terms of their agreement.

Her appearance for the second time in a week caused less of a disturbance than her first. The witch at the reception desk didn't even speak to her, just tried her best to avoid eye contact as Hermione made her way confidently towards the office of the Editor-in-Chief. Not even Alecto stepped out of her space to bother her. She thought at first that the bitch just hadn't arrived yet, but when she passed her office to see Alecto glaring at her through the open door, she realized that wasn't the case at all. Maybe Rodolphus ordered her to stay away from Hermione. If so, it was almost enough of a reason to kiss him again.

Moments away from opening the door to Albert's office, she was stopped by someone she wished she never had to see again. Dressed in gaudy lime green robes and wearing the same pair of jeweled spectacles she'd had for decades, Rita Skeeter blocked her from her path. Hermione groaned softly, wishing the other woman would just drop dead of a heart attack. She would never mind stepping over her lifeless body.

"I demand you tell me _why_ Albert ordered me to stop writing articles about you."

"Maybe because he knew they were all rubbish and full of lies. Journalists are supposed to have integrity, are they not?"

Rita didn't appreciate her answer. A lot changed since the Dark Lord's funeral. There were entire decades that the laughable excuse for a reporter wouldn't _dare_ to write a single sentence about Hermione that wasn't complimentary. When it was clear that she no longer possessed the same amount of power she once did, she was fair game. No doubt Rita couldn't stand the thought of returning to a time when she couldn't insult her nemesis in print. Old wounds didn't always heal with the passage of time. Some of them festered and grew pustulant.

"You shouldn't be so high and mighty. You're _nothing_. Madam Dolohov has become a joke. One day, you're going to come to a very messy and painful end."

The woman's threats only made Hermione laugh. She'd been unable to do anything but write nasty words about her since she was a fourth year. Even at that young age the bitch was terrified of what Hermione could do to her physically. An entire summer spent trapped in an unbreakable glass jar certainly hadn't improved her fears. She didn't have the desire to respond to Rita's amusing threat. Pushing past the woman, she turned the doorknob on Albert's office. Whatever cutting remarks the older witch said behind her back were ignored as she entered the room.

Albert wasn't surprised to see her enter the room. A smile that made her suddenly nervous crept across his face. With his eyes focused on hers, he flicked his wrist to cover the windows of his office with heavy curtains. If Rita was still standing outside, there was no way she would've missed the movement. Hermione plastered a smile on her own face, determined that she wouldn't let him see how unnerved she was. Once again she felt like she was trapped with a dangerous predator intent on doing her harm. It could be all in her mind, but she knew she had to be supremely careful around Albert Runcorn.

"I was wondering when I would see you next."

She thought about sitting in a chair on the other side of his desk in order to feel safer, but quickly pushed it away. If she really wanted him on her side and to pledge his own sort of loyalty to her, she couldn't let there be any space between them. Perching on the edge of his desk only centimeters from him, she didn't miss how his eyes raked over her entire body. She had to suppress a shudder. He didn't need to see that she was afraid.

"Thank you for not allowing any disgusting lies about me to be printed this week."

There wasn't even a hint of fear in her voice to her delight. She was able to keep her tone steady and add a bit of the flirtation that used to get her into a lot of trouble. It felt strange to no longer feel as confident as she once did around the wretched men in the ranks of the Death Eaters. Albert was a late recruit, but still not one to ignore. Too much time had come and gone since she last played the game. And without the crutch of her potions, she lacked the confidence she once possessed in abundance.

"Yes, I kept up my end of the bargain. What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

As she asked her question, Hermione widened her legs ever so slightly. Not enough to be obscene, it was just enough to catch his attention. A pleased smile crossed his face that she felt obligated to return. Some men were entirely too predictable. Dangle just the hint of sex in front of them and they were too pliable. Albert stood to his feet and stepped between her legs, forcing them further apart. Startled at first by the abrupt change in his position, she gave him just enough encouragement with a small grin that he pressed his lips hard against hers.

They'd kissed before many years earlier when he was still convinced that she would make the best wife for him. It would've been a business arrangement and nothing else. She considered his proposal, but then after kissing him, she knew it wouldn't be a good idea. He was too dominating, too used to being in complete control. While she might have found that attractive at times with other men, she worried that he would overpower her, force her into becoming a woman she didn't want to be. Antonin promised her on their wedding night that he _wanted_ her fighting at his side. A man like Albert might believe he was attracted to a strong and powerful woman. He wouldn't know what to do with her in the long term though. It was best for both of them that they never followed through on the arrangement.

There was passion in the newspaper editor that didn't get enough of an outlet. Maybe life at home wasn't as exciting as he might have wished. Beyond the pretty witch in reception, he didn't have much choice in the way of illicit affairs in his workplace. Based on the way his mouth moved over hers and his hands tried to touch every bit of her body he could, she could tell that he'd been denying himself for a long time. That was a poor decision in a dangerous man like him. He was a powder keg waiting to explode. His lips moved from hers to drag against the skin of her neck.

"You should be aware that this is not all that I want from you, witch. I have several demands."

"I've always appreciated a man who knows exactly what he wants."

Her words were the encouragement he needed to rip at the buttons on the front of her robes. The sudden exposure of the bare skin of her chest and then moments later of her breasts when he tugged the lacy garment covering them to the cool air made her burst into a rash of goosebumps. Whether it was because of the chill or because she was nervous, she couldn't tell. His warm mouth covered one of her breasts, his tongue swirled around her hardening nipple, and she gasped. Was he going to be the sort of lover to ensure his partner received her own pleasure? He didn't seem the type, but she'd been wrong before.

Hermione leaned back on her elbows, allowing him better access. Still amazed that he wasn't immediately pulling up her skirts, she tried to enjoy the sensations. Throwing her head back, she caught the tiniest flicker of movement on the bookshelf behind Albert. A beetle with very familiar markings scuttled across the wood, seeking a hiding place. Hermione rolled her eyes yet again. Did the horrible woman think she was that clever? While Albert was occupied moving from one breast to the other, she slid her wand out of her pocket. The foolish man didn't even notice. All it took was a non-verbal spell and a flick of her wrist to petrify the beetle.

"Excuse me for just a moment."

She gently pushed the confused wizard back to hop off the edge of his desk. Reaching down to pull one of her shoes off, Albert watched her take the necessary few steps to his bookshelf. With the beetle frozen thanks to her spell, Hermione was able to bring the heavy sole of her favorite shoes crashing down on the animagus with a great deal of force. A satisfying _splat_ made her smile. Because she wasn't a monster, she made certain to bang her shoe on the beetle several times. It would be cruel to leave the woman with just a broken skull and a broken back after all.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm afraid you're going to need to hire a new reporter, Albie. Looks like Rita won't be able to write any further articles about me."

It took him a moment to register the magnitude of what she'd just done. Most of the woman's flattened beetle carcass was still visible on the same shelf he had a lovely framed portrait of his entire family. The rest would need to be removed from her shoe with a strong _scourgify_. Albert's anger rose to a dizzying height. It was evident right away that he wasn't interested in continuing what they started.

"Get _out_ of my office and this building, you crazy whore!"

Nothing Albert Runcorn could possibly say to Hermione would ruin her mood. She was positively elated as she buttoned up her clothes. One of her oldest enemies was gone. Even if she had to lose Albert as an ally, it was worth it. She'd figure out how to get rid of the rest of them soon enough.

It made her laugh when she walked out of the building to think about Rita's last words. Maybe she was right. It was entirely possible, even probable, that Hermione was going to come to a very messy and painful end. She could take comfort in the fact that Rita got there first.


	294. October 20th

October 20th

Hermione slept more soundly than she had in years. There was something about a satisfying kill that was relaxing. Many times in the course of completing her duties for the regime and when she was completing her own missions, she'd experienced the peace that could come with ridding herself of a pesky problem. Rita Skeeter would never bother her again. Not with an article full of lies or even a regret in her conscience. Though she hadn't gone to the Daily Prophet offices with her murder in mind, she couldn't resist the opportunity to exact her revenge when it presented itself. Besides, it prevented her from having to face the indignities of Albert Runcorn's further touching of her body. He would be a problem later, she was certain, but she wasn't worried. She'd faced more formidable opponents and conquered them.

When she emerged from her comfortable room in The Three Broomsticks, she made her way to the main room of the establishment. In a repeat of the day before, one of Madam Rosmerta's employees placed a heavy breakfast in front of her with that morning's edition of the wizarding newspaper next to her plate. Hermione could hardly wait to see what was written about the tragic death of their most prolific reporters.

One glance at the front page and she burst out in loud laughter that surely annoyed some of the other patrons. It was just too comical! A memorial for the wretched woman took up most of the available print space. The picture that accompanied the article was at least forty years old. Even in her younger years, the bitch had embarrassing fashion sense. She giggled all through the article. It was still amusing. Likely she would always laugh when she thought about slamming her shoe down on the beetle in Albert's office. What an ignoble way to go! A fleeting thought that she would come to regret her actions tried to take hold in her mind without success. She probably wouldn't.

No mention was made of just how the horrible woman was killed. Only that she was dead and the rest of the country _should_ be in mourning. No doubt Rodolphus was the one behind keeping Hermione's name out of the paper. She didn't understand the power and influence he had, but couldn't deny that it was impressive. Because of the dissolution of the agreement she was in the process of making with Albert, she expected all future editions to be filled with more articles proclaiming her insane or some other such rubbish. Linking her to the murder of the reporter would've been too much for Rodolphus' mysterious plans for her.

Alecto Carrow was the author of the memorial article lauding Rita Skeeter for her many decades of prize-winning journalism. The ridiculousness of it all made Hermione laugh more. Probably elated at the chance to earn a promotion, Alecto wasn't mourning the death of her co-worker. She was looking to see what she could salvage for herself. She'd always been a selfish cunt. But, as one of Rodolphus' first supporters, she would likely have some influence in the coming changes to the country. If she lived through them, of course.

The Wizengamot of Rodolphus' fantasies was going to be a disgusting farce if cretins like Alecto had a seat. Just because Alecto had the right blood status and the right last name didn't mean that she should just automatically be given preferential treatment and the chance to make actual decisions that would affect them all. Why was her opinion considered more valuable simply because her family was a Sacred Twenty-Eight family?

Hermione considered the names on the list Draco had given her earlier in the month. There was a discernible pattern. Rodolphus was trying to get a representative from all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families still in existence. Though it would take some research to find members from the female line on some of the families because the male line had died out, the vast majority of the families still had members. Some of them were even prominent citizens. It would explain why Rodolphus tried to recruit Thorfinn to his side and why his father-in-law was on the list. Aubin considered himself more Fawley than anything else. She imagined that in exchange for his assistance, Rodolphus would allow the horrible man to keep his mother's maiden name and the family's seat. That was, of course, _before_ it was known how close he was to murdering Hermione. Renegotiations would likely need to be made.

Shacklebolt was a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. Did that mean that Kingsley had been approached too? She couldn't imagine that Rodolphus would just ignore the fact that there was still at least one Shacklebolt alive. He was the sort to want to possess an entire set. If he found Kingsley and tried to persuade him to join, it would make sense that Kingsley would encourage her to find out what Rodolphus' plan was before deciding it wasn't worth pursuing. She needed to share what she knew with Antonin. He would know what to do next.

"I heard a rumor you were staying here. It's a bit _exposed_ , wouldn't you say, pet?"

Few sounds were less welcome than Rabastan Lestrange's voice. Hermione willed herself to remain calm as the wizard took a seat next to her at the table. They hadn't crossed paths since the night his daughter pushed a suit of armor on her son and he announced to Antonin that she'd terminated her pregnancies. If it was up to her, she would've gladly gone the rest of her life without speaking to him again. But, as annoyed as she was, she was determined to play the game.

"Rodolphus has already made it clear that he doesn't want to hurt me and seeing as how he's tasked Draco with tracking me, what's the use in hiding?"

Rabastan's laughter was an even less welcome sound than his voice. It bothered her tremendously. Deciding to feel him out and ask about Rodolphus' plan to fill the newly formed Wizengamot with members of the Pureblood Elite, she explained her theory about the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. When she asked if she was correct, all he did was smile. That was the only proof she needed.

"Is that why Corban Yaxley was attacked and his son was urged to come home?"

"The young are ever so much easier to _influence_ than the older generations, are they not? I can't imagine there would ever be a situation where Corban would work against his best mate Antonin. But, put the young wizard's mother in danger and prove that it could easily be done again? Well, let's just say that young Mr. Yaxley is all too willing to assist Rodolphus."

It felt strange to be around someone who actually seemed willing to give her information. Maybe it was all lies, but somehow she didn't get the impression that Rabastan was lying. She needed to get as much knowledge as she could about the plans. When she next saw Antonin, she needed to tell him everything she could.

"What about the families that no longer exist? I assume that Narcissa Malfoy will represent the Blacks?"

"Yes, which means Draco must somehow manage to produce _two_ heirs. Rodolphus has been _encouraging_ him to marry as soon as possible."

She didn't want to consider the fact that Draco was being pushed into marriage because she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"Will Millicent Nott be a part?"

Rabastan laughed as if she'd just told him the funniest joke he'd ever heard. She didn't understand. Millicent Nott was the mother of Theo's three daughters. One of them would need to represent the Nott family, would they not?

"No, Millie has made it perfectly clear that she's not interested. Her brother will represent the Bulstrodes and Rosalind Nott will represent the Nott family until her son is old enough."

Hermione wasn't sure she heard him correctly.

"Her son?"

"Ahh, yes, you've been out of the loop while you were hiding away. Mrs. Nott is pregnant and all spells indicate it's a boy. Isn't that wonderful?"

"How? You and I both know Theodore was unable to consummate their marriage."

His smile made her sick to her stomach. Was there truly no end to his disgusting acts?

"The Notts and the Lestranges have many similar features thanks to our intertwining family trees."

"Rabastan, please tell me you didn't."

"No one will ever know the truth. Three people alive know that the newlyweds were unable to seal their union. Rosalind won't tell because she'll lose all claim to her new and vast inheritance. You won't tell because you know she'll be Knut-less in the streets and somewhere underneath that cold exterior you still have too much compassion for the downtrodden. And I certainly won't tell. My supreme sense of moral obligation would compel me to provide for the child financially and I already have too many children."

As disgusted as she was by the knowledge that Rosalind Nott was carrying Rabastan's child, she wasn't surprised. Not in the slightest. It even made an odd sort of sense to her especially after discovering at least some of the purpose of the Lestrange brothers' plans.

"Out of gratitude for protecting her from Nott and for getting rid of her parents, she all but threw herself at me. Pretty young woman, but awfully clingy. I remember now why I don't like to bed virgins. Almost makes me miss Rachel. That was her name, wasn't it?"

"You are disgusting, Rabastan."

"Perhaps, but I don't recall that ever bothering you before."

His wink made her hate herself even more for what she'd allowed him to do to her in the past. How could there have ever been a time that she willingly suffered the feel of his touch? She couldn't even blame the potions. Not at first. It was only after they'd been alone several times that he offered her her first vial. She'd only had herself to blame for how it all began. And, even under the influence of her potions, she still only went to him because she _wanted_ to. It was disgusting what she'd lowered herself to in order to forget the worst of her fears or to get more power and influence. She was tempted to climb in a shower with a steel brush and never get out. Not until all of her skin was scraped off her body and swirling down the drain.

"Now I must congratulate you on your performance yesterday at the Daily Prophet. Our Allie will never thank you for what you did on principle, but I know she's grateful that you got her competition out of the way."

"Yes, because everything I did yesterday was simply to make Alecto happy. I love her so much, you know."

He laughed at her sarcasm, but said nothing else. Satisfied that he'd said whatever it was he wished to say to her, Rabastan rose to his feet to take his leave. Before he leaned down to kiss her he urged her to be cautious. She was making enemies everywhere. The moment his lips lifted off of her cheek, he whispered in her ear.

"If you _ever_ dare to threaten my children again, I don't give a damn what Roddy says, I will find you and I will make you bleed for weeks."

She didn't have to wonder if he was sincere in his threats or not. She knew he was. No longer feeling the least bit hungry, Hermione stood up from the table and returned to her room. It was important that she write down everything she'd learned so far to keep from forgetting it. When she was ready, she was going to track Antonin down again. Maybe whatever was going on between them was still unsettled, but he was still the only person she knew she could trust without question.


	295. October 21st

October 21st

It had been tempting to rush off to find Antonin as soon as possible. Being alone again was starting to take its toll on her. How was she able to endure an entire year of it? But, she stopped to consider the fact that for much of the year, she _hadn't_ been alone. She'd been at Fenrir's house or she was in the Resistance's village or she was tucked away in Augustus' house by the sea. The long stretches of time that she'd been alone hadn't really been as long as she remembered. There always seemed to be help right when she needed it too.

After her unexpected conversation with Rabastan, Hermione spent the rest of the day in her room upstairs scribbling her thoughts on the Wizengamot and her theories about the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. She wished that she had access to the Ministry library for her research, but there was absolutely nothing that would ever get her to willingly cross the threshold of that building again. If she was ever dragged back there, it would mean she was in a great deal of trouble, possibly even on her way to Level Eleven as a _guest_. No, she would have to content herself with the knowledge she remembered. Based on the list she had, many of the families were already involved: Abbott, Black, Bulstrode, Carrow, Fawley, Flint, Greengrass, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, Selwyn, Shafiq, Travers, and Yaxley. Ron Weasley was also included on the list even though he wasn't really a part of the plan. At least so he claimed.

She couldn't ignore the nagging thought that maybe there was another Weasley involved that _was_ loyal to Rodolphus, one that kept his secret as he lived in the middle of the Resistance village as a seemingly ordinary house pet. Ginny might have _claimed_ that Aberforth also knew his true identity, but she never asked Dumbledore nor did she ever see the two of them together. Had that been a lie? She wanted to find where the wizard was in hiding to ask. If it was uncovered that Ginny was lying, she'd know who the true spy in the Resistance was. And if she managed to rid herself of a complication in her personal life, so be it. She wouldn't lose too much sleep over her loss.

When it was dark and midnight was only an hour away, Hermione made certain that her beaded bag was in her pocket. While she didn't anticipate not being able to return to the room she'd been using at the Three Broomsticks, she wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. Besides, she felt almost naked without the bag in her pocket. Possibly for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short that would turn out to be, she would have to have the bag in her pocket to feel secure. Hadn't it already saved her life and the lives of those she cared about countless times? It would be foolish to go anywhere without it.

No one stopped her when she descended the stairs to enter the main room of the tavern. Only Thorfinn glared at her over the top of his full glass. Evidently, he was just blustering the night he swore he would never return as long as she was there. It physically hurt her chest to look at the man in such pain. She wished she could do something, _anything_ to take it away. It was her fault that Hannah was dead. She should've insisted that they stay inside her home that day, should've _made_ her stay. In a life filled with regrets, the murder of Hannah would forever be one of her worst. The massive wizard watched her movements until she was outside. Gone was the jovial man who used to tease her and who laughed at the drop of a hat. Maybe he would never come out of his grief. His love for his wife had been so strong that Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he simply chose not to keep living and died in his sleep one night.

Outside of the bustling tavern, she tried to push away her thoughts about the ruination of the Rowles. It was too hard to think about them and keep going. Removing Antonin's watch from her pocket, she cast the spell Draco taught her on it. Almost instantly it glowed blue. Jewelry clearly was the best to be used for the tracking spell. She focused on the watch and Disapparated. Arriving just outside another holiday cottage that she didn't recognize, she heard the doorknob rattle. Only just able to crouch behind a large hedge, she watched the door.

Afraid that she was about to witness her husband say goodnight to another woman, she willed herself to calm down. It would do none of them any good if she burst out of the hedge to curse them both. Besides, she didn't exactly have a leg to stand on. Hadn't she been living with a man who wasn't her husband up until a few days ago? A former lover at that? Other marriages weren't that complicated, were they? She hoped not.

To her great surprise, it wasn't a woman that exited the cottage at all. Aberforth Dumbledore stepped outside with all of the confidence of one who didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Her husband was only a step behind him. Neither man seemed angry or combative with the other. Though she was just a short distance away, they lowered their voices as they spoke so she couldn't hear. When they shook hands like old friends, she felt her jaw drop. Just who the bloody hell was on Antonin's side? It seemed like the very last people she'd ever suspect were almost like old friends. She knew he had been meeting with mysterious people when they were still living in the same house. She just didn't know how bizarre it would be to discover who they actually were.

The moment Aberforth disappeared from the area, Hermione stepped out from behind the hedge so that Antonin could see her. Unsure who she was at first, he pointed his wand in her direction, ready to curse if necessary. It only took him a second to realize it was his wife emerging from the shadows. Relaxing at once, he gestured to the open door, inviting her inside.

She didn't have the first clue where they were, but that didn't matter. All she wanted to know was why Antonin was meeting with Aberforth alone late at night. And they were so friendly! How long had they been that way? She couldn't imagine that the two men would've been able to put aside their differences for a civil conversation just a short time earlier. Especially not after what Hermione was responsible for doing to him.

Antonin could tell that it was killing her inside just a little bit to not have the answers she wanted. Determined that she wouldn't bombard him with a number of questions at the very beginning of their meeting, she waited for him to tell him what he wished. It amused him to say nothing as he opened a bottle of fire whiskey to pour them both a glass. Much nicer than the tiny hovel he'd stayed in previously, there was an actual sofa in front of a fireplace. She took a seat, grateful for the heat that the fire provided. No matter the time of year, her husband liked to have a fire going. As October was beginning to come to a close, it was quickly becoming a necessity. He sat next to her, only the smallest of spaces between their bodies.

"I read about Rita Skeeter in the newspaper. Gus said that you might have something to do with what happened to her?"

There was laughter in his voice. She loved the moments they could relax together. Shrugging her shoulders, she didn't deny or confirm, but she did smile. He laughed, once again a contagious sound that made her laugh. She could think of nothing but all of the nights they laid in bed together talking and laughing. Even in the midst of the worst years of their marriage, they had no shortage of laughter. She felt a sharp pain in her chest even as she smiled. Was it possible that she actually _missed_ her husband?

"He said that it was quite brutal and messy. Had to scrape her off a bookshelf?"

She could only imagine how unpleasant the cleaning process had to have been. It made her smile. Antonin clinked his glass with hers.

"You always said you'd make her pay."

"Yes, but I wish I'd found a cleaner way to dispose of her. I still have some of her stuck to the bottom of my shoe."

Both of them laughed. It was nice. She'd missed being alone with him like that. Part of her feared she would never have another opportunity.

"You're tracking me with my watch, aren't you?"

He had always been too smart for his own good. She didn't want to talk about the spell she used to track him because of the promise she made to Draco. Even thinking about the oath she took was upsetting. She'd somehow managed not to think about the tracker in the days since she left his flat. Or at least, not to _obsessively_ think about him. She didn't want that to change. Instead of giving him a direct answer, Hermione just smiled.

"I'm very attached to that watch. When do I get it back?"

"When I no longer need to track you to find you."

Her words were full of meaning that neither of them could ignore. She wasn't very subtle in letting him know that it wouldn't be until they were both living together again that he would get his watch back. As soon as she made her statement, part of her wished she'd remained silent. Was she even ready to consider the possibility of returning to live with him again? There was still so much that was unresolved between them, so much they needed to figure out. Was there even a hope that they could have anything resembling a normal marriage again? Did she even want to try? Deciding that that night was not the time to make those choices, Hermione changed the subject.

"Rodolphus is planning on rebuilding the Wizengamot. All Purebloods, of course. He's been trying to get representatives from all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families."

Seeing that he was intrigued, she told him everything that she knew. Explained he wanted the Wizengamot because he wanted the regime to last longer than a single person's lifetime. Told him the ones she knew who had already agreed to be members. Everything except for the list that she was given. Antonin listened patiently, taking in all of the information calmly.

"How did you find all of this out? How did you know it's the truth?"

She knew she couldn't keep the secret from him about her source. Lying was exhausting. If she could get around it, she would. Maybe he'd be angry with her, but at least she wouldn't have to keep telling falsehoods.

"I went to Rodolphus and asked him directly."

"You what? How could you…? Hermione, that was…"

He was furious and doing his damnedest to hide it. His efforts threatened to make her laugh. She knew better than anyone alive how dangerous and reckless she'd been seeking out the wizard that seemed intent to do her harm was. No one needed to tell her.

"No one else would tell me, so I went straight to the source. For whatever reason, he doesn't seem to want to hurt me. At least not yet."

Antonin's hand slid through her curls. In the past when he wanted to reassure himself that she was safe and whole, he couldn't keep his hands off of her. He dropped his empty glass on the carpeted floor to free up his other hand. Touching her face and her hair helped to calm him down better than anything else.

"I'm so glad you're all right."

His lips pressed against hers. She didn't even think about pushing him away. Maybe it was wrong, but she didn't care. For the moment, she wanted to cling to something that was familiar and made her feel safe... even if the feeling was fleeting.


	296. October 22nd

October 22nd

Being back in Antonin's arms calmed Hermione to a level she didn't expect. She'd spent so many years simply taking him for granted that when he was gone from her life, she came to understand how much she preferred when he was at her side. It was unfortunate that it took such a long, winding, and painful path to get to that conclusion. Even when he was just her teacher she respected him more than everyone else. She always thought they made a good team. Somewhere along the way she'd forgotten the truth.

One heated kiss in front of the fireplace led to many. They hadn't even had the chance to drink enough fire whiskey to blame the alcohol for their actions. No, once she kissed him back, there was no stopping the escalation. Not that Hermione minded. Antonin took her empty glass from her hand to drop it on the floor with his. With both of her hands free, he moved them around his neck. He didn't even break their kiss to pick her up and carry her over to the bed.

There was a rightness about tumbling back into bed with him that she would never allow herself to contemplate too clearly. Neither one of them were innocent or blameless in the messes of their marriage. They certainly had never been able to go very long without cheating on the other, but when they put their attention and their efforts to working together, they were unstoppable. What a fucked up pair they made!

Afraid that she was going to overthink what was happening and make it into more than it actually was, Hermione began tearing at her husband's clothes. Antonin didn't care. Not even when she heard threads ripping. What was the benefit of being a wizard if one couldn't cast a _reparo_ every now and again on clothing ruined in the heat of passion? He repeated the same motions with her own clothes.

She was embarrassed for him to see her naked again. It was only when the heat of the air in the cottage blew across her bare skin that she remembered the scars from her horrible night of torture. Draco had been able to heal many of them, but not all. She wasn't even sure if the Healers at St. Mungo's would've been capable of doing so either. It seemed that cursed blades would be her lot in life. When Antonin's eyes fell on her scarred torso, she tried to pull her clothes back on. He stopped her with a gentle touch of his hand.

"I'm afraid that I look a bit different than when you saw me last."

There were countless slashes across her torso of varying lengths and depth. Aubin and Wood were incompetent. They didn't understand the importance of uniformity in their cuts. It was a wonder that she didn't bleed out before Draco was able to save her. She hadn't been brave enough to look at her back yet. Looking in the mirror had become difficult with the ugly scar just under her eye. She feared that she would never get used to the change in her appearance. Glamour spells might work or even heavy makeup, but she'd been afraid to try. What if they didn't? What if she had to spend the rest of her life staring at the scar?

"You have always been the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, my love. _Nothing_ has changed. These marks only prove what I already knew about you. You are one of the strongest, most resilient people I've ever known."

She knew that Antonin wasn't the type of man to spout off pretty words to get inside a woman's knickers. At least not hers. He had too much respect for her to do something so tawdry and disingenuous. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. How was he able to have such an effect on her? It wasn't that long ago that she didn't even remember how to cry.

"And these scars will also remind me that I can't afford to rest until those arseholes who gave them to you are punished."

He furthered his point by pressing his lips against one of the scars above her breasts. Before he went any further, touched any other part of her body, or allowed her to touch him, Antonin kissed each and every one of the new scars on her torso. She had no doubt that he would repeat the same action on her legs and her arms when he saw the marred skin there too. Though it had long ago faded to be almost non-existent, he finished up by tracing the scar he was responsible for giving her when she was a teenager in the Department of Mysteries with his lips. Several times over the course of their marriage he'd expressed regret for hurting her that day, but still maintained that she and the other children present that day had no business being there in the first place. She didn't argue because he was absolutely right.

Once he was satisfied that he'd lavished her battered body with enough attention, he finished undressing her. From there, the rest of their encounter proceeded quite quickly. She didn't care. If they could somehow manage to move on from the hurt and pain of the previous several weeks, they would have plenty of time to make up for it. Neither one of them collapsed on top of the rumpled bed out of breath until they were both satisfied. Relishing the feel of Antonin's weight on top of her body, she didn't let him roll off of her at first. She wrapped her arms around his back and just held him there.

"Do you think you will ever be able to forgive me for what I did?"

Her question surprised both of them. She didn't even realize she'd spoken it out loud until Antonin lifted his head to stare in her eyes. Once it was out though, she didn't regret it. She needed to know. They couldn't even consider having a partnership of any kind if he was still angry with her. Antonin shifted all of his body weight to his elbow to keep from crushing her, but didn't break eye contact. When he didn't immediately answer, Hermione worried that she wouldn't like his answer.

"I already have, Hermione."

And yet again, she knew that he was telling the truth. She didn't need to be a Legilimens to see the sincerity all over his face and in his eyes. Feeling like a heavy weight was lifted off of her, she exhaled. He continued.

"If I may be honest, I've been very angry with myself that you ever felt like you had to lie to me. Angry because I _knew_ you didn't want a family, but I pushed you anyway."

Some people might be willing to forgive her for her actions simply because of her potions addiction, but Hermione thought that wasn't right. She should never be given a free pass simply because she allowed the potions to consume her life. Maybe they would've believed she'd only acted the way she had because she was in the throes of a serious addiction. It just simply wasn't the truth. Even before she started accepting the potions from Rabastan that would consume her soul, she didn't want to have children. Not once in her entire life could she even remember a time that she _did_ want them. If she even allowed herself to consider becoming a mother before the war ended and her former life did too, she merely thought children were an inevitability that she couldn't escape. One day when she was comfortable in her position at the Ministry she would consider having a child. But once she faced the world post-Harry, she wanted to be a mother even less. Drinking too many potions was not a good enough excuse for terminating her pregnancies without her husband's knowledge and lying about them. Or _murdering_ an innocent woman to keep the secret. She'd made the decision and she had to live with the consequences.

"If my home isn't the safest place for my wife, I've failed."

Antonin's answer surprised her. She could feel a tightness in her chest, but for once, it wasn't because of fear or anger or shame. He had the power over her to make her feel very emotional. Few people did.

"I was _very_ angry with myself, Hermione. Wasn't until you were attacked inside St. Mungo's that I realized it. Finding all of that blood in the cottage only made it clearer to me who I was really angry with."

Hermione wasn't the only one who was emotional. His deep brown eyes shone with unshed tears. He was offering himself up in a sincere moment of vulnerability. She liked him when he was at his most open. Needing to give him some sort of reminder that she was all right, she kissed him. It didn't escalate any further than just a few moments of lips pressed against lips, but it served its purpose. Antonin calmed.

"I'm sorry you were afraid when you couldn't find me."

"I'm sorry you were alone."

He ran his hand through her curls, another one of his habits that used to annoy her, but now brought her a profound feeling of comfort. There was still so much they both had to say about the subject. So much that hadn't been resolved or addressed. But, Hermione was content to wait. They could worry about everything else later.

"If you'll forgive me for it all - the fight, Ginny, leaving you, _all_ of it, I'll make sure as long as I'm alive you're not alone."

The magnitude of his words were clear. She knew what he was offering; a chance to essentially start over. As tempting as it was to rush right into saying 'yes', she knew that their world, their lives were too complicated. She wouldn't feel right holding him to that promise until they'd both laid everything out in the open. Only when they could be completely honest with the other could they hope to be successful.

She still had secrets that she wasn't ready to bare just yet. Not only about where she'd lived after she was attacked or what she'd been doing while they were apart. A massive secret that wasn't exactly hers to tell still hung over her head. Would Antonin forgive her if he found out that she knew he had a daughter and she never told him about her? Part of her was afraid that he would see a family with Ginny as a better option than what he had with her. Maybe once upon a time in their fucked up marriage she would've seen that as an attractive prospect, but no longer. In the deepest part of her soul, she held out hope that Brazil was still a possibility for their family, still held out hope that their little family had any kind of future together. She wouldn't accept his offer until all of the secrets were out in the open. Neither one of them was ready for that.

"I'll stay tonight. We can worry about forever later."

It was enough to satisfy him in the short-term. They followed up their first round with another and then shared a long, hot shower where Antonin was able to prove that sex in the showers wasn't just a young man's game after all. When they were too tired to keep their eyes open, Hermione relaxed in her husband's embrace. She didn't know what was going to come next, but she felt more confident that she could meet it with Antonin than without.


	297. October 23rd

October 23rd

One night turned into a day and then into another night. Hermione found herself in no hurry to rush off. The moment she was back outside she would have to return to the uncertainty of their world. Even just the thought made her physically exhausted. Antonin didn't push her out the door either. Indeed, every time she even hinted she wanted to get out of bed he would wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly until she laughed and begged him to release her with promises she would return. It was what she assumed newly married couples in love did on their honeymoon. For the briefest of moments, she almost felt _normal_.

But they weren't normal and they likely never would be. What sort of woman kept so many secrets from her husband? If she wanted them to move forward as partners again, she couldn't keep the truth from him. Every moment that she laid next to him in the companionable silence she once cherished, she could feel the weight of her secrets crushing down on her chest. Without the numbness she used to enjoy from her potions or the annoyed detachment she once felt for her husband, she struggled to keep silent.

Fear was a powerful motivator. That was a lesson she'd used to her benefit time and time again as a brutal interrogator for the regime. It made people act irrationally, _stupidly_. Often it brought out the very worst in people. She'd had countless victims over the years betray their entire families just for the chance to live another few days in their miserable world. Was she willing to allow her own fear to dictate her choices?

"Antonin, I need to tell you something."

She needed to see his face as she spoke. Sitting up, she stared down at the wizard still lounging comfortably on the bed. He furrowed his brow, concern evident on his face. Rarely had their conversations that began with that simple statement gone well. Her stomach churned. How much could she tell him? Could she be completely honest and tell him _everything_?

"Days after Ollie was attacked, I tracked you."

The subtle shift in his bearing might have been easily missed by someone who didn't know him, but she saw it. She knew he was nervous about what she was about to tell him even if he was trying so hard to hide it. Her suspicion that her husband had been up to more in those days than just bedding an infuriating redhead was triggered. What sort of secrets was _he_ keeping? Deciding that was an issue they could worry about at a later date, she pressed on.

"I knew about you and Ginny because I _saw_ you together at her house."

He relaxed almost imperceptibly at her confession. If Hermione had been anyone other than his wife they might've missed the change. Evidently they both had secrets they needed to reveal before they could hope to move forward in any sort of positive way.

"When you say 'saw'…"

"I watched her pale, naked arse climb into your naked lap where I then had the pleasure of watching you stick your cock inside her."

Hermione was annoyed enough by his question that she briefly considered going in to even more crass detail, but stopped herself when she saw how embarrassed Antonin was. Being cruel for no other reason than just to be cruel was unkind. Surely she was better than that after all they'd gone through together. He also could've been cruel to her about finding her naked and tied up in Fenrir's bedroom floor and he wasn't. Those sorts of petty games were exhausting for all players.

"I'm surprised you didn't confront us about it when you saw it."

"Oh, I considered it, believe me, but I thought it was best if I walked away to calm down first."

Hermione had never considered herself an overly emotional person. She had had her moments in the past to be sure, but for the most part she'd learned how to be cold and calculating, detached from the rest of the world. Years as an interrogator only taught her how to be calmer and even more rational. Too much emotion in an interrogation put lives and duties in jeopardy. When she'd witnessed other women attack their husband in a fit of rage after finding him in bed with another woman, usually Hermione, she was always embarrassed for them. Emotions were weaknesses. She vowed she would never allow herself to stoop to such an embarrassing level. The world had enough shrews. She didn't need to be another.

"Besides, what right do I have to be angry at you for something I've done repeatedly myself?"

She had no patience for hypocrites with double standards. They were both guilty of committing adultery in thirteen years of marriage more times than either of them could really count. Neither one of them had the right to be indignant with the other for what they themselves were also doing. Hermione refused to even entertain the idea of a marriage where it was no big deal for one spouse to stray while the end of the world if the other did. Lots of Pureblood marriages were set up that way with the wizard free to do as he pleased while the witch had to remain entirely virtuous and turn her head from her husband's infidelities. That was an existence Hermione never wanted. Not for the first time or the hundredth time she was envious of the Rowles' marriage. Up until the very day Hannah died, they'd only had eyes for each other. How much happier would the Dolohovs have been if they'd felt the same way?

"Still, I'm very sorry that you had to see that. I can't imagine it was easy."

"No, but I'm sure neither was seeing me at Fenrir Greyback's house. Let's just agree that we're even now."

He clenched his jaw at mention of the werewolf, but still nodded in agreement. She considered going further in her confession by telling him what she discovered when she went back days later looking for him. The words were on the tip of her tongue and yet, she couldn't go through with it. What would happen next if Antonin found out he had a daughter? Would he kick her out and go start a new family with that horrible woman just because she was able to offer him more than his wife? He might have loved her since she was still the frightened girl in the broom cupboard. That didn't mean he was content. She couldn't agree to his suggestion that she never had to be alone until all of their secrets were revealed. And she was a bloody coward.

"Why were you meeting with Aberforth Dumbledore?"

If he was aware that she was desperate to change the subject, he didn't draw any attention to it. They could always circle their conversation back to what they'd been discussing later. Though she'd been very curious about why her husband was meeting with Dumbledore late at night in secret, she hadn't had a chance to ask him about it. Not before he kissed her and she forgot about everything outside the door of his holiday cottage. Afraid of blurting out Ginny's secret, she thought a change in topic would help.

"War makes for strange bedfellows. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"You're working with Dumbledore? For how long?"

"We've been friendly for months now. Ever since my wife helped him escape from the Ministry of Magic."

It was the first time Aberforth's escape was ever mentioned between the two of them. Hermione wasn't even aware that he knew anything about it. Of course, once she was aware that he'd been _friendly_ with certain leaders of the Resistance, she should've assumed that he knew it all. If she'd known what a powerful ally and partner he would turn out to be, she might have been inclined to ask her husband for assistance months earlier when she really needed it. With his help, there might have been no need for Augustus to call in his favors to keep her arse out of the fire. But, she had to remind herself, one could only make a decision based on the information that they had at any given time. Looking back at the past with new knowledge and regretting the choices that were made would only drive a person crazy.

"When did you find out about that?"

Antonin smirked, proving that he was at least somewhat impressed with his wife's antics. Often he found her amusing, even when perhaps he should've been discouraging what she was doing. Maybe it had something to do with the time he spent as her teacher. There was still a source of pride that she was utilizing the skills he taught her.

"The day he escaped. I knew what you were going to try to attempt that day thanks to Kingsley, so I waited. When he made it to the Resistance, my contact…"

"Ginny."

"…my _contact_ sent me an owl. She confessed that we'd been working together. Took a few meetings with him to get him to come around, but I think he _almost_ trusts me."

Hermione had so many questions about how her husband fit in with the Resistance, especially once he made the decision to not seek the power of the Dark Lord. Everything changed when he chose to be a simple husband and father. Many of his allies turned their backs on him when he could no longer offer them the same power and influence he could've if he'd ascended to the head of the regime. Knowing that he was willing to work so closely with those who once tried to undermine the regime made her even more curious. If he wasn't seeking power, _why_ were they working together? She feared she would never have the answers to all of the complicated questions. Forced to endure much more of the power struggle and the violence that came with it, she would care even less. Sitting on a beach in Brazil an entire ocean away from all of this rubbish sounded like heaven to her. Was that still possible? She was afraid to even dream.

"I would like to speak to Aberforth… _privately_. Do you think you could arrange that?"

She didn't miss how his eyes narrowed. Only for a second, it was just long enough that she could tell he was suspicious. No doubt he wanted nothing more than to ask her _why_ she wanted to meet privately with the wizard. She wasn't ready to tell him yet about her suspicions that Ginny was the real spy for Rodolphus. What if he was more emotionally invested in her than Hermione was aware? There were too many potential complications.

"I'll see what I can do. He's going to be unavailable for the next few days, but I'll get a message to him."

A loud buzzing on the table next to his side of the bed startled them both. Antonin laughed when he realized what was causing the noise. He leaned over to pick up what looked like a silver lady's compact. When he flipped it open, it was clear that was _exactly_ what it was. She was confused, unable to remember ever seeing it in her husband's possession before. What was it for?

 _"_ _Antonin, mate, I've got some bad news."_

Hermione jumped when she heard the faint sound of Thorfinn's voice coming out of the mirror. Realizing at once that it was an enchanted two-way mirror just like Harry used to have with Sirius, she was even more interested. What was happening? She didn't think that Thorfinn would be interested in ever speaking to Antonin again. Not since it was his involvement with the Dolohovs that put his family in jeopardy.

"What's going on?"

 _"_ _She hasn't been seen in over a day. Left last night after dark and hasn't been back yet. Rosie's mad. Thinks she ran out on her bill for the room."_

"Thanks, Finn, but tell Rosmerta not to worry. She'll be back in the morning to settle the bill."

 _"_ _Is she with you?"_

"Yes."

 _"_ _Good, I'm going home. I'll tell Rosie."_

Antonin snapped the mirror closed. Hermione was still in a bit of shock after hearing what she did. Was Thorfinn screaming that he wouldn't stay in the same building as her just an act? It sounded like he'd been asked to keep an eye on her, but that didn't make any sense. He was still furious.

"What was that about, Antonin?"

"Handy, isn't it? Teddy found them for me. When you showed up at the Three Broomsticks the other night, Finn contacted me through his. He's been making sure you were all right."

"But he hates me?"

"No, he doesn't. He's just playing a part. Trying to get Rodolphus to approach him again and see if he can get inside. We've been working on getting a few of our own people inside Rodolphus' little group. His plan's actually pretty good."

Hermione was so confused and he wasn't making any sense.

"You knew before I told you?"

"I knew a lot, but not everything. We're getting our own people inside. When there's enough, we'll be able to take over the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Once we have the power, we can get rid of Rodolphus and the rest of them."


	298. October 24th

October 24th

Walking away from Antonin the next morning was harder than Hermione expected it to be. She'd been able to forget about the rest of the world when they were alone. Maybe it was all just an illusion that she was allowing herself to use to pretend her world wasn't complete shite, but it was effective. She could almost imagine when she was lying next to Antonin that there was a future to be had that was worth having. Delusions that perhaps there would come a day when the power struggle would end and she could walk away relatively unscathed seemed possible when she wasn't alone. Whether it was the fact that Antonin was who he was or if it was just the general feeling of not being alone that gave her courage she wasn't sure. All she knew was that when she kissed her husband goodbye and stepped out into the early morning sun, she felt a profound sense of anxiety, fear that nothing good was ever going to happen to her again.

By the time her feet landed in front of The Three Broomsticks she'd managed to almost convince herself that she was being foolish. Hadn't she spent the last twenty years figuring out moment to moment how to keep surviving? This was nothing new. In fact, it was longer than twenty years. Ever since she'd been rescued from the mountain troll in the girls' lavatory and made two new friends when she was twelve years old, she'd had to adapt. Either she would find her footing or she wouldn't. Perhaps it was the wrong attitude to have, but when the worse fate she had to look forward to was death, her situation really wasn't that dire. How many days had she already wished to be snuffed out of existence? Those who died got off easy compared to the ones that had to keep on living.

Madam Rosmerta wasn't pleased to see her cross the threshold of her establishment. Sure, she would've preferred to have been paid than not, but it was evident to anyone with eyes that the aging innkeeper and barmaid had no use for the younger witch. It almost made Hermione laugh. She was used to being around those who did their upmost to hide their disdain for her. It was refreshing to see someone who wasn't afraid.

"I apologize for disappearing, Rosmerta. Unexpected circumstances, you understand."

The witch probably thought Hermione was nothing more than a traitor. Most of those who fought with the Order in the final battle, even if they weren't official members themselves felt the same way. Rosmerta joined many of the other Hogsmeade shopkeepers to fight against the Dark Lord twenty years earlier. While Hermione didn't know all of the details of what happened to the witch when the war ended, she knew that it was only as a result of having some well-connected Death Eater friendships that she was able to return to her tavern. A cousin of Felix Travers, she had to prove that she would be loyal to the Dark Lord repeatedly over the years in order to stay in business. It hadn't been easy.

"Are you planning to stay another night?"

"Yes, I am."

Hermione paid for the nights she'd already had the room and added enough to pay for several more days in advance. She didn't have many options of other places to stay. Remaining with Antonin had been tempting, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was ready for her to leave. While he might have claimed that he was no longer interested in being with Ginny, she couldn't shake the suspicions that were common in wives. _Something_ was off about her husband. One moment he would be right there with her in the present and in the next he was far away in his thoughts. A lot evidently had happened to both of them since the night in Hogwarts when he declared she didn't have a family any longer in the heat of the moment. Part of her worried that she wouldn't ever learn the full truth.

Deciding that she wanted nothing more than a long, hot bath and then an even longer nap, Hermione went straight to the bathroom connected to her room. As she slipped under the steaming water, she closed her eyes. She couldn't get her brain to shut off no matter what she tried. Sitting still and idle wasn't an attractive prospect. After her discussion with Antonin the night before, she wasn't sure who on her list was legitimately working for Rodolphus or who might have been a double agent. If she started taking out the people on the list as she desired, she might inadvertently hurt some of the very people trying to undermine Rodolphus. Until she had more information, she had to be very careful who she attacked. Once again, the secret alliances threatened to do her head in.

Settling her head back on the edge of the bathtub, Hermione closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The sound of the door to her room opening and closing was hard to miss. Whoever it was didn't bother to be quiet about it. Preparing to leap out of the tub naked to defend herself if necessary, when she heard the squeak of her mattress springs, she relaxed. Rolling her eyes, she settled back down. She should've known it would only be matter of time before Draco came for a visit. Somehow the wizard always had the most impeccable timing. He must've had a sixth sense to tell him whenever she was naked and bathing.

"I know you're there, Draco. May as well come in here to tell me what it is you want to tell me."

Moments later the door opened to reveal her unexpected guest. Expecting to see Draco, Hermione gasped when Rodolphus stepped through instead. He was across the small space in a heartbeat to loom over the tub. Pleased to see her naked, he didn't even make it a secret he was openly admiring her.

"So sorry to disappoint you, love. I know how _fond_ of my nephew you've become."

Hermione was terrified. What was it with being caught unaware in the bathtub by her enemies? It was enough to make her consider giving up bathing altogether. Following her incident with Aubin, she made certain that always brought her wand with her into the bathroom, but even then, she knew she was still not safe. She couldn't imagine that anything Rodolphus wanted from her would be good. He sat on the edge of the tub, acting as if he had every right to be there with her. Even though he'd seen her naked countless times, she'd never felt more exposed.

"What are you doing here, Rodolphus?"

"Heard you were staying here. Why?"

Whether she was more frightened or more annoyed with his visit was uncertain. Both emotions went to battle with each other. Finally deciding that it wasn't important, she took a deep breath and tried to forget how terrified she was.

"Couldn't exactly go home, now could I? Not since it was blown up by you and your mates."

His laughter used to make her smile. In that moment, however, it filled her with dread.

"It's been a long time since you were even there last. Where have you been hiding?"

She didn't know what to tell him in response. Draco never told her what he told his uncle. Any time she was brave enough to ask, he would shut down. She couldn't mention how long she was at Augustus' home. That would put him in more danger than he already was. All she could really admit to was the cottage that belonged to her wretched brother-in-law. When she mentioned it, she could see Rodolphus relax slightly.

"But, I can't really go back there, can I? Not when my brother-in-law wants to murder me."

Rodolphus' eyes narrowed at the reminder of the attack. He was still furious that anyone dared to harm the witch. While that might have brought some sense of comfort to Hermione in another lifetime, she was disturbed by the passion she could see in his eyes. What was he capable of? She only thought she knew the man once upon a time. She didn't.

"I've been unable to find them, but we're still looking. You were gone for the past two nights. Where were you?"

"That's none of your business, Rodolphus. I think you should leave."

She moved to stand up to get out of the bathtub, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her from getting up. Rodolphus held her in place, only just barely allowing her head to be above the water. The look in his eyes proved that he would hurt her if he deemed it necessary. Many times in the past she had been afraid of that man. She knew what he was capable of. Feeling her wand next to her fingers, she tried to reach for it slowly without him noticing. If he thought she was a threat, he was unpredictable.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Hermione, that _everything_ about you is my concern?"

Her wand slipped underneath her smallest finger and he still didn't notice. His eyes stared into hers, unable to see anything but the fear she was trying and failing to hide there. She had to be careful about cursing the man. If she wasn't successful in putting him down on the first try, she would regret it.

"Were you alone with Antonin?"

"You know very well my husband doesn't want to see me again thanks to your brother telling him my secret."

Some of Rodolphus' anger melted away with his laughter. He still didn't seem convinced.

"And yet he visited you in St. Mungo's twice?"

"Purely out of obligation. Couldn't wait to get rid of me and return to his whore."

Rodolphus smiled and the rest of his anger dissipated. Releasing his grip on her shoulder, he stood. Hermione grabbed her wand, squeezed it tightly in preparation for needing it. When he saw the wand, he wasn't afraid. Just looked around the room.

"This place is hardly nice enough for animals. Why don't you return to the Dower House with me? I'm sure I could find a warm bed for you. One you wouldn't have to be worried you'll be hurt in. Unless, of course, you _ask_ for it."

The churning in Hermione's huts returned at his less-than-subtle offer. She never wanted to return to that horrible house again and she certainly had no desire to ever find herself alone in the man's bed with him again. How was it possible that she used to seek him out? Used to _crave_ his touch? As much as she wanted to blame her actions on her potions, it was only _after_ she started a sexual relationship with the cretin that his brother first introduced her to the illicit concoctions. No, she went to Rodolphus' bed the first several times _willingly_ and happily. Even after the potions, she never did anything she didn't want to do. Further research on the lust potion that was added to the mix only proved it was a mild aphrodisiac. Never was her will or her consent taken from her. She'd _wanted_ him.

"If you insist in remaining in such flea-infested squalor, do be sure your wards are more effective. It's almost like you _wanted_ me to catch you in the bath."

Rodolphus took one last lingering look at her naked body before he walked out. Terrified to even breathe, Hermione waited until she heard the sound of the door opening and closing in the next room before she moved again. Fear like she'd rarely experienced coursed through her veins. She didn't have the first clue what had just happened or why. She wasn't sure how much more of the uncertainty of her life she could handle. Something in her was going to snap soon.


	299. October 25th

October 25th

Even a day after her unexpected visit with Rodolphus in her hotel bathroom, Hermione was still rattled. It seemed that no matter where she went, she would be unable to escape the reach of the horrible man. Part of her wished to know what his plans for her were, but for the most part, she wanted to remain in ignorance. Nothing he had planned could be good. She'd seen the way he looked at her, the malevolent spark in his crazed eyes. As if she needed further proof that the man was completely insane, the way he spoke about wanting her at his side made no sense.

He wasn't in love with her. She wasn't even sure that he had the capacity to love. Maybe once upon a time he did. Years before he was damned to a lifetime in Azkaban he might have been just like every other man, some lovesick fool with the insatiable desire to get up the skirts of a pretty witch and make a family with her. While it was hard to imagine that the wizard had ever snuck around Hogwarts castle snogging behind suits of armor, he must have. Once when she made an uncharitable remark about his late wife, he'd slammed his closed fist in her stomach. As she lay on the floor of whatever bedroom they were in with her arms around her aching body, she came to the realization that there were some topics that were off-limits.

The memory of Bellatrix hung over her widower like a choking, shadowy specter. Hermione never once imagined that the insane woman who had an obnoxious penchant for baby talk and who appeared to love the Dark Lord above all others could've ever been able to elicit such strong emotions from the man she married years after her death. There had been love between the Lestranges. Likely similar to the obsessive, unhealthy love that plagued many of the marriages between the Death Eaters, it had to have been powerful. Some of the Pureblood families, especially those that took the purity of their blood very seriously, were often arranged. Hermione simply assumed that had been the case with Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Only when she brought up the incident the next day with Rabastan did she learn otherwise.

So if Rodolphus wasn't in love with her, what was his obsession? She knew that the reason why so many of the Death Eaters were so eager to have her naked body crawl on top of theirs had little to do with who she was on the inside. Much younger than the vast majority of the wizards, she was a tight, firm body that made them feel like they were much younger men. It was a manipulation she learned early on amongst the ranks of Lord Voldemort's most faithful followers. Just as she threw herself into learning everything she could about most topics that interested her or she deemed beneficial, she learned what she needed to make her body a weapon. It had been effective. She was a great lay and she knew it. Why else would disgusting men like Temeritus Mulciber long to replicate a night that happened over a decade and a half earlier?

Sex wasn't enough of a reason for Rodolphus to manipulate her mind for _years_. She'd offered him what she had long before he ever cast the first spell. If all he wanted was a warm place to cram his cock, she'd already given it to him and would've continued to do so without hesitation. Why would he have his brother introduce her to the adulterated, illegal potions _after_ she'd already climbed in and out of his bed more times than either of them could recall? There was something more, something that she feared she would never discover.

He'd been angry when he thought she'd spent the missing two nights he couldn't account for her location with Antonin. While he was absolutely correct in his assumptions, she felt mostly confident that she'd been able to convince him that her husband wanted nothing to do with her after the incident in the castle. But a nagging thought in the back of her mind bothered her. Draco made no secret of the fact that he tracked her on a regular basis. He _must_ have known she was tucked away in some holiday cottage with Antonin. Wasn't he reporting back her whereabouts to his uncle?

She was frustrated enough with the tracker to almost be tempted to return to Draco's flat just to give him a piece of her mind. Or to steal back whatever it was that he'd been using to track her. She still wasn't sure what it was. Based on his lesson, it had to have been something that would hold the magic well. There wasn't much she possessed in the way of jewelry. In the early years of their marriage, Antonin tried to surprise her frequently with ornate jewels and beautiful gems, but they'd never meant much to her. He wanted to show her off to the other wizards, to prove that just because he didn't own an enormous manor house that he could still provide the finer things in life for his wife. When he came to the conclusion that all he was doing was wasting money on baubles she kept locked away in a box, he eventually stopped.

Knowing that she couldn't spend the rest of her life hiding away in her room in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione made the decision to step outside of it for the first time since her meeting with Rodolphus. Just in time to order a late breakfast from one of the witches behind the bar, she found a table in the opposite corner of the room from where Thorfinn was seated. Even though it was still morning, he was already drinking. She worried that he wasn't actually playing a part at all. Or maybe he was playing it _too_ well. There was a great deal of pain in that wizard that broke her heart as well. She didn't think he would ever recover from Hannah's death, not completely. Never again would he be the carefree, overgrown child who was always so quick to laugh. Just as the better parts of Hermione died in her broom cupboard, the better parts of Thorfinn died with his wife.

As she waited for the meal she ordered to be served, she tried to keep her attention focused on anything other than the wizard glaring in her direction. Antonin might have claimed that he was just acting for the sake of being approached by Rodolphus again, but he hadn't actually seen the two of them in the same room together. He couldn't possibly understand that there was more to the supposed lie. Movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It was impossible for a person of Thorfinn's size to move stealthily through a crowded room. Though light on his feet on missions when they were outdoors, stuck inside a space with so many tables and chairs didn't help. She looked up to see him heading straight for her table. Instinct told her to get up and run. Unfortunately, she was too slow.

"I thought I saw the last of you. Don't you have someone else's life to ruin?"

"Thorfinn…"

"Shut up, you fucking gash. You don't deserve to breathe the same air that I do. Fucking worthless Mudblood. You are the reason my Hannah is dead. What sort of fucked up world is this when she dies and _you_ get to live? All Mudbloods are the same. Should've all been drowned at birth."

She was getting annoyed with his theatrics, especially considering she thought that most of them were sincere. Thorfinn was raised in a Sacred Twenty-Eight family with some fairly dubious origins. Many of them were nasty, known for their tempers and their fury on the battlefield. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that they were a family mired in the worst of the anti-Muggle-born hatred that seemed to permeate many of the other families. Though she'd never personally heard him insult Muggle-borns before in her presence and knew for a fact that his amorous affections prior to his courtship and marriage were hardly discriminatory, perhaps there was a Blood Purist inside him after all.

"Is there something you want from me, Thorfinn? Or are you just going to continue to be hysterical?"

He shoved a copy of a newspaper he had clutched in his hand under her nose. Taking it out of his grip, she had to laugh when she saw the front page. A large section on the front page was dedicated to an article written by Alecto claiming that not only was Hermione crazy, but she was responsible for the horrific murder of Rita Skeeter. It seemed that on the rare occasion, the Daily Prophet actually got something correct.

"You find that amusing? I recommend you read page six. There's an interesting article about why you collapsed in the middle of the Dark Lord's funeral."

Curious, Hermione flipped to the page in question. While there certainly was another article, also written by Alecto, with a no doubt, fantastical theory as to what really happened that day, her attention was drawn to the top corner of the page. Scribbled in her husband's distinctive handwriting was a simple message.

 _Shrieking Shack. Half-past midnight._

While it was an _interesting_ method to pass a message on to her, she couldn't deny that it was effective. Once it was clear that she'd read what she was supposed to, Thorfinn ripped the paper out of her hands. He leaned down to speak just outside her ear. Though not a whisper, he wanted to make sure she heard him.

"One day you and your husband are going to have to pay for your crimes. I can't wait to see that. I'll be on the front row."

He stalked away, ignoring the concerned and frightened expressions on the faces of the others inside of the main room of the tavern. Wadding the paper into a ball, Thorfinn tossed it into the fireplace. Once the paper was burned away to nothing, he shot one final glare in her direction and stormed out of the building.

Antonin claimed he was just playing a part, but his performance was further evidence in Hermione's mind that that was only partially true. It saddened her to imagine that there would never be a day that she could sit and enjoy a long conversation with her old friend. Thorfinn used to be such a bright spot in her day. After Hannah's death, she feared that he wouldn't be able to come out of his grief. He would probably die long before he was supposed to. It was nothing more than yet another fucking tragedy in her life she was powerless to prevent.

She tried to push aside her worries for Thorfinn to focus on the message that Antonin sent. It was dangerous to meet so close to the village and in such an iconic location. What was going on? She would have to be very careful. Rodolphus made it clear that he had spies everywhere. Likely at least one of the people in that very room were eager to report back to the wizard to give their account of her interaction with Thorfinn. Someone on Rosmerta's staff was probably the spy. Possibly even Rosmerta herself. She wouldn't be the first person to turn.

Midnight could not come soon enough for Hermione. She wondered how she was going to possibly fill the hours of the day waiting to find out what was so important that her husband had to go to such lengths to get her attention.


	300. October 26th

October 26th

Hermione arrived at the Shrieking Shack right on time. Though one who valued punctuality to a point, she had been known in the past to use her power and reputation as the formidable Madam Dolohov to keep people waiting. It had been fun and a real boon to her ego to watch annoyed people try very hard not to let their frustration show. She used to play many little games just to keep life interesting. Even for a deadly interrogator who spent countless days covered in the blood of her victims, she could get awfully bored.

No one was waiting for her when she arrived. Nervous that she was walking right into a trap, she kept a tight grip on her wand. Ambushes were a serious possibility that she needed to consider. While it had been many years since she found the eerie location scary thanks to her memorable night with Fenrir, she still felt ill at ease being so exposed. The crumbling shack was far removed from the busy path to the village, but it wasn't exactly a difficult place to get to. And she wasn't even completely certain who she was meeting to begin with. While her husband was the most obvious choice, she wasn't entirely convinced.

She couldn't help but feel like Antonin was still keeping secrets from her. When she was alone with him those two nights, he'd told her _some_ of what he was trying to do. Not all. Part of her didn't believe he would ever be completely honest with her. That was a truth that was difficult to swallow. Once upon a time they'd been each other's closest confidants. Even when she loathed and despised the fact that she had been ordered to marry him, she respected him enough to continue to trust him implicitly. She used to believe that he felt the same way about her. Experience in recent months taught her that wasn't necessarily the case.

Any hope that they would have a future together was dwindling each day. They would have to learn to start being completely open with each other if there was a chance they would end up together. Brazil felt further and further away. Hermione still wasn't clear on what she wanted exactly. Leaving the country was certainly at the top of her list and keeping her son safe from all of the sins of his parents' past and present, but remaining married to Antonin? Trying to salvage anything from the wreckage? It hardly seemed possible or even all that attractive to be honest. Expecting him to tell her everything meant that she also had to tell _him_ everything. She just wasn't ready to be so honest. Maybe she never would be. Yet another argument for why they weren't likely to make it.

But she wasn't exactly optimistic that she would survive long anyway, so speculations about the future didn't really mean that much. She was apt to make too many questionable decisions about her safety. Like meeting at the Shrieking Shack in the middle of the night with no explanation. Antonin claimed Thorfinn was his man through and through and while she _hoped_ he was right, there was no way to tell for certain. There were enemies around every bend. That was a reminder she didn't really need after Rodolphus' visit. As cryptic as he continued to be about his plans for her, she didn't think they were likely to be good.

Footsteps nearby shook her out of her thoughts. It was unwise to allow her mind to wander when she was in such a potentially precarious position. Spinning around with her wand clutched tightly in her hand to meet whatever danger lurked in the shadows head-on, Hermione was surprised to see Aberforth Dumbledore walking confidently towards her. Recognizing her visitor only made her relax slightly. She was still not sure that he could be trusted or that he would ever trust her.

"Your husband informed me that you would like a few minutes of my time."

Hermione nodded her head. Before she spoke a single word, she scanned the immediate area for any signs of life. Satisfied with her eyes, but still needing further confirmation they were alone, she cast a human presence revealing spell. Feeling confident that they were alone for the moment, she still coated the space they were standing in with a number of silencing, repelling, and cloaking spells. She'd had plenty of practice over the years in shielding her presence. If anyone caught her even having a simple conversation with the notorious Resistance leader, especially one widely assumed to be dead, she would be in even more danger than she normally was.

"Thank you for meeting me. I have a few questions."

He held up his hand to stop her from speaking another word.

"First, I want to thank you properly for saving my life. I understand that that was not an easy task."

"I never meant for you to get arrested in the first place. It was an accident."

"And I believed you the first time you told me that."

Even in the darkness she could see the twinkle in his blue eyes. He found her amusing. At least it was a much better emotion than she'd gotten used to expecting from members of the Resistance. She had some serious questions that she wanted to answer. Something told her that she could trust Aberforth to give her truthful answers. Maybe because they were bonded over their experience in his elaborate escape attempt or perhaps it was simply because of the goodness of the man himself. Though she didn't know the details or really anything at all about it, she knew that he'd saved Draco's life many years before. To save a Death Eater, especially one from such a notorious family, wasn't a small thing. Deciding it was best to just get it over with, she blurted out her first question.

"What animagus form does Rodolphus Lestrange take?"

Aberforth wasn't expecting that question. He furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly once like he was trying to dislodge a pesky fly from the tip of his nose. His blue eyes continued to twinkle, but confusion replaced his amusement. Hermione was certain she was about to get her suspicions confirmed.

"Why would you ask me that?"

"You've never seen Rodolphus in his animagus form?"

"Lass, I haven't laid eyes on Lestrange for _years_. Not since some bother we had in Glasgow. Seven years ago? Eight, maybe?"

"So you're saying you haven't seen him in years… not even when he was living in the Resistance village?"

His expression morphed into one of incredulity. She'd seen the same look from numerous people for years. He was trying to decide whether or not she'd completely lost her mind. Evidently it was a question he couldn't understand why she was asking.

"Rodolphus' animagus form is a dog. A Saint Bernard to be specific."

Some of the details seemed to click in his mind. No longer did he look at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"The one Tiberius was so fond of?"

She nodded and he immediately looked as if he was going to be sick. Considering his advanced age and his recent stay in the less-than-luxurious environment of Level Eleven, Hermione prepared herself to help him if it was required.

"We used to let him into our meetings without even thinking about it. He's a very friendly dog and Tiberius claimed he was safe. There was no reason for us to doubt him."

"There's more, I'm afraid. Ginny told me that _you_ and she were the only ones who knew who Rodolphus really was."

"Why would she say that?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. All she had were speculations. The truth would have to come from Ginny herself.

"Maybe she wanted me to think the Resistance trusted Rodolphus."

"I don't recall _ever_ discussing Lestrange since he disappeared up until very recently."

The suspicions Hermione possessed about Ginny being the spy only increased with each moment that ticked by. Aberforth might have been a talented actor, but she knew how to tell the difference in someone who was lying and someone who was trying to process what he was hearing. She decided to continue with telling him what she'd heard.

"I've recently learned from speaking to another Resistance leader…"

"Percy Weasley?"

"How'd you know that?"

His blue eyes were amused again. Some of the shock of what he was told about Rodolphus and Tiberius Zeller's friendly, drooling dog was wearing off.

"You've been out of the game too long, lass. You're not as stealthy as you think you are."

She was as annoyed as he was amused. While she knew she couldn't really argue with him about his observation, she wished it wasn't the truth. To be fair, with all of the secret alliances she despised, it was hard to know who was working together. Deciding that was something she could think more about later, she pressed on.

"I've learned that the Resistance is a bit chaotic and there are fears that it's crumbling."

"I'm afraid you're right. We've had our concerns about a potential spy for awhile now. Do you think it's Ginny?"

Admitting her concerns to Aberforth might not be the best idea. She was hesitant to just come right out and accuse her former friend of being a traitor to her cause. What if she was wrong? Though she had the conviction in her gut that she wasn't, it was still a hefty accusation to make. Sensing that she wasn't eager to answer his question, Aberforth sighed.

"You're afraid that her past relationship with your husband is affecting your opinion of her."

When they were students at Hogwarts, she and her closest friends used to speculate on whether or not Headmaster Dumbledore had the ability to read minds. Learning that he was a Legilimens answered at least _some_ of their questions. She came to the conclusion that Albus Dumbledore simply was a perceptive man who knew how to read people. Standing in front of his younger brother, she wondered if that was perhaps a family trait.

"How do you know that?"

"I'm an old man. I've seen a lot in my life and there are certain physical manifestations of their time together that can't be ignored."

"Their daughter?"

Aberforth nodded.

"I was unaware that you knew about little Maisie."

"It was an accident. Ginny tried to hide her from me. How did you know?"

"I have eyes. I pay attention. Antonin doesn't know?"

She shook her head. Guilt that she was _still_ keeping secrets from her husband after so long bubbled up inside of her again. If Antonin knew she was keeping such a big secret from him, she didn't think he would forgive her.

"No, I promised Ginny I wouldn't tell him, but I feel wrong keeping that secret."

"Are you afraid that he'll abandon your family if he knew?"

"No, I'm afraid he would take Ollie and they would both abandon _me_."

Even as the words dripped off her tongue she couldn't believe she was being so honest and so vulnerable with the wizard. What was it about him that made her want to confess her deepest fears? Aberforth placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We don't get to choose who we love. Not really."

Hermione didn't know what he was implying or trying to say. Love was, indeed, a difficult subject to decipher, but what did that have to do with anything they were talking about? Aberforth squeezed her shoulder lightly and dropped his hand back to his side.

"Don't tell him yet. It would be too distracting. I'm not ready to believe Ginny is our spy just yet, but I'll do some looking in to it. If I find anything, I'll let you know."

They said their goodbyes moments later. Hermione selfishly hoped that he would find proof of Ginny's treachery sooner rather than later. She was eager to have the horrible woman out of the picture as soon as possible. She was too dangerous, too unpredictable. It was only later that night that she considered the truth of the fact that she could use the exact same words to describe herself.


	301. October 27th

_**Author's Note: This story has officially been updated 300 days in a row! Thank you for sticking it out with me so far (even on the boring days). I'm actually nearing the end of writing this behemoth. Your reviews and encouragement have been life to me. I wouldn't have made it nearly this far without it. Thank you!**_

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October 27th

Remaining in Hogsmeade in one of the most iconic locations in Wizarding Britain left Hermione feeling vulnerable and very exposed. She felt almost like a prisoner where either every single move she made was under constant scrutiny or she couldn't leave the privacy of her own room. As much as she longed to leave, she really didn't have anywhere else to go. Returning to Draco's flat wasn't an option. He'd made it quite clear that he didn't appreciate her being there and rushing off in the middle of the night to see her husband. As pleasant as it had been to be in Draco's home with him at times, their situation was complicated, _precarious_ even. Who could be sure when he would betray her next?

The very idea that Hermione would ever willingly move into the Lestrange Dower House, even temporarily, was so ludicrous she could do nothing but laugh every time she considered it. How daft did Rodolphus think she'd become? Or perhaps he was hoping isolating her from those who loved her would make her more malleable to his manipulations. Getting her away from Antonin was the first step. And perhaps, if she really was working for Rodolphus, Ginny _conveniently_ luring her husband back into her bed was the next step. What better way to cement the destruction of their marriage than with that horrific display? While she didn't want to even consider the possibility that Draco was in on that plan, she couldn't deny that it would make sense if it was planned. Rodolphus had an agenda she didn't understand.

On the last Saturday in October, only days before Halloween, Hermione descended the stairs to the main room of the Three Broomsticks annoyed that she was there to begin with. Some of the first Hogwarts students were beginning to make their way into the establishment. Oliver was only a second year and he no longer had the benefit of an influential father to let him leave the castle so she didn't expect to have an opportunity to see her son. Just imagining what sort of _favors_ she'd have to offer Temeritus disgusted her enough to not even consider sending an owl requesting her son be allowed to visit. Without Oliver, there was no reason to stay in the village while his schoolmates wandered around the usually sleepy village.

She caught a glimpse of Thorfinn seated at the bar sipping at a glass. While she was aware that he was simply there to keep an eye on her, it bothered her immensely that she could be so easily found in Hogsmeade. Thoughts about her conversation with Rabastan only made her desire to leave stronger. Ignoring Thorfinn, Hermione stepped outside of the popular tavern. Thinking of a place she never expected to actually _want_ to go to again, she Disapparated from the area.

Landing at the gates to the entrance of the vast Nott Estate, Hermione wondered if she was making a mistake. Ever since she heard about Rosalind Nott from Rabastan she was worried about the young girl. For a reason that was unclear, she felt an obligation to check on the widow of one of the Death Eaters she hated the most. A profound sense of guilt weighed on Hermione's conscience where she was concerned. And to know that Rabastan was responsible for the girl who was entirely alone in the world being pregnant made it all that much worse.

There was no resistance at the gates preventing Hermione from crossing over into the grounds. Was the house well-warded? She was vulnerable if it wasn't. Leave it to Rabastan not to consider the safety of anyone but himself. For one that was so passionate about protecting his children, it was easy to assume that would extend to the woman purported to be carrying his bastard. Of course there was a big difference in children that carried his name and those that had no right to claim it in Rabastan's mind. He was a remnant of an old-fashioned world that Hermione desperately hoped would die out soon. Any further hope that at least the mistress of the manor was protected by the Nott family's house-elves was further dashed when the large front door was opened by Rosalind herself. Hermione wasn't sure what to think.

"Madam Dolohov?"

"Just call me, Hermione, please."

She hoped that her tone was soft enough to put the girl at ease, but she was afraid her anger was showing through. Why was she alone? Rabastan arrested and likely killed her parents, impregnated her, and left her to fend for herself in their increasingly dangerous and chaotic world. It was unconscionable. Did he not care that she could easily be harmed by someone with less _pure_ intentions? She almost laughed out loud when she considered what she was asking. Of course Rabastan didn't care.

"Rosalind, are you alone?"

The young witch was still very surprised to see her guest standing outside her front door. Was she naïve enough to believe everything the Daily Prophet said? If so, Hermione knew she would have to tread carefully. She offered her most encouraging smile, one she'd used many times in recent months while talking to her son. It appeared to do the trick. Some of the tension in Rosalind's shoulders subsided.

"Yes. Would you like to come in?"

Offering her another smile, Hermione nodded and stepped inside the large, gloomy mansion. It had never been a truly cheery place, but it was beginning to show serious signs of neglect. No self-respecting house-elf would allow their family's home to fall into such a sad state, even further proving her theory that the staff deserted the young, pregnant witch. Already her robes were failing to hide the tell-tale sign of the minuscule bump of her belly. Easily missed if one didn't know her circumstances, it was all too obvious to one who did.

"If you would please take a seat in here, I'll go make us some tea."

Before Rosalind could abandon her guest in the dusty, formal lounge used by important guests, Hermione shook her head and insisted she would rather talk with her in the kitchen. Her hostess seemed relieved as she led her down the corridor to a room guests were never supposed to see. Once inside the massive kitchen, it immediately became evident that it was the room where the young witch spent most of her time. It was the only room Hermione saw with a fire lit. The rest of the rooms in the drafty house were cold and neglected. Old manors like that required a small army of house-elves to maintain. Though she knew it would likely be awkward, Hermione had to ask.

"Where are all of your house-elves? Shouldn't one of them be here to make the tea?"

Hermione's feelings about house-elves had never really changed. She still believed it was wrong to keep any creature in slavery, even if they claimed they were happier serving masters than being free, but it was a campaign she couldn't continue as a Death Eater. Maybe if she'd been able to live another life she might've been able to work to free the house-elves. In the Ministry of Magic, perhaps. The question embarrassed Rosalind.

"Millicent ordered them to come with her when she moved out of the manor with her girls. Said they were only supposed to serve the _true_ members of the Nott family."

Tears gathered on the young woman's eyelashes. Millicent could prove to be a problem in the future. House-elves were bound to a family with ancient magic most didn't understand. Because her marriage wasn't consummated and the baby she carried was a Lestrange and not a Nott, the family's house-elves had no loyalty to Rosalind. Even if one of them wished to stay, they were compelled by the archaic bonds of their slavery to follow Millicent's orders. She and her three daughters were the only true members of the family left. It was a complication Rabastan could not have seen when he prevented the marriage between Theodore and Rosalind from being sealed in the marital bed. One day his mistake would come back to bite him on the arse. Of course while Hermione was grateful that the terrified girl didn't have to suffer the indignity of Theodore's defilement, she knew that she had some hurdles left to jump over.

She didn't ask any further questions until they were both seated at the kitchen table where generations of Nott house-elves once prepared meals. It was easy to see why the girl chose the kitchen. Warm and inviting, it was nothing like the dark and dreary rooms in other parts of the mansion. If she discovered that she slept on the rug in front of the massive fireplace each night to prevent having to go into one of the cavernous bedrooms upstairs, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised. Both women sipped at their tea, unsure how to progress. Finally, Hermione knew that she would have to breach some delicate topics. Sometimes it was best to just be blunt.

"I know that you're pregnant, Rosalind, and I know that the father is Rabastan."

Some of the tears on her eyelashes slid silently down her reddened cheeks. Unable to look Hermione in the eye, Rosalind stared into her teacup.

"This might be uncomfortable, but Rosalind, love, did he _force_ you?"

If the answer was anything other than an emphatic 'no', Hermione was prepared to track down the cretin and slice his bollocks from his body and cram them down his throat before she ended his miserable existence. She would _not_ tolerate any sort of nonconsensual acts. Not after what she learned from Hannah before she died. Rosalind shook her head before bursting into loud cries.

"I feel like such a fool! He was so kind to me and I was so lonely and scared. He told me what he did to Theodore on our wedding night and I was so grateful. When he told me that he thought Theodore was a blind idiot for not thinking I was beautiful, I just… I…"

Hermione reached across the table to gently pat the girl's hand before she burst into another round of hysterics. The simple touch calmed Rosalind down immediately.

"You were seduced by a very persuasive man. It happens. You should expect many more men to try the same as you grow older, especially considering how rich you are now."

The young witch bowed her head and tried to hide her tears. Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for the girl. She was all alone and being used as a pawn in an intricate game going on since long before she was born. Perhaps the reason why Hermione felt such a desire to protect the girl was simply because she could see herself in her. Hadn't that been her past? She was scared and all alone and thrown into the deep end of the Dark Lord's world. At Rosalind's exact age, Hermione was all alone in the world, lying on the floor of a dark broom cupboard. She couldn't imagine how much worse her life would've been if she had to endure all of that _and_ be pregnant. While she had a protector, _two_ actually, Rosalind had no one. She felt a real responsibility to the widow of one of her many, _many_ victims.

"Do you and Rabastan still..?"

Her cheeks flamed an even brighter red.

"I know I shouldn't, but I'm all alone here and when he visits it's nice to not feel so alone."

"It's not shameful to enjoy sex, Rosalind. Don't _ever_ let anyone tell you otherwise, but you need to be careful. Rabastan is a dangerous, selfish man who isn't afraid to use people to get what he wants."

Rosalind's hand touched her belly.

"It wasn't supposed to happen. It was an accident. I thought he would make me get rid of it but he told me this was the only way I would always be safe, that without a baby I could be thrown out of here. I don't have anywhere else to go. My parents…"

She couldn't speak another word through her tears. It was clear that she was still so much a child in many ways. Hermione felt an unfamiliar urge to protect her relative innocence even though she didn't know what to do.

"I'm staying at the Three Broomsticks. If you need _anything_ , you can find me."

Hermione's visit ended just a few short minutes later.


	302. October 28th

October 28th

Hermione's thoughts didn't stray far from Rosalind Nott for an entire day after their visit. Despite knowing she was running out of time to complete her plans against those stupid enough to throw their support in with Rodolphus, each time she tried to think of her next move, she thought about the young witch all alone in the dreary manor. The sense of responsibility she felt for the young widow made little sense until she remembered how she was the one to cast the spell to end her husband's life. She would've had _some_ protection if Theodore lived long enough to consummate their marriage. Also seeing the poor witch in danger of going down the same dangerous path she did made her stomach twist and turn. What right did she have to damn an innocent to such a miserable existence?

Spending another day cooped up inside her room at the Three Broomsticks was only going to push Hermione even closer to the edge of sanity. Her Gryffindor traits screamed at her to just rush out and start cursing anyone who ever dared to look at her with the least bit of malice, but the parts of her that almost got her Sorted into Ravenclaw urged caution and thorough planning. How many Gryffindors did she personally know were dead because of their recklessness? Too many to put a number to. She'd cultivated a drastic change in her personality over the previous twenty years to be more calculating, slower to action though decisive when pushed. The girl she once was wouldn't even recognize the woman she'd become. In some ways that was a a good thing. In others, definitely not.

She was growing weary of being at the Three Broomsticks, but an opportunity to leave had yet to present itself. Taking Antonin up on his offer didn't feel like the right decision yet. There were still lingering concerns that he wasn't being honest with her and as she _knew_ she wasn't being honest with him, it was best that they wait to see how their next moves turned out first. As she made her way back down the familiar staircase to the main room of the historic tavern, she pushed away the thought of running away again. There had been some peace to be found when she was on the run, but she knew it was fleeting and unlikely to be found a second time.

"Another fascinating article about you in the morning's paper, Princess. Amazing how they manage to get all of the facts straight, isn't it?"

"Awfully early to already be drinking, isn't it, Thorfinn?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

"No one waiting for me at home, thanks to _you_. What does it matter?"

Wishing for anything to distract her from an uncomfortable conversation with the grieving widower, she ripped the newspaper out of his hands to see what he was talking about. It didn't take long for her to see her own name written in a headline across the front page. All lies and rubbish, of course, but what did it matter as long as it made for interesting news? Alecto's name was prominently displayed as the author. The woman was just pathetic in her quest to smear Hermione's already-smeared name. Perhaps she wasn't aware of the futility of beating a dead horse? Remembering making Hannah an offer to allow her to help Hermione kill Alecto, she decided that it was past time she got her revenge.

She was outside only moments later prepared to Apparate to her next destination. Needing to speak to someone who would have intimate knowledge of the wretched woman's habits and whereabouts, Hermione wasted no time returning to Cornwall. When the smell of the salty ocean air hit her, she took a deep breath. It was such a peaceful place. One look in the direction of Augustus' house proved that the Fidelius Charm protecting his home had not been altered. Maybe Rodolphus was still hoping that she would eventually return. Or perhaps he no longer cared considering he knew where he could find her in Hogsmeade.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?"

Augustus was surprised to find his ex-lover standing outside his front door. His shock wore off after just a few moments. Pulling her into his arms for a warm hug, he didn't hide the fact that he was glad to see her. A lot had happened in the almost two months since her family left him. He invited her inside just after he promised her that he was alone.

"Alecto spends most nights here now, but since she was promoted, I hardly see her in the daytime."

"It's getting serious between you two, isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Not wanting to continue that line of discussion, Augustus brushed his fingertips over the scar under her eye. It was strange how every single wizard who cared about her did almost the exact same thing when they saw her for the first time after her attack. Scars could be powerful reminders, _encouragement_ for a person to keep going towards their goal, but Hermione hated what William Wood did to her face. She feared that it made her look weak.

"Antonin told me what happened to you. I want to help him track down the ones who did this to you and make them pay."

"Don't worry, Augie. They'll be found."

It bothered her that he was so emotional about the whole event. His feelings were as plain as the scar on her face. He needed to be better about hiding them, especially if he was still entertaining that sham of a relationship with Alecto that he insisted was only for information.

"You didn't answer my question. What's going on between you and Alecto?"

"Do we have to discuss this?"

"Why else do you think I'm here?"

She knew it was a harsh statement to make to the man who believed he was still in love with her. As much as he tried to hide it, she could see that her words hurt. To further delay his answer, Augustus led her into the kitchen where they could sit at the kitchen table for a proper discussion. Whether or not he believed it was too early for fire whiskey remained to be seen. Talking to Hermione about Alecto wasn't easy for him. She could tell that he was uncomfortable even mentioning the bitch's name in her presence. It almost made her laugh. If the stakes weren't so high and the consequences of failure so dire, she might have.

"I've been doing what I can to convince Rodolphus that I'm on his side. Hasn't been easy. Alecto has been able to help me get further along in the process than I would on my own. For whatever reason, he trusts her. I've been trying to get him to believe me to be a valuable ally."

"And does he?"

"I think we're making progress. I've been trying to get him to offer me a place on the Wizengamot. My great-grandmother was an Ollivander and since Garrick died years ago, there aren't any others. I have a cousin who married one of the Hufflepuff Smiths, but I don't think she's the least bit interested in the seat. We're the only ones left. My brother and sister certainly don't want it either. They've been trying their best for decades to pretend I don't even exist."

Family was a sore subject for Augustus. Like so many other Death Eaters who were convicted after the first wizarding world, his family was embarrassed to discover his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Hermione couldn't even generate the usual sympathy for the man she once loved because she was annoyed.

"Does _everyone_ know about Rodolphus' plans? I'm always the last to know everything."

Augustus didn't answer her question. He grew increasingly uncomfortable. She got the impression that she was being shielded again. It was a maddening, infuriating feeling. Did everyone think that she was so weak and sensitive that she would just break at the first sign of any stress? She couldn't understand why everything was so different. There was a time when Augustus didn't treat her that way. And, there were years when her husband didn't try to protect her from the dangers of the scary world. Had she really changed _that_ much? She hated how she was treated.

"So you and Alecto? Don't tell me you're in love with her."

It was Augustus' turn to be annoyed and Hermione felt the slightest bit of satisfaction.

"No, but I'll admit it's nice to be with someone who doesn't hate me. More than I can say for the current Mrs. Rookwood."

"The Dark Lord is dead, Augie. Get a divorce."

"We're already working on it. I've been instructed to go to France to retrieve my belongings in the next month or she's going to burn them."

"Lovely woman."

His mood could change even faster than hers at times. No longer annoyed, he went straight to melancholy and serious.

"She used to be. We were so in love once. It's my fault. I made so many mistakes."

"We all did, but please tell me you're not considering marrying Alecto."

It was just what they needed to break the serious moment. Both of them laughed at the idea. Of course Hermione didn't think that he was about to rush straight into marriage with another odious witch just because his first marriage was ending. He'd spent most of his life living essentially on his own. It wasn't like he _needed_ someone with him to fill any hole.

"Merlin, no! Can you even imagine?"

"She would think that she's finally put one over on me. She gets to marry you while I was refused. She'd jump at the chance. That and I highly doubt anyone has _ever_ wanted to marry her."

Even though she knew it was completely crazy, an idea came to Hermione that she just couldn't shake. If Augustus wanted to prove to Rodolphus that he was loyal to him, what better way to do that than to prove his loyalty to one of his most trusted allies?

"You know, maybe you _should_ marry her."

Augustus grimaced, but she waved off his concern with her hand. There was a time for being patient and staying above-board. This was _not_ one of them. If Augustus wanted on the Wizengamot, her idea really wasn't that insane.

"I'm going to kill her soon, so it wouldn't even matter. You won't be stuck with her long. But, if you prove that you're willing to marry her, maybe Rodolphus would bring you in closer. For reasons I don't understand, he actually values Alecto as a friend and associate."

Even though her plan wasn't a bad one at all, Augustus was reluctant. Not that Hermione could blame him. She repeated her promise that she would make him a widower in no time. Slowly, he started to soften.

"Do you really think she'd marry me?"

"Yes, without question. How quickly can your divorce be finalized?"

"Quickly. I just have to go to France and sign some forms."

"Go, get divorced, and come back here and propose. Suggest that you elope. She'll find that romantic. Once Rodolphus promises you a seat, I can finally kill her. Then you get to be the furious widower seeking revenge. It's perfect."

She was almost certain that he was convinced. A sudden tension sprang up between them when he turned serious.

"I always hoped if I got married again that…"

"Augie, please don't."

He sighed.

"I will never win, will I? Not against him. You'll _always_ choose him over me. You're not even aware you're in love with him, are you?"

There was no opportunity to dispute his ridiculous assertion. When he rose to his feet, she knew that their conversation was effectively over. She stood too, anxious to get away from him as quickly as possible. Though she knew it wasn't unreasonable of him to bring up their past, she wished he wouldn't. It was too hard to look back. Augustus led her back to the front door, opening it before she had a chance to convince him to let her stay just a little bit longer.

"I'll do as you suggest. Maybe it'll even work."


	303. October 29th

October 29th

Half a dozen times Hermione started to return to Cornwall to tell Augustus she'd made a terrible mistake in suggesting he actually marry Alecto. What sort of madness would compel her to encourage the man she once loved to leave one miserable marriage and enter into another with a half-mad woman he didn't love? Sometimes she could be the most selfish person alive. She hadn't always been that way. Experiences and disappointments molded her into that creature. Not even becoming a mother cured her of that odious trait. How many times did she forget Oliver completely? More than she was comfortable with.

Hermione focused on whether or not she should convince Augustus not to go through with the plan because she didn't want to think about the last words he said to her before she left Cornwall. Of course, the more she tried _not_ to think about them, the more they bothered her and consumed her entirely. Why was everyone so convinced that she was in love with her husband? It didn't make the least bit of sense to her. Augustus wasn't the only one to suggest such a bizarre idea. Yes, she cared for Antonin. Once he was even her best friend. But did respect and fondness mean that she was in love with him? She didn't think so. No one knew the details of their relationship except for the two of them. If Antonin believed that she loved him as much as everyone else seemed to, why would he be so jealous of the other men that had been in her life before him? She couldn't reconcile those thoughts.

Because it had been almost a week since she last saw her husband and for no other reason, she decided to check in with him. Waiting until it was dark made the day creep by slowly. Whoever thought that being in the middle of a war was nothing but non-stop excitement clearly had never been inside of one before. There was a lot of boredom. Many hours that passed with nothing to do. Was it any wonder that so many people went mad in the middle of them? It wasn't just the violence.

She stared at her husband's wristwatch for several long moments before she cast the spell on it just outside of the Three Broomsticks. Given to him when they had only been married a few months, she hadn't put much thought into it when she bought it. He didn't know that. Every single day from his fiftieth birthday until the day she stole it from him weeks earlier, he'd worn it proudly and faithfully. Would he still cherish it if he knew the truth? Deciding that it didn't matter and she was just trying to delay her visit for a reason she didn't understand fully, she cast the spell. When the watch glowed blue, she Disapparated from Hogsmeade.

Returning to Aubin's cottage was one of the last things she ever wanted to do again. When the squeezing of the Apparition stopped and she saw the abandoned cottage looming up ahead, Hermione grew worried. Did she make a mistake? Was she stepping straight into a trap? She couldn't understand why Antonin would be there. With her wand held out in front of her, prepared to curse anyone who was unfriendly, she carefully pushed the door open.

Antonin spun around in a single fluid motion when he heard the sound of her entrance. Prepared to curse anything that moved, when he saw his wife standing in the doorway, he immediately relaxed. Hermione was thankful that he didn't curse first and look second. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd inadvertently struck her with a curse when she caught him unaware.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"Looking for you. What are _you_ doing here?"

He relaxed even further when she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Nothing in the cottage was different from the day she was attacked by Aubin and William Wood. If she caught Antonin in the middle of ransacking the place in search of something, she must've caught him only minutes after he first arrived.

"I've hit a wall in my search for Aubin. I think someone is hiding him. Hoped that I might find some sort of clue in here to tell me where to go next."

"When you find your brother, what are you going to do to him?"

"Kill him. He threatened my son and tried to kill my wife. He's no brother of mine. Not anymore."

It wasn't easy for him to make such a bold declaration. Even if he wasn't particularly close to his brothers and he had gone many years between visits with them before, he still valued blood. The chill in Antonin's voice reminded his wife of how deadly he could really be. He was not an enemy that anyone wanted to have. Hermione could never understand why her brother-in-law had been foolish enough to attack her. Perhaps he was arrogant enough to believe that he wouldn't fail in his mission to kill her and that his brother would never know he was responsible. She didn't blame the horrible wizard for hiding. If Antonin ever found him, he would be in more pain than he could imagine. The same went if _she_ was the one who found him. She hadn't been an expert at her job for nothing after all.

"Do you think that you could track Aubin the way you track me?"

Hermione didn't see why she couldn't. As long as she was able to get one of his possessions, it should work. Draco made her swear a vow that she would never tell anyone the spell he taught her. Now that the world was different and the Dark Lord was dead, she didn't understand why it was such a big deal to him that his spell remain a secret, but she wasn't one to break vows when they were made. Unless they were of the marital kind. Those she'd broken more often than she kept them.

"I won't tell you the specific incantations or how it really works because I promised the one who taught me that I would keep it a secret, but I can tell you that we need one of Aubin's personal possessions to cast it on."

"He owns everything in this house."

"It still may not work. He inherited most of it and I don't know if that makes a difference or not. And he hasn't been here in years except for the night he…"

She couldn't finish her sentence. Not with the stricken expression on her husband's face when she brought up the night she was tortured almost to death. It was a failure of his as her husband in his mind. Maybe there would never be a day they could talk about it openly without him looking as if he was going to vomit. Annoyed that it might not work, Antonin kicked at the sofa, knocking it backwards several inches. Hermione had a suspicion where Aubin might've been hiding. And if it was the place she thought it was, Antonin was doing an excellent job of avoiding it. That knowledge lifted her spirits ever so slightly.

Excusing herself to slip into the bedroom, she wanted to see if maybe her brother-in-law accidentally left something behind when he tried to kill her. Immediately after stepping into the bedroom, Hermione felt her stomach roil and rumble. It was no wonder that Antonin had been so afraid when he arrived at the cottage and couldn't find her. Blood was everywhere. How she managed to stay alive long enough for Draco to pour three vials of blood replenishing potion down her throat at his flat was a miracle. Her experience and special set of skills taught her exactly how much blood a human body could lose without it being fatal. She'd been very close to tipping over that edge.

Macabre fascination kept her from leaving the bedroom. Antonin didn't follow her. Not that she blamed him. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn't have wanted to see his blood in a massive puddle on the floor. Just thinking about it made her want to be sick. Imagining him not being in her life wasn't something she was prepared for yet. Even when she was on the run for a year he still loomed large in her life. Maybe there was a slight bit of truth to Augustus' statement the day before.

The light from the end of her wand caught something in the middle of the room. Pushing past her squeamishness that she was about to be stepping across dried stains of her own blood, Hermione went towards the object. A single silver button lay on the floor. She didn't recognize it as belonging to any set of robes she owned and Antonin didn't care for such showy buttons. His brother, however, had always been the sort to prance around in the finest robes he could afford. Where he got his money was a mystery. She never cared to spend enough time with him in conversation to ask. Not ready to show it to her husband just in case it did take her to the hiding place she was almost certain Aubin was in, she slipped it into her pocket.

"I couldn't find anything in the other room that he might have left. Guess I'll just pick something at random to cast it on."

She picked up a pillow from the sofa to test. Because of Draco's lesson about fabric being poor conductors of the magic the spell used, she tried to cast it. If Aubin was where she believed him to be, there were more secrets that would be uncovered if she took Antonin. Secrets that she wasn't ready for him to know yet. Though she was relieved when the spell didn't work, her husband was furious.

"I'm sorry, Antonin, but we need to find something that he's held recently."

Running his hands across his face in frustration, she could tell that her husband was reaching the end of his tether. She gently tugged his hands away from his face. Thirteen years of marriage taught her one way to calm him down with very little effort. She pressed her lips gently against his, unprepared for the passionate onslaught of emotions that accompanied the simple gesture. Antonin needed something to keep his mind off of his disappointment.

There was nothing that would ever persuade either one of them to enter into the bedroom they used to share again. Not when it was still coated in her blood. Without removing his lips from hers, Antonin led his wife backwards over to the sofa he'd abused. Needing to feel the warmth of her body, they didn't even bother to remove their clothes. A sharp tug ripped her knickers away and she was only just able to pull his trousers down to his hips before he was insistent that he needed to be inside of her. Not that she minded. Each of his hard thrusts into his wife reminded Antonin that she wasn't dead, that despite the carnage in the next room, she'd lived. With such an intensity of emotions in both of them, they didn't require much time to reach the culmination of their pleasure. He collapsed on top of her, holding her tightly against him. She reveled in the feel of his heavy weight. It reminded her that she wasn't alone. She was weary of being by herself. Maybe she didn't have to be.

"Would you like your watch back?"

Her true meaning wasn't missed by Antonin. Leaning up to stare at her face, he kissed her before he spoke.

"Nothing else in this world would give me greater pleasure, my love, than to have you by my side again, but I don't think this is the right time. The more I've thought about it since we were last together, the more I'm worried that Rodolphus will only become even more aggressive to keep us apart."

He was right. Next time, Rodolphus wouldn't use an old secret to tear them apart. Or even a new one. He likely would go straight to murder to fulfill his desires. She kissed him, allowing her lips to linger against his for several seconds.

"You're probably right. I suppose we need to worry about getting rid of our enemies first or we might not even have a future at all."

Before he could utter a response, a vibrating in his trousers startled them both. Laughing, he reached into the pocket to pull out the silver mirror he'd shown her during their last visit. When he opened it, he closed it immediately before Thorfinn could even speak. He kissed her again and climbed to his feet.

"I'm very sorry, but I need to go."

Once his trousers were adjusted, Antonin kissed her a final time and rushed out of the cottage. No longer needing to remain in the horrible cottage, Hermione stepped outside. The aura of the building was unsettling. She hoped she would never return. It needed to be burned down in her opinion. Feeling very tired, she wanted nothing more than to return to her bed in the Three Broomsticks.


	304. October 30th

**Author's Note _: rabradley09, I can't PM you because your PMs are turned off. No, Hermione cannot get pregnant. And for those who are curious, no, that will not change. There will be NO babies in this story. Let me repeat that: NO babies. Lol!_**

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October 30th

Hermione didn't realize it was already past midnight when she left Aubin's cottage. Taking only a few moments outside of the hateful structure to catch her breath, she thought about the inn that she'd made her temporary home. As much as she was beginning to loathe and despise the place, it offered her a warm bed and a roof over her head. Until she was given reason to believe that Rodolphus wasn't serious in his demands that she be kept from harm, she saw no reason to leave. Thanks to his nephew's prodigious tracking skills, if he wanted to find her, he would. No matter where she tried to run, she'd be found.

After arriving outside the front door of the Three Broomsticks, she didn't hesitate to enter the lively establishment. One step in and she was surprised to see the massive form of Thorfinn Rowle still seated at what had become his usual table looking to be in no hurry to move. Antonin had only _just_ left her less than a minute or two earlier. He'd been contacted by the enchanted mirror. Why did Thorfinn seem as if he didn't have a care in the world?

Were there more than just two mirrors? The first time she witnessed Antonin use his, he wasn't bothered by Hermione learning that he was in contact with his best friend. It bothered her when she stopped to consider the moment they were still laying on the sofa in the cottage. Before whomever was contacting Antonin could even speak, he'd closed the mirror. That told her that whoever was trying to contact him was someone Hermione knew and a voice she would recognize. Clearly, her husband didn't want her to know what was happening. Just one more example in an ocean of them why she needed to move on. As safe as she felt in his arms, it was worthless if he couldn't trust her.

Maybe she was just being paranoid. Recent events certainly gave her the opportunity to look into everything more closely than perhaps she should. Wanting nothing more than just a hot shower and her bed, she turned towards the staircase. Directly in her line of sight, in front of the massive fireplace and in the pathway towards the stairs, was Rodolphus. He sat at a small table sipping at a glass of fire whiskey watching the door. Of course he was waiting for her to return. It had been a few days since their last interaction after all. There was no possible way to get to her room without passing by him first.

And he knew it. No doubt it was exactly why he'd placed himself at that particular table to begin with. When Rodolphus saw her, he smiled and waved her over. Though tempted to turn around and head back outside into the night air, Hermione made her way towards the horrible man. He would only follow if her if she tried to leave. His previous visit proved that he knew how to get into her room even when she used protective wards. At least if she went to him he might get whatever it was he wished to speak to her over with quickly and she could retire for the night. One could hope, at least.

Rodolphus stood to his feet to wait for her to join him at his table. Ever the gentleman, it was easy to forget what an absolute nightmare he could be when he put his best manners on. Not that she would ever be fooled again. She'd gone down that road before and it yielded nothing but heartache. If she ever had the opportunity to get a time turner in her possession again, she wouldn't hesitate to go back in time to be certain she never fell for the man's pretty words. He was an expert in persuasion and seduction. It was embarrassing to remember that she hadn't even needed his damned potions in the beginning. She went to him willingly and freely.

"You've been out late."

"Are you my father, Rodolphus?"

He laughed as he held out her chair. There was no chance that he was going to let her pass him by without them having the conversation he'd been waiting for. Knowing that she wasn't going to win that fight, Hermione took a seat with a heavy sigh. If she had to be there, at least she wouldn't have a good attitude about it. He didn't deserve her to be at her most pleasant and charming. Not when she was exhausted and weary down to her very bones of the situation she found herself in. Would there ever be a moment in her life when she could just take a deep breath without fear or worry or concern that she was in danger? Probably not.

"I certainly hope I'm not your father. What we've done in the past would be so much naughtier if I was."

She wasn't in the mood to even crack a smile at his attempt at a joke. Was he the reason why Thorfinn contacted Antonin with his mirror? If so, was Antonin nearby watching everything unfold? He still had Harry's invisibility cloak. Maybe he was standing right next to their table listening to every single word that they said. It was a sobering thought. She would have to measure her words carefully.

But, the more she thought about it, the less her theory made sense. If it was Thorfinn in the mirror, why would he keep the fact that Rodolphus was waiting downstairs in the building that she slept each night away from her? Wouldn't he have warned her that she could be in potential danger? There was a time in her past when she lived for those sorts of mysteries. All she wanted in that moment was to walk away. Politics and intrigue no longer brought her the least bit of joy.

"Why are you here, Rodolphus? I'm tired."

"I'm simply here enjoying a drink at my favorite tavern. Why must you assume I have any sort of agenda?"

"Because you _always_ do. Nothing you do is done without a reason."

His smile was unnerving. Even without giving her confirmation, she knew that she'd spoken true. He refilled his empty glass with the bottle in the middle of the table. Another empty glass proved that he had indeed been waiting for her. She didn't accept it when it was offered. No matter his reasons for seeking her out, she knew that she had to keep her wits about her to survive. Besides, if she accepted a drink, he might get the wrong idea. She didn't want to give him the impression that she actually enjoyed being around him. Not anymore. Those days were well and truly gone, tucked away in the past she wished she could forget.

"Have you considered more about my offer?"

"What offer?"

It was too late for her to go along with his games. Maybe she would've humored him in the past, but not that night. Frustrated with the man who seemed oblivious to her anger and discomfort, Hermione had to fight back the urge to curse him right in his face. What good would that do? She didn't want to make him an open enemy just yet. His decades more of experience coupled with his ruthlessness would make him a formidable enemy that she wasn't certain she could defeat on a traditional playing field. But she also couldn't let him continue to make such ridiculous offers considering their shared past.

"Why would I want to live with the man that manipulated my mind for years?"

"Hermione…"

"No! You're not going to lie to me again and say that you didn't do anything to my mind. I'm sick of your lies."

Her voice carried further across the room than she intended. Some of the other patrons were turning their head in her direction, curious by the tone she used or the content of their conversation. She wasn't sure which. Even Thorfinn was watching them out of the corner of his eye. Of course, he likely had been doing that from the moment she entered the room. He wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was. If she really wanted to be honest, she couldn't afford to let anyone else eavesdrop. Hermione didn't speak another word until the immediate area they were seated in was covered with effective silencing spells.

"I remember you telling me on my son's eleventh birthday that I was going to forget everything about our _relationship,_ but as soon as you were ready for me, you would unlock them. What the bloody hell does that mean?"

Rodolphus reached across the table to cup her cheek in his palm. Startled by the sudden touch and invasion of her space, she froze. Why did he have to put his hands anywhere near her? It was awkward and uncomfortable. Knowing that Thorfinn was watching their interaction unfold made it so much worse. Would he mistake their moment for intimacy? Would he report back to his best mate, her husband?

"I want you by my side, love. Don't you remember how we used to lay awake at night and talk about all of our plans for the world when the Dark Lord was finally dead?"

She didn't. Since she was removed from her broom cupboard and forced to come face to face with the monster who would become her master for twenty years, she'd been afraid to speak so openly. Talking about the Dark Lord dying seemed to her to teeter on the edge of outright blasphemy. Hadn't he proven himself incapable of dying? While she felt differently months after she learned that he _could_ die, the visceral reaction to having someone mention his mortality and fallibility was still present. It was something she didn't like to consider. Over the years she'd turned in countless enemies of the regime for saying much less. No matter what Rodolphus claimed, she just couldn't imagine that she would've ever willingly had a conversation with him, in bed or not, where they talked about the world after their master's fall.

"We had so many dreams of how we could make this world ours. I want you back at my side."

It was all too much. Hermione couldn't bear another moment in the wizard's presence. He wasn't speaking sense. Had he finally cracked? Deciding that she'd had more than enough of her fill, she removed the spells that had them seated in a secure bubble and stood up from her chair. Rodolphus rose too. He reached for her hand with his.

" _Please_ come home with me, love. I can't bear the thought of you spending another night in this wretched place."

"No. I like it…"

Her response was cut off in the middle by the press of his lips against hers. Boldly in front of everyone in the Three Broomsticks, including her husband's personal spy, Rodolphus put all of his emotion into the act. At first she was too startled by the abruptness to push him away. The wizard used her hesitancy to his advantage at first. When she had her wits about her again, Hermione placed both of her hands on his chest and pushed him forcefully away.

She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Thorfinn leave though the front door. There was simply no way that he didn't see Rodolphus kiss her in front of everyone, and considering she didn't push him away, it must have looked like she was actually enjoying what was happening. Antonin was sure to get an earful about his traitorous wife's activities in public. With one last final glare at Rodolphus, Hermione stormed up the stairs to the privacy of her room. She was grateful that he didn't feel the need to disturb her again.


	305. October 31st

**_Author's Note \- Please remember that I am unable to answer your questions if you don't sign in. Guest, the answer to your question is in an upcoming chapter. Good catch. ;) No one else noticed (or they didn't tell me if they did). All will be revealed... eventually._**

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October 31st

Halloween was always an important day in the Wizarding world. Not only was it a beloved holiday, but for the years between the end of the first wizarding war and the second, it was marked as the anniversary of the fall of Lord Voldemort. Once Harry was dead, however, no one mentioned the significance of the anniversary without fear of being reported. With her master dead, Hermione could only imagine how raucous the celebrations would get that year. She wanted no part of any of them. If she could simply get through the day, that would be good enough for her.

The visit she had with Rodolphus after she returned from spending part of the evening with Antonin continued to unnerve her. She spent hours dissecting and analyzing every word that he said. Still none of it made the least bit of sense. She couldn't remember ever having a single conversation with the wizard about the world following the Dark Lord's death let alone several. Either Rodolphus had a faulty memory or she did. Considering what her mind had gone through, she was more apt to believe it was her, but she just couldn't shake how wrong it all felt. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was insane. Rodolphus had more reason than most to lose his mind after so many years stuck in Azkaban and even more married to the psycho bitch.

Very little would encourage Hermione to leave her room while the holiday was still being celebrated. She wasn't in the mood. Afraid of what Antonin likely thought of her after hearing from Thorfinn about her public and passionate kiss, she didn't want to seek him out again until he had time to cool down. That left her with little to do than to plan her next move. She feared she was wasting valuable time in her hesitation. Each morning when she was first mentally assaulted with the images of every person she'd ever killed, she wondered if she had the necessary strength required to add even more souls to her list. Even if she planned on only killing those who truly deserved it, violence could get messy and confusing. Innocent bystanders often got caught up in the aftermath. Could her soul take more collateral damage?

She sighed and laid her body back down on the bed. The Three Broomsticks would probably be crowded and busy all day and all night until the blasted holiday was over. In years past she'd been able to enjoy Halloween, especially when she was at Hogwarts. At least in years when there wasn't a mountain troll in the girls' lavatory, of course. She envied Oliver his innocence. He was likely up at the castle that very moment excited about the feast he'd get to enjoy that evening.

It was slightly annoying to know so many people were happy when she was so miserable. The temptation to track Aubin down with his silver button just so she could torture and kill him to make him more miserable than she was crossed her mind briefly. But even that didn't sound appealing that day. She didn't think it was wise to try to track him and kill him when she was alone and she was without a suitable partner for the moment.

A knock at her door drew her out of her melancholy thoughts. She was glad for the distraction as she was starting to get on her own nerves. One of the young witches that worked for Madam Rosmerta stood outside in the corridor clutching a sealed message and looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Grateful to be relieved of her burden, the witch pushed the missive in Hermione's hand and rushed away. The girl's fear amused Hermione and helped to bolster her spirits. At least there were still some out there who were still afraid of her.

When she saw the official Hogwarts' seal on the back of the parchment, Hermione groaned. She could only imagine what she would find when she read the contents. Addressed to both of Oliver's parents, Professor McGonagall requested their presence at the castle as soon as possible in order to address a serious issue with their son. Even if her feelings about her former student were no longer as warm as they once were, Hermione knew Minerva McGonagall well enough to know that she would've mentioned in the letter if he was physically harmed. She wasn't worried enough to track down Antonin to join her for what was sure to be a scolding from her former Head of House. There was no need to bother her husband, and if she was honest with herself, she was still nervous about what his reaction to Thorfinn's report would be.

Not wishing to waste any more time, Hermione made her way to the ground floor of the inn. Hardly even mid-morning it was already filled with revelers and merrymakers. At least she could tell with one look in Thorfinn's direction that she wasn't the only one who was miserable. As soon as she stepped outside, she Apparated to the castle gates. A long walk would've done her some good, but she wasn't in the mood. Just a few steps towards the castle she heard someone behind her. Spinning on her heel with her wand at the ready, she was prepared to fight, if necessary. It was only Ron also holding a letter just like hers.

"Looks like our boys are both in trouble."

She couldn't help but smile at his statement. When her old friend caught up with her, they resumed their walk towards the castle together. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the walk to Professor McGonagall's office, but Hermione thought it nice to have him by her side again. Almost like they were back in school together and the miserable twenty years they'd just experienced never happened.

Minerva McGonagall attempted to be polite to her former students like she would with any other parents of her students, but the entire meeting was awkward and uncomfortable. Oliver and Hugo were caught outside of Gryffindor Tower past curfew the night before. As tempting as it was to laugh, especially when she caught Ron's eye, Hermione held it together. Their boys, it seemed, were repeating history. A fleeting thought about how stressed her former professor would've been if Harry was still alive with a troublemaking son of his own made her smile until the crippling depression of reality crushed it. No, that was a scenario better left unthought. It wasn't meant to be. Everyone's life was changed irrevocably that day in the Great Hall when Harry fell.

"I'm aware that I don't have to tell either of you so, but we are living in a very uncertain time. Both of you should be proud to have the sons that you do, but I'm concerned they are going down a path which they cannot return. A path where…"

"They will turn into us?"

Hermione's words caught Professor McGonagall off-guard, but the elderly witch did not dispute them. There was a time when the Transfiguration professor cared a great deal for the younger versions of the witch and wizard sitting on the other side of her desk. So much had changed since those days. It was impossible to go back. Likely she feared history would continue to repeat itself.

The rest of their meeting was tense and even a bit sad. Professor McGonagall informed the concerned parents that their sons would be punished accordingly for their rule-breaking and she implored them both to make certain their sons understood the severity of their actions. When they both made the appropriate promises that they would be sending their sons strongly worded owls, they were excused from her office. It was difficult to determine which of the three was more relieved when the entire tense, sad meeting was over.

Outside in the corridor, Ron didn't immediately run away from his old friend like Hermione expected him to. Lessons were still in session and there was no one within hearing distance. He checked and double-checked they were alone before speaking.

"Thought you might want to know that due to recent rows, Romy has taken the littlest children to her mum's house. We're not sure when or _if_ she's going to move back home."

A cheeky wink and a grin followed his announcement. Hermione chuckled. For the briefest of moments it felt like he was the same boy he used to be so many years earlier. Hogwarts was playing funny tricks on her. She was feeling entirely too nostalgic within its walls. When he'd passed along his message that she was free to 'attack' him at home, he winked again and headed for the main staircase.

She wasn't in a rush to leave the ancient structure. Taking her time walking down the familiar corridors, she wasn't even near the entrance when students began piling out of their classrooms. There was so much excited chatter that even she smiled again. Somehow it was impossible to stay in a terrible mood when there was so much innocent joy around her. Had she ever been like them? It was hard to remember.

At the end of the corridor, she saw the hateful Julia Lestrange. Not wishing to have any sort of interaction with the girl, Hermione slipped behind a tapestry she knew covered a hidden alcove. Perhaps it was silly to hide from the witch, but she wasn't in the mood for what was bound to be an uncomfortable conversation. And besides, the little bitch would probably whine to her daddy that the wretched Madam Dolohov had been mean to her again. She really didn't want to have to fend off any attacks from Rabastan. The less time she had to be in his presence, the happier she would be.

While waiting for the girl to pass by her hiding place, Hermione felt the temperature in the space drop several degrees quite quickly. She sighed. If she turned around, she knew she would see Fred. How she knew with any certainty was unclear, but she did. The thought of seeing him in his current state always depressed her. When he approached her in the past, she refused to look. Was she strong enough to turn around?

Fred was smiling at her when she was brave enough. Looking every bit as he did the day he died, she felt a sob choke in her throat. How could someone who had always been so vibrant in life be nothing more than a misty shadow? Life was unbearably cruel. The moment their eyes met, he winked at her just as he'd done countless times over the years that they knew each other. She used to cross his path in the corridor between lessons in the last couple of years they were in the castle together. Never, even when they'd been at each other's throats earlier in the day for something so unimportant she couldn't even remember what it was, did he fail to wink. It was the same when she would pass him on the stairs at the Burrow or at Number Twelve.

"Fred…"

"And here I was thinking all of these years that there was no possible way that you could grow more beautiful. How wrong I was."

His second wink coupled with his sweet words threatened to do her in. She wasn't sure that she would be able to withstand much more of his presence. It was too hard to see him, too hard to remember how he used to be.

"Why did you not move on? Why are you still here?"

He shrugged his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with the question, but never one to back down.

"I wanted to make sure that the people I loved and left behind were all going to be all right first."

His words were heavy with meaning. She willed the tears forming in the corners of her eyes to dry up.

"Did you come to me when I was locked in the broom cupboard?"

"Yes, I did, but it didn't seem like you wanted me there."

"No, it's just that I didn't think I could bear to see you as a…"

"A ghost?"

Even though he winked at her yet again while he spoke the dreaded word, she still felt the impact. She nodded in response, unable to trust herself to speak just yet.

"I like your son. He's great. Reminds me a lot of you."

"Thank you."

"I'll try to keep him from getting into _too_ much trouble."

She was grateful to know that Fred was keeping an eye on her son, but feared she couldn't be alone with him for much longer without crying. Fred understood that she was struggling. He gestured to the corridor.

"I think it's clear now."

After one last look at the smiling ghost of the young wizard who was killed way too soon, Hermione rushed out of the hiding place. She needed out of the castle. Even her room in the Three Broomsticks didn't seem so terrible.


	306. November 1st

November 1st

Following her unexpected but brief meeting with Fred in Hogwarts, Hermione sat at the bar in the Three Broomsticks and drank until she could almost forget how wretched her life was thanks to the fucking worthless Dark Lord. She'd wanted to be numb, like she always felt when she drank a vial of her favorite potion. Alcohol was a poor substitute. Not caring that those behind her back were celebrating the holiday, she continued to drink. She only had a very vague recollection of a large, muscular body carrying her up the stairs over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dropping her on top of the mattress with hardly any care or gentleness. At least she didn't have to worry about Thorfinn taking advantage in her intoxicated state. He wanted nothing to do with her. Likely a sense of responsibility because of her husband or nostalgia because of their past friendship was the only reason he bothered to make certain she made it back to her room safely.

She spent most of the day after Halloween recovering from her unwise indulgences. Even with all of the magic potions available to use, hangovers could still be a serious, uncomfortable problem. Sadly, magic didn't cure _everything_. If it did, her life would've been a lot easier. In so many ways, having magic only made her life more complicated. She didn't believe Muggles had to worry about nearly as much as she did.

After spending almost the entire day hiding under the covers, Hermione was bored. Bored and furious with herself. Why was she wasting so much time being afraid? Did someone throw her back inside her broom cupboard when she wasn't looking? The depressing thought that maybe she was _still_ stuck in that damned broom cupboard and the last twenty years of her life had been nothing but a figment of her imagination made her laugh. How awful would that be if it turned out to be the truth? She certainly was crazy enough to believe the possibility. Life wouldn't be _that_ cruel to her, would it?

But, after entirely too much time thinking and feeling sorry for herself, Hermione knew she had to do something. When darkness fell, she stepped outside of her temporary home to cast the tracking spell on Aubin's silver button. Even if she didn't end him that night, she wanted an idea of where he was hiding. She had her suspicions, of course, and wanted to know if she was right. Pushing away the nagging thoughts that she was being foolish by even considering tracking the cretin who tried to murder her alone, she clutched the button glowing blue with the spell and Disapparated.

When he feet landed in the same clump of trees she hid in with Draco the day she witnessed her husband's infidelity with Ginny Weasley, she wasn't surprised. No, it was _exactly_ where she thought she would end up. Ginny's relationship with Rodolphus was still something of a mystery, but not hers with William Wood. She would protect her best friend at all costs, even if it meant harboring his insane ex-boyfriend too.

She had to know for certain that her brother-in-law was in the house before she considered her next move. Creeping up on the small house was deceptively simple. Not once did she sense any indication that protective wards were in place in the immediate area or around the house. Antonin had been the best teacher she could've asked for when it came to protective wards and enchantments. The obvious absence of them was a serious cause for concern. Did Ginny care so little for her safety or was there something sinister at play? They were living in dark times after all.

Nothing prevented her from being able to sneak up on a window. She expected that the glass would've been enchanted to hide what was actually inside. To not find even the barest attempt at concealment bothered Hermione immensely. Did someone _want_ her or anyone else to stumble upon the house to see what was happening within? Any further questions racing through her mind were temporarily silenced by the entrance of her brother-in-law to the room she was spying on. Ginny crossed in front of the window moments later, seemingly unbothered by an attempted murderer in her house. If the two of them were present in a house together, it was only natural to assume that William Wood was inside as well.

Hermione was outnumbered to a dangerous degree. While she would confidently fight any two of them together, the addition of a third was cause for concern. She _might_ be victorious, but she really didn't care for her odds. Her first thought was to track down her husband for assistance. As much as she'd always felt confident and reassured with Antonin at her side during battle, he didn't feel like the right choice. She didn't completely trust him when he claimed he wanted his baby brother dead. He might change his mind when actually faced with the chance. And how would he react to Ginny being there? He claimed he wasn't in love with her and Ginny supported his claim. That didn't mean that he wouldn't still feel some sort of obligation to keep her safe. There was also the possibility that Maisie was in the house. Hermione wasn't ready for Antonin to know she existed. Maybe she never would be.

Her list of allies was frightfully short. Draco was out of the question. They hadn't even spoken since she left his flat. While she didn't doubt that he was still tracking her and reporting back to his uncle, he'd never made the effort to make his appearance known. Besides, he wasn't exactly known for his ruthlessness. He was the one to track down enemies and bring them to the others who actually bloodied their hands. Other than Draco, she _might_ have been able to call on Augustus for help, but considering his relationship with Alecto and the amount of time she supposedly spent at his house, she couldn't guarantee it. And there was also the possibility that he was still in France.

There was one person she felt confident would help her if she only dared ask. Her worry was that the price she would have to pay would be too high. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures. Sneaking back to the safety of the trees, Hermione took a deep breath and considered her choices once more. Reaching out to him for help could very well turn into a terrible decision that she might regret. Unfortunately, she had little choice. Barging in to Ginny's house alone could very well lead to her death. She needed someone whose side she'd fought at before.

Afraid that she would talk herself out of it if she didn't leave immediately, Hermione thought about the Lestrange Estate. Moments later she was standing outside the gates. She took another deep, fortifying breath to calm her nerves before she crossed over the boundaries. Never did the walk to the Dower House seem to pass so quickly. She was standing in front of Rodolphus' front door long before she was ready. A single knock brought a surprised, yet pleased manipulative arsehole to the door.

"Are you here to finally take me up on my offer? Does the Three Broomsticks have bedbugs?"

"I've found Aubin and likely Wood too. Did you mean what you said about wanting to make them pay for what they did to me?"

Anger that she hadn't seen him display in long years crept up into Rodolphus' eyes. Even though it wasn't directed towards her and it was even _because_ of what was done to her, Hermione still felt nervous. Had she made a mistake? The wizard was unpredictable, terrifying. Without hesitation he stepped outside and closed his front door behind him. She didn't even need him to answer her question. He was all in.

Outside of the gates, she reluctantly took his hand in hers. Feeling his skin against hers and the tightness of his grip when he squeezed made her want to run away. Convinced she'd made a terrible decision, it was too late to stop. Rodolphus would insist that she take him to where the two men could be found. He would never take 'no' for an answer.

Based on the muttered curse that came out of his mouth when he saw where they ended up, Rodolphus knew exactly where they were. It made Hermione even more curious about his partnership with Ginny. How closely was the redheaded bitch working with the insane man? His anger from earlier hadn't dissipated in the slightest. If anything, he was even more furious once he recognized the small house in the distance.

"Are you _certain_ that they're here?"

"I know Aubin is."

That was all the encouragement he needed. Rodolphus headed straight for the front door. A single spell from the end of his wand blasted the door off of its hinges. Hermione ran to catch up. She didn't want to miss a single moment.

There was chaos inside. Within seconds of crossing over the threshold, Rodolphus sent a stunner straight to William Wood's chest. The wizard collapsed to the hardwood floor before he could even pull his wand completely out of his pocket. Hermione was glad to see that she wasn't wrong about him being there. Ginny came running out of the bedroom with her wand out, ready to fight. When her eyes landed on Rodolphus and Hermione, she looked sick. No longer wishing to engage them, she turned around to run back inside the bedroom.

Aubin pushed Ginny out of the way in his haste to get out of the main room of the small house. The bedroom door slammed in her face and she screamed. There was a panic in her actions as she tried to open it back up. Hermione didn't get the impression that she was worried about her unexpected guests attacking her. No, she was more concerned with what was happening in the next room.

Before Ginny was able to blast the bedroom door to pieces, it opened all on its own. Hermione felt like she'd been punched in the stomach when she saw her worthless brother-in-law step outside of the bedroom holding little Maisie against his chest. The poor girl was terrified, sobbing. She looked as if she'd just been woken up from a deep sleep. A stuffed green dragon toy fell out of her hand when Aubin tightened his grip. His wand was pressed against the little girl's head. There was no mistaking what he was willing to do if the next few moments didn't go as he wished.

Ginny wanted to rip the man to pieces. When she lunged at Aubin, Hermione was right behind her to pull her back. Frustrated at being impeded, Ginny struggled against her grip.

"Stop, Ginny. He'll _kill_ her."

Aubin's laughter proved he was more amused by the situation he found himself in than frightened. Maisie's cries only made him more confident in his movements towards the front door.

"The Mudblood whore is right. I don't care if she is my niece or not."

Though it had been many years since Hermione found herself in a similar situation with an unhinged person using a human shield, she knew that she had to remain calm. Pushing aside her personal feelings for Ginny was surprisingly easy in that moment. All of her concern was about the innocent child.

"Let me out of this house or I'll hurt her."

Rodolphus was tempted to allow Aubin to carry through with his threats. What did the little girl mean to him? Absolutely nothing. She would just be another bit of collateral damage. Certainly wouldn't be the first time an innocent was injured or worse while he was on a mission. Realizing that he was very close to allowing Aubin to hurt Maisie, Hermione released her hold on Ginny. She was at Rodolphus' side in moments. Hermione was the only person present who could persuade him.

"No, Rodolphus. We can't let him hurt her. She's just a _child_."

The wizard's narrowed gaze was cold enough to send a shiver down Hermione's spine.

"I'm not sure I like all of the changes you've undergone, my dear. You used to not be so bothered by other people's children. Or your own for that matter."

"Roddy, _please_."

He rolled his eyes and stepped away from the hole where the door once stood. It was a gamble to let her brother-in-law run out of the house with the little girl in his arms, but they didn't exactly have a choice. Aubin wasn't the sort to make idle threats. Ginny was sobbing. When the sound of Aubin's Apparition filtered into the house and they watched him disappear with the girl, she was inconsolable.

Hermione didn't think that Aubin would keep Maisie for long. Just long enough for him to get away. Once he was safe, he would probably drop her and run again. The man had no morals or feelings beyond self-preservation. She watched the distraught Ginny pick up the dropped dragon toy. Holding it tightly, she cried without shame. The weight of the silver button in her pocket felt heavy. It wouldn't take long to track him again. But, if she was right, her husband's daughter was still in grave danger. Her choice wasn't easy. After pulling the button out and staring at it, she knew what she had to do.

"Ginny, give me her dragon. I'll find her."


	307. November 2nd

November 2nd

Maybe it wasn't the decision that she would've made in the past when she was faced with the possibility of finding and defeating one of her enemies, but Hermione knew that she was making the right decision when she ripped the plush dragon out of Ginny's hand. What was the point in her continuing to fight and live if the world was so bleak and violent that she would willingly sacrifice an innocent child for her own revenge? She wasn't the same person she used to be. Whether she was glad of that fact or not remained to be seen.

The dragon might have been made of fabric, but because it was evidently so dearly loved by its owner, there was no difficulty using the tracking spell on it. Once it glowed blue, Hermione Disapparated away from the house, leaving Ginny alone with Rodolphus and the still stunned Wood. She arrived at a darkened street corner. With the midnight hour come and gone, most of the activity in whatever town she was in was non-existent. It was the sort of place where the residents were in bed at decent hours. She was worried that she'd made a mistake with the spell until she heard the distinct sound of a child sniffling.

Maisie was alone, just as Hermione assumed she would be. If Aubin was stupid enough to cross her path again, she would strangle him with her bare hands. She was just a child! How could anyone with any hint of humanity do something so deplorable? What if Hermione wasn't the first person to find the little girl? There were a number of monsters, Muggle and magical alike, who would bring harm to her if she was found.

Hermione followed the sound of soft crying. It bothered her that the girl was being so quiet. How terrified was she? Was it common for her to have to be quiet? Part of her wanted to know what sort of existence the child had with Ginny, a fearsome Resistance leader and likely spy, as a mother, but she was afraid she would grow quite angry if she did discover it. Somewhere deep down inside of her, buried far enough down that she wasn't even sure that it still existed, was compassion.

"Maisie? I'm an old friend of your mummy's."

The sniffles stopped the moment Hermione said her name. Stepping closer to the small figure huddled next to what looked like a rubbish bin in the dark, she moved slowly, careful not to frighten her any more than she was already. She crouched down to get her face on the same level and held out her green dragon. Light from a nearby lamppost illuminated the area just enough that Maisie could see what she held. Relief was written all over the girl. She rushed towards Hermione, grabbed the dragon from her, and threw her arms around Hermione's neck.

Startled at first by the feel of the girl's tiny arms around her, Hermione froze. Maisie's renewed cries softened the older witch. Maybe some would find it odd that she wrapped her arms around the terrified child who was a product of an illicit affair between her husband and a woman she loathed to offer her comfort, but it felt right to Hermione. How could she be angry with an innocent child? Especially one who had been ripped out of bed away from her mother by a madman and dumped on a dark street all alone? Just as it wasn't Oliver's fault that he was born with two horrible parents, it wasn't Maisie's fault either. No matter what happened next, no matter what the future brought for either of them, she knew that her anger would always be placed right where it belonged: at the feet of the poor girl's parents.

She wasn't sure how much time passed with the terrified child in her arms before her tears slowed to a trickle and her hiccups abated. Probably just a couple of minutes. The girl wasn't a pampered weakling. Yet again, Hermione felt anger begin to well up inside of her chest. What sort of existence was the poor child living if she was so easily pacified? She didn't deserve to be afraid. No child did.

"Maisie, darling, do you know where the bad man went?"

"He left me… and… and he disappeared."

Hermione's anger only grew more potent. She knew that she would need an outlet for the emotions she was experiencing very soon or she'd be in danger of another magical outburst like she had the day she first snuck up to Ginny's house and peeped in the window. Aubin needed to die and she wanted to make it painful. With a promise that she would take her back to her mummy, Hermione tightened her grip on the girl and Disapparated them both back to the small house they'd only left a short time before.

The scene inside of Ginny's house was only slightly different when Hermione stepped over the threshold still holding Maisie close. It was impossible to miss Rodolphus' scowl. Evidently he didn't care much for what he was seeing, but Hermione didn't care. If it was up to him, he would've allowed Aubin to hurt the child. Ginny's relieved sobs mixed with Maisie's cry for her mother only made his mood worsen. She didn't hesitate to hand the child over to her mother. For an excuse to keep from looking at the annoyed wizard, Hermione looked around the room for the other occupant.

William Wood was no longer lying on the floor stunned. Conscious and also extremely relieved to see Maisie back in her mother's arms, he was tied to a dining chair next to the small corner that served as the house's kitchen. There was evident fear all over his features. He knew what was going to come next wasn't going to be good. Thanks to what he'd done to her, Hermione no longer felt the least amount of sympathy for the man. Once she did. No longer. He'd killed that back in his lover's cottage when he tried to kill her.

"Now that the child has been returned, it's time that we got on with the main event for the evening. Ginny, I suggest that if you don't want your daughter to see blood, you take her somewhere else."

"Is it really necessary to do this, Rodolphus?"

It was foolish to ask Rodolphus that question. Not caring in the slightest that she was still holding her young daughter, the wizard glared at Ginny and didn't even bother hiding the fact that he had his wand pointed in their direction.

"This man attempted to kill Hermione _twice_. Do I have to show you what it is I do to those who touch what is mine without my permission? I can assure you that you wouldn't like it. Neither would _she_."

His threat to the woman's child was unmistakeable. He was playing a dangerous game threatening a mother with violence against her child. Ginny hadn't stayed alive for twenty years fighting with the Resistance by being easily defeated. She was a formidable opponent, one that could very well be Rodolphus' equal in a duel. He would be wise to remember that fact.

But, it was a battle that Ginny wasn't prepared to fight in that moment. Not while she held Maisie. Turning her attention to her best friend, tears rolled down both of their cheeks. It would be goodbye forever when she walked out the front door unless something miraculous happened. Considering the fact that both Rodolphus _and_ Hermione were far more experienced in the act of torture and murder than the idiots who tried it on Hermione, there was very little chance that they would fail.

"Will, I…"

" _Go_ , Ginny. Take Maisie somewhere safe and far away from here. She doesn't need to see this."

"But…"

" _Go_."

With her voice heavy with emotion, Ginny whispered that she loved him as she ran out of the door with her daughter. Once the repaired and rehung door clicked shut behind her, the atmosphere in the house changed. While he'd been able to show _some_ strength while Ginny and the girl he claimed as his daughter were present, his resolve cracked. Even with his hands and feet tightly bound to the chair, he was still trembling. If Hermione had him restrained in one of the locked side-rooms of Level Eleven, he wouldn't last long. It was almost unsporting to hurt him.

"Would you like the first blood, my dear?"

Hermione thought back to that horrible night in Aubin's cottage. She'd been very close to death, likely closer than she ever had been before. Feeling weak and so _mortal_ disgusted her. She didn't want to feel that way again. Offering her partner only a silent nod, she didn't want to waste another moment.

" _Crucio_."

There was a large amount of satisfaction that she felt listening to the man's screams of pain. He'd enjoyed casting the same spell on her over and over again until she was certain that her body was only moments from giving out completely. It was a cruel way to go. Though she would never regret what she did to Amycus Carrow, knowing what he felt in his last minutes of life had been sobering. William Wood was as inexperienced at suffering under the Cruciatus Curse as he was at casting it. Only a minute after she first cast it, Hermione lowered her wand to break the connection. The wizard openly sobbed.

"How pathetic. He wouldn't have survived long in the Dark Lord's court would he, my dear?"

She couldn't agree more. Wanting to feel something more than just the dark magic course through her as she cast the Unforgivable, Hermione opened one of the drawers next to the sink. A large knife was easily found. Though not cursed like the one he used, she wanted him to feel more of the pain he made her suffer. He flinched, but didn't scream when she sliced the skin just under his right eye. Nothing compared to the Cruciatus, the slice was easily endured with little outrage. It was disappointing to say the least. Realizing she wasn't happy with her handiwork, Rodolphus removed the knife from her hand with an encouraging smile.

"Let me try."

He pointed his wand at the bare metal and muttered a curse. The blade glowed a deep red, like it had only just been removed from the fire. Retracing the same line that she used with her cut, Rodolphus pressed the tip of the glowing blade into the wound. Guttural screams erupted out of William Wood. Whatever curse Rodolphus used worked. Hermione smiled.

"Please no more!"

" _Pathetic_ , Wood. You didn't hear me begging for my life this early on when you did the same to me."

Rodolphus wanted more than to just cause the man pain. He had an agenda with his questioning. At first, Wood was reluctant to say a word. Perhaps he was trying to protect those he'd been working with. All it took was a little more pressure before he couldn't handle it any longer. Secrets poured out of him like a broken water jug.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone. Just _her_. She deserved it for killing my brother."

"Who else did you hurt?"

It wasn't just Rabastan who had a talent for interrogation in the Lestrange family. Hermione thought that he would've made a welcome addition to their department in the Ministry. Secret after secret spilled out. Most of them made very little sense to Hermione. Why did she care what the Resistance was up to? They were on their last legs anyway.

"Aubin was the one who killed Hannah Rowle. I didn't want anyone but _her_ to be harmed. Somehow he figured out that she was the Secret Keeper and knew that she needed to be killed. I thought we were just going to hurt _her_. I wouldn't have gone along with him if I knew he would be so cold."

Hermione long suspected that Aubin was somehow involved in Hannah's murder, but she hadn't been able to prove it. His tearful confession continued for several more minutes. Each time he insisted that he had nothing to do with Hannah, that he didn't want to hurt her. Hermione believed him. She also thought that the identity of Hannah's killer would be something that Thorfinn would desire. Maybe he'd even wish to track her brother-in-law down at her side.

" _Crucio_!"

She didn't spare him the final curse. Though she could tell that he was close to cracking, she didn't let up for at least five minutes. When she ended the spell, she knew that if she left him alive, he would never be the same. Good thing for him she had every intention of ending his miserable existence. She should've done it months ago, damn the cost! All it took was one flick of her wrist while Wood tried to catch his breath to open up the flesh at his neck. Deep red blood oozed out of his body at an alarming speed. He was dead in seconds.

"That was diverting. It's been a long time since I allowed myself to indulge."

Offering Rodolphus just a smile in response to his statement, Hermione didn't want to admit that she was feeling the same way. At least one of her problems was gone for good. She wouldn't have to worry about him tracking her ever again. Neither would Draco, for that matter. Perhaps by getting rid of Wood, she might've been helping him as well.

"Now what?"

"We track my brother-in-law."

Hermione pulled the silver button out of her pocket to show to Rodolphus. If Aubin decided to remain in the country, she would be able to find him whenever she was ready. The prospect of him making a run across the border was one she didn't cherish. It was hard enough to find him without that complication.

Taking one last glimpse at the cooling corpse of the hateful man that threatened to kill her for so long, Hermione couldn't even muster up a single ounce of regret. She did what had to be done. Her eyes fell onto the ripped sleeve of his robes. Afraid of what she was seeing, she grabbed his lifeless arm and pulled it closer to examine. A single piece of broken thread marked where a button was supposed to be. She dropped that arm and grabbed the other. A long line of colorful curse words that would've made even a sailor blush rumbled out of her mouth.

She'd tracked the wrong wizard. The silver button belonged to William Wood, _not_ Aubin. A thorough examination of the contents of the cottage came up empty for a possession of his. Hermione wanted to scream. She was back at the very beginning. Where Aubin was was anyone's guess.


	308. November 3rd

November 3rd

Slicing William Wood's throat open with a spell was immensely satisfying for Hermione. Though it was an act that she'd committed numerous times over her years as a Death Eater, especially when she was an interrogator, somehow it had never felt so _good_ before. Not even Theodore Nott Senior's execution felt so good. While there was a part of her that could sympathize with the dead wizard and his desire to avenge his murdered younger brother, she mostly didn't care. She killed Oliver Wood because she _had_ to. Either he was going to die alone or she was going to die right along with him. It didn't make the least bit of sense to sacrifice her life for someone that was going to die either way. Anyone who couldn't understand her reasoning was clearly not intelligent enough to understand logic.

She returned to the Three Broomsticks shortly after she left Ginny's house. What was going to be done with Wood's body wasn't a concern of hers or Rodolphus'. In twenty years, she couldn't recall very many instances that she worried much about a person's remains once she killed them. Their world was only for the living. She allowed other people to worry about the dead. Because of the late hour, no one was downstairs when she pushed open the door to the iconic establishment. Not even Thorfinn and he was usually _always_ there. Once she took a long, hot shower to clean the filth of the night from her skin, including an impressive amount of blood on her face that splashed back when she slit his throat, Hermione slipped under the covers of the bed and fell deep asleep.

There would be no public mourning for the wizard she killed. His name wouldn't appear even in a short blurb in the Daily Prophet. Only the most senior and feared Resistance members were ever mentioned in print. Perhaps there would be some within the ranks of the Resistance that would be saddened to hear of his passing, but she didn't care. He was like a rabid dog that needed to be put down out of its misery. There would be no peace for Hermione in a world where he still lived. As excellent as she felt after killing Wood, she hoped that she wouldn't have to wait too long before she could repeat it with Aubin. She just had to find him first.

One of Rosmerta's barmaids carried a plate piled high with breakfast across the main room to Hermione's table only moments after she finally emerged from her room. Torture and murder could be exhausting. She'd spent much of the previous day asleep. Utilizing the amount of dark magic that she did for a long period of time could be quite draining. She was still tired and could've probably slept the rest of a second day away if she desired. When she saw the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet, all hint of exhaustion disappeared. Her loud, unexpected laughter caught several in the Three Broomsticks off-guard. It was a sound that wasn't always positive when it came out of her mouth.

"I can't believe he actually did it."

She didn't care that she was talking to herself. Splashed across the front page was a wedding announcement. Though usually banished to the back pages of the newspaper, the sudden and unexpected elopement of the Daily Prophet's newest Senior Reporter was big news. Alecto Carrow was officially Alecto Carrow-Rookwood. The horrible witch that no one ever thought would get married somehow managed to snag herself the respected former Ambassador of sorts to France as a husband. Even seeing a picture of the 'happy' couple sealing their vows with a kiss in a moving picture was hard to fathom.

Alecto was a truly desperate woman. Hermione didn't believe for a single second that the witch that had once been considered a close friend truly loved Augustus. No, he was simply an opportunity. She'd never once even hinted at it, but she didn't believe Alecto had ever been in a relationship long enough or serious enough for marriage to even be a consideration. It was why she didn't doubt that she would jump at the chance to marry Augustus if he simply asked.

Hermione felt sorry for her ex-lover. After _finally_ getting out of his first horrible marriage, he jumped right into another with a woman that was even nastier. But, she did promise to make him a widower early on. Once Augustus was allowed to be a part of Rodolphus' plans, she would get rid of his pesky inconvenience of a wife. Maybe after Alecto's untimely death he could move on and find a woman he loved that could love him back the way he deserved. That woman certainly wasn't Hermione. She would bring him nothing but even more misery. Possibly even more than both of the other women he'd already married combined.

No longer the least bit interested in finishing her breakfast, Hermione stood up from the table and immediately went outside. It was likely wiser to wait until it was dark to track down her husband again, but she wanted to talk to him. Was he aware of the reason for Augustus marrying Alecto? She wanted him to know that he was doing what he could to become another person on the inside for their benefit. Considering all that Rodolphus did to Hermione, Augustus wasn't foolish enough to fall into his trap and actually _believe_ his rubbish. At least Hermione didn't think he would. She had to confess that sometimes, especially after thirteen years away from the wizard while he was stuck in France under the Dark Lord's orders, she didn't exactly know the man. Not like she used to. Of course, maybe she _never_ knew him to begin with. Maybe she never knew _anyone_. Their world wasn't exactly one that was conducive to being entirely open and honest with those in similar circles.

She was surprised to track Antonin back to the same holiday cottage he'd been in when she spent those enjoyable two nights with him. Wasn't it unsafe for him to be in the same places for long? He was operating outside of the norm, rubbing elbows with the scum of the Resistance. Every day he was in danger. For what, she was still not sure. Her husband, just like Rodolphus, was playing a game she didn't know all of the rules to. It was exhausting.

Antonin answered the door after her first knock. Seemingly in a rush to pull open the door, he was surprised to find his wife standing just outside. Hermione wondered if he was expecting someone else and if so, who? A stab of jealousy pricked at her heart.

"Disappointed it's me?"

His kiss did nothing to dispel the feeling that he didn't really want her there. It was something that she'd felt many times over the years they'd been married. In the past when she was drugged out of her mind on her potions and didn't care much for her husband to begin with, she didn't mind. In that moment, however, she felt the urge to run away to lick her wounds in private. So much happened since the night the Lestrange brothers were successful in tearing down the united front that they'd been able to develop and strengthen.

"Of course I'm not disappointed to see you, Hermione. Just surprised. Come inside."

He ushered her back inside the cottage. Memories of the two nights she spent there flashed through her mind. For the first time since that horrible night Oliver was attacked at Hogwarts, she'd actually believed they would be okay when they were wrapped in each other's arms. Once Antonin was her best friend, the one person she trusted more than any other. How did they get to the place where she didn't even think he wanted her in the same room?

"I assumed you would've moved on to somewhere else by now."

Antonin shrugged his shoulders.

"It's quiet here and those who need to know where I am know about this place."

She hated that she felt so uncomfortable around the man she married. But, instead of dwelling on the awkwardness of their meeting, she changed the subject to something she knew he would want to know.

"I found Aubin and William Wood two nights ago. Wood is dead."

His wide eyes proved that he didn't already know what happened. If he'd been in contact with Ginny, she would've told him everything. Though it was the smallest bit of reassurance that he wasn't still having clandestine meetings with the bitch, it helped calm Hermione only slightly. She worried that she would always feel jealousy when it came to Ginny. Didn't even matter that the younger witch was under the impression that Antonin wasn't in love with her. Ginny had a way, even when they were much younger and still friends, of bringing out the insecurities in Hermione that very few others had. She felt in most ways that she fell short when she was compared next to the pretty Quidditch player that all of the boys in the castle liked. Some insecurities would never go away.

"What happened?"

"I killed Wood. But, he was able to give me some information about the Resistance and a few other matters."

"Like what?"

"Oh, nothing all that interesting, honestly, but it didn't take much to crack him. Even if I didn't hate him so much, I would've killed him just to put him out of his misery. Pathetic really."

She wasn't sure why she wasn't rushing to tell Antonin that Aubin was the one who murdered Hannah. Wasn't that just the sort of thing that Thorfinn needed to know? The massive wizard wouldn't rest until the monster who murdered his precious wife was in pieces. Something in the back of her mind told her to keep that secret to herself for the time being. Maybe it would work to her benefit later. William Wood confessed that the reason Aubin suspected Hannah was the Secret Keeper was because he'd been watching his cottage for days before they attacked them in Hogsmeade. When the only person that came and went from the cottage other than the Dolohovs was Hannah, he made an assumption. Aubin was cruel enough that he was willing to just _assume_ that Hannah was the one he needed to kill. If she wasn't, he would've just moved on to the next suspect. The callous manner in which he murdered an innocent woman would've sent both Thorfinn and Antonin into terrifying fits of rage. She wanted to wait until the perfect moment to drop that bombshell. Mostly because she wanted to be present when he was eradicated from existence.

Providing only the barest of details, she explained how she tracked Wood to Ginny's house. Her husband shifted uncomfortably when he discovered that his former mistress was responsible for harboring the fugitive. Hermione left out all mention of Maisie, of course, and didn't explain the depths of depravity Aubin fell to in his quest to run away. She also didn't mention that Rodolphus was there with her. Antonin wouldn't have approved of her utilizing the wizard for any reason. In his mind, she needed to stay as far away from him as physically possible.

"But my brother?"

"Got away, I'm afraid. I thought I was tracking him, but I was actually tracking Wood. I have no idea where Aubin is."

Antonin pulled her back into his arms to kiss her for a second time. Though not as stiff as the first kiss he offered in greeting, it still felt strange. Almost as if he was doing it simply because it was what he was _expected_ to do. She wanted to be no one's obligation.

"I'm so glad that you're all right."

She didn't doubt his words, but she couldn't deny that something felt _off_ between them. Had she imagined that they were on a better footing after the last couple of times they'd been together? Even when they were back in Aubin's cottage and he'd taken her in a fit of passion on the sofa, she worried that she was imagining that he was upset with her. Likely he could tell that she was keeping secrets from him. Just like she could tell he was as well. Remembering what happened only a short time after she left the cottage, Hermione decided to confess to the kiss she shared with Rodolphus in the middle of the Three Broomsticks.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did."

There was a small smile on his face, but Hermione didn't get the impression that he believed what she was saying. At the very least he appeared to be struggling. Annoyed and feeling defensive, she practically barked out a question.

"Do you not believe me?"

He wouldn't answer immediately. She could feel anger rising up inside of her, looking for an outlet.

"I thought you were all for me moving back in with you. Didn't you promise me that I never had to be alone again if I just said the word?"

With a deep sigh, Antonin wasn't in the mood to continue their discussion. Hermione knew the signs. She'd learned to pay attention to them for twenty years.

"And I meant it… until Thorfinn told me about Rodolphus entering your room. He listened at the door. Said it didn't sound like you were upset he was there."

"That's _not_ true. I was terrified. He caught me when I was in the bath and…"

In the middle of her explanation, Hermione stopped. She couldn't believe they were actually having the discussion they were. Did Antonin _truly_ believe that she was in some sort of sordid relationship with Rodolphus? Maybe she was in the past, but that was before she knew about what he'd done to her mind. Frustration unlike any she'd experienced in a long time washed over her in heavy waves. Why did everything fall apart just when things started looking up for her? Would she ever find even the tiniest bit of happiness to cling to and call her own?

"Choose to believe what you wish, Antonin. I'm done trying to convince you."

As she walked out the door, she dropped his cherished watch to the floor. The thud it made when it hit the hardwood echoed in her ears. She meant what she said. And the fact that Antonin didn't say a word in response or try to get her to stop was also telling.


	309. November 4th

November 4th

Hermione could not rely on _anyone_. Was that a lesson she was doomed to repeat over and over again? Would there ever be a day when she actually _learned_ it? After she left Antonin the day before, she was embarrassed to admit that she spent the rest of the day feeling sorry for herself. It disgusted her when she slipped into those episodes of self-pity and inactivity. If she'd succumbed to the darkest thoughts in her mind years earlier, she wouldn't have been able to survive once she was pulled out of her broom cupboard.

Feeling sorry for herself _never_ brought her the results she desired. Annoyed, she brushed off the sorrow that plagued her and came up with a plan. It was past time that she started to make an actual dent in her list of enemies. While she'd been careful not to hurt anyone that might actually be a spy for her husband, it no longer seemed so important. It wasn't as if she was on Antonin's side any longer. Once again in her life it was Hermione against the rest of the world. She couldn't afford allies. They would only disappoint her again.

Only a sense of loyalty to the past kept her from completely chucking out her previous plans. When she took the list of Rodolphus' allies to Ron for independent verification, she put his life and his family's life in jeopardy. It wouldn't take much investigating to discover that her former best friend was in some way involved in her quest to rid their society of those that offered their allegiance to Rodolphus. She was already certain that Draco Malfoy knew that she'd met with Ron at least once. Likely that bit of information had already made it to Rodolphus' ear.

She _had_ to do something to keep the suspicions off of Ron. There was history between them that she couldn't forget. No matter how many years she tried, she couldn't. With the death of the Dark Lord, it was even harder. Was it possible that a day would come when they could openly be friends again? When they could talk about Harry and not be afraid of what everyone around them thought? She'd only been able to speak about her best friend in quiet whispers alone in bed with her husband. Even then they both knew that it was dangerous to talk about him. Because Ron put himself and his family in danger helping her with her list, she couldn't just abandon him.

Seeking out Percy Weasley for assistance was an idea she had that was quickly squashed. Not only did she not know where to find him, she didn't want to rely on _anyone_. Too much could go wrong if she had a partner. At least if she failed and something catastrophic went wrong, she only had to worry about her own fate.

It was dark before she emerged from her room at the Three Broomsticks armed with a plan. The tavern was busy for a Sunday night which made sneaking out easier. She didn't want Thorfinn to see her leave. When he appeared to be lost in thought at the bar, she rushed across the room and out the front door. If he followed her, she didn't know what would happen. Maybe he would try to stop her or he would offer to help her. Neither option was good.

The streets were empty as she made her way across the village. November in that part of Scotland wasn't the best time of year to go for a late-night walk. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body, hoping that she wouldn't lose her nerve with each step she took. No one crossed her path. She was glad. There would never be a time when she could walk through Hogsmeade without thinking about the day that Hannah was murdered. She could hardly wait for the day that she would make Aubin pay. But in the meantime, she had to be extra careful. One wrong move and she would be dead. A single misstep and everything that she'd sacrificed would be for nothing.

Ron's house felt eerie from her position on the pavement when she approached it. Because it was usually so full of life, the absence of activity was noticeable. A shiver ran up and down Hermione's spine. Her earlier fears of a partner being complicated no longer seemed important. She wished she wasn't alone. Knowing that she'd come so far that she couldn't back down, she snuck around to the back of the house to make certain Ron was home. Almost tripping on discarded children's toys in the back garden gave her the added boost of courage that she needed to continue. This wasn't just for Ron. It was for the seven children who called him 'daddy' and their future.

Her former best friend was seated at his kitchen table enjoying his evening meal when Hermione peeked into the window. There was no other indication that he wasn't alone. She knew she would have to be even more careful than she already planned to be if his wife or one of his children was inside. Ron would never forgive her if someone he loved was hurt in the subterfuge. Not even if it was an accident.

Satisfied that he was present, she slipped back away from the house to sit in the shadows. The attack on her own home and the subsequent attack on the Yaxley home gave her the idea that she needed. She learned a long time ago how to conjure Fiendfyre and control it to the extent that anyone was able to control it. After being caught in the fiery torment of the Room of Requirement during the final battle and witnessing Vincent Crabbe perish in his recklessness, she was obsessed with learning how to prevent such a situation from ever happening again. Antonin had been completely against her learning how to cast such a dangerous spell. In his capacity as her teacher, he tried to put his foot down to prevent her from going down that path. Naturally, she wasn't deterred. If anything, his vehemence only encouraged her further. Seeking out a veritable expert on the Dark magic, she soon found a willing tutor in Felix Travers. Any bond of friendship Antonin once had with his fellow Death Eater and Azkaban escapee was dashed in his anger that she went behind his back to learn something he thought would only end in her death.

Maybe it would. She couldn't ignore the dreams she'd had since that horrible day twenty years earlier when she was stuck in the flames. Sometimes she could swear that she still felt the flames licking around her, desperate to catch onto her clothing. Was it any wonder that she'd been so anxious to learn how to control it? In her own way, she felt like she was safer if she could conjure it herself. But, at the very least, it offered her an opportunity to make the attack on Ron's house that much more believable and frightening. Who would _dare_ to use Fiendfyre in a simulated attack? No one would believe it was all an act. Ron might even believe that it was real. She needed to count on his appropriate reaction. It would only last for a short time. Just long enough for the nearest neighbors to see the flames and come running. She'd banish it long before anyone was in any mortal danger.

She readied herself for the moment she would have to utter the words. Dark magic took a toll on those who dared to utilize it. With her wand pointed in the direction of the house, she went over the proper incantation in her head several times to calm her nerves. Just as she was about to cast the curse to bring cursed fire and destruction to the home of the wizard who was once her friend, the entire house exploded into a shower of glass shards and wood splinters. The impact of the blast threw Hermione backwards. Her first thought as she fell was a worry that she would hit her head again. That was the last thing she needed. Hadn't her poor body been through enough?

When she landed on the ground and miraculously managed to avoid hitting her head, Hermione was terribly confused. What just happened? She knew that she wasn't responsible. The incantation to conjure Fiendfyre had been on the tip of her tongue, not a _reducto_ or whatever else spell was used to cause the explosion. Once she was satisfied that she was uninjured, she pulled herself up to her feet. She needed to be far away from the scene of the crime lest she be accused of being responsible.

Shouts were already heard coming from multiple corners of the village. As concerned neighbors rushed to what had been the Weasley home, Hermione only had a few moments to hide behind a large hedge in the garden of the house next door. Just by sheer luck she was able to find a hiding place where she could watch the scene unfold. It could be described as nothing less than chaotic. People she'd known quite well over the twenty years that she'd lived in Hogsmeade began a frantic search through the rubble. No one seemed to know whether or not anyone was inside when it happened. It would've been too suspicious if she'd suddenly arrived and announced Ron was there. They would wonder how she knew that. Killing Rita Skeeter in front of a witness was one thing. Committing a terroristic act on the family home of a respected Death Eater with influential connections was another. She'd gotten away with Rita's murder because no one cared. Ron Weasley would be different.

Someone thankfully had the presence of mind to cast a human-presence revealing spell. When it was discovered that there was still at least one beating heart underneath the rubble, the rescuers became more frantic to levitate away the bits and pieces of the demolished house. A loud shout from those in the midst of the recovery effort helped to calm Hermione's racing heart. Ron had been found. For the moment, at least, he was still alive. Whether he would remain so wasn't certain. As she watched Ron's unconscious form be pulled from the rubble, she felt both relief and sick to her stomach. Was she somehow responsible for this? Did Rodolphus discover that Ron was helping her? Maybe Rabastan was suspicious of his former protégé.

Thorfinn was right. Everyone who came into her life was fucked. Hermione couldn't bear to stay there another moment. Because of her meddling, because of her deep desire to remember the past when it was better left forgotten, she condemned a father and a husband to a painful death. She just could not imagine that after what she witnessed, Ron would come out of it unscathed. Magic could only do so much. Looking at the scene one final time, Hermione moved away from the hedge she was hiding behind.

A lone figure standing at the outer edge of the back garden caught Hermione's eye. Completely transfixed by what was happening meters away, Ginny Weasley was horrified. In the light of a nearby lamppost, she was able to see the wetness on the younger witch's cheeks. Unconcerned that she was exposed where she stood, Ginny continued to watch her brother's house with silent tears streaming down her face. What was she doing there?

Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. More villagers were arriving every moment. She could't afford to be caught there especially considering her recent bloodshed. As she took the long way behind gardens and around the back of houses to the Three Broomsticks, she couldn't get the image of Ginny crying as she watched her brother be pulled from the ruins of his home out of her head.


	310. November 5th

November 5th

There were few details about the attack on Ron's house in the next morning's Daily Prophet. He was in St. Mungo's still unconscious and in a critical state. It wasn't clear if he was going to make it out of the ordeal. Statements from several who witnessed the aftermath of the explosion failed to give any indication what happened or why. A picture of Ron's wife Romilda carrying their youngest child as she entered the hospital covered much of the front page. She was distraught, tears rolled down her reddened cheeks.

Hermione hadn't been able to sleep much after she made her way back to her rented room the night before. All through the night she kept thinking back over what she'd witnessed. Why was Ginny there? Hogsmeade wasn't a place that Resistance members, especially their leaders, visited very often. It was too dangerous for them to be in such close proximity to the Death Eaters that had been tasked with fighting them and killing them for the past twenty years. Not _that_ much had changed yet since the Dark Lord's death. Most of their society was still stuck in that state of confusion and shock after so long under the thumb of Lord Voldemort.

Did Ginny have something to do with the explosion? Familial relationships were complicated amongst the Weasleys, but Hermione didn't believe that they'd actually gotten to the point where they were willing to _murder_ each other. And if that was the case, why did Ginny seem so brokenhearted? There were about a dozen questions she had for the witch and more kept coming to her mind the longer she stewed. Hermione believed that Ginny was a spy working for Rodolphus against the interests of the group she'd dedicated her life to. Was attacking her brother a punishment for aiding and abetting the men who tried to kill Hermione?

She wouldn't be able to sit still until she had answers. Making the decision that she would return to the scene of her last crime to either find Ginny or find some possession she could use to track the witch, Hermione stood up from the table where her breakfast lay untouched for another day. Stress made her stomach clench up and made it impossible to swallow. Already she could feel her clothes growing loose on her again. Clearly living a life away from Antonin's regular meals was wreaking havoc on her body once more. Sometimes she wondered how she was able to survive an entire year on her own. It hardly seemed possible.

Only steps outside of the Three Broomsticks Hermione was stopped by none other than Rodolphus himself. She cursed her terrible luck. Why was the wizard always popping up when she least expected him? When she tried to walk past him, he reached out to grab her arm. Tempted to do what she once did to Antonin for committing the same act, she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down.

"Where are you headed in such a hurry?"

"Not really any of your business, Rodolphus."

He didn't seem the least put off by her tone or her statement. Likely he didn't even listen closely enough to know what she said. Rodolphus was the sort of wizard who could overpower any situation if he chose to. Once upon a time it was an attribute that she admired, even found irresistible. As her eyes were opened wide to the extent of his treacheries, she grew to loathe it. How dare he think he had the right to manipulate the lives of others?

"I've been worried about you, especially after hearing about the awful explosion last night. I don't like the idea of you being in this village alone. Or you being alone full stop."

"I'm _not_ your concern. I wish you would…"

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of an irritated Thorfinn. Of course he was hardly anything else around Hermione those days. With his eyes narrowed, he made it clear that he wasn't pleased to see them conducting such a seemingly intimate conversation where anyone could see them. She knew that he was going to report what he'd seen to Antonin the first chance he could. Furious that her life had gotten so far out of her control, she ripped her arm out of Rodolphus' grip. Taking a second to glare at Thorfinn to show her own displeasure at his presence, she spun immediately in place to Disapparate away from the area.

She was exhausted when her feet landed in a grassy field near a quiet village she hadn't been back to in months. More than just a physical exhaustion because she was unable to sleep, she was weary of her entire existence. Would there ever be a moment when she would open her eyes after a long, restful sleep and actually feel content? Part of her was afraid that she was living in a dangerous fantasy. People like her didn't get a happy ending. The most she could hope for was a painless death. Likely even that was too much to ask.

Immediately seeking out Ginny was no longer her plan. There was someone else she wanted to speak to, someone she thought might actually tell her the truth if she asked. When she took her first step over the invisible barriers surrounding the Resistance's village in Devon, she knew that she was being reckless with her own safety. Any one of the villager's inhabitants could attack her just simply for being who she was. Hermione Dolohov was no friend of the Resistance. They made that perfectly clear the last time she stayed in the village.

At least the reminder of the terrifying person she once was helped to keep the residents away from her as she made her way down the main street in the middle of the village. She ignored the unfriendly stares. It was nothing she wasn't used to after all and she had a mission. She needed answers. There had to be _someone_ within the organization that would help her.

She almost lost her nerve when she stood in front of Lee Jordan's front door and knocked. The last time she spoke to any member of the Jordan family was before she made the error while practicing cloaking her magic that got Aberforth Dumbledore locked up in the Ministry of Magic. Would Lee or Sarah trust that she never meant to attack a respected leader? That she truly hadn't intended to cause such chaos that almost left a man dead?

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

There was no question that her unexpected appearance left Lee thoroughly confused. He stood just inside his house staring at her as if she'd managed to grow another head. The very fact that he didn't slam the door in her face was the encouragement she needed to keep going. He was a good man who wanted nothing more than to provide his children with a safe world to grow up in.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

It was also the mark of good character that he didn't refuse her request. With a warm smile, he ushered her through the house to the door that led out to the back garden. Sarah stood in the kitchen next to the table where both girls were supposed to be hard at work on their lessons. Hermione tried to offer the other members of his family a friendly greeting, but she was afraid that she failed. She was still nervous about being back in the village she never wanted to return.

"You're being very mysterious, Hermione. You disappear for months and then you just suddenly appear? What am I supposed to think?"

Lee waited until they were seated on two stools in his shed where he housed his wizarding wireless set to speak again. As much as she wished to get straight to the meat of the reason why she was there, Hermione knew that she would have to offer up at least some sort of explanation for how the events unfolded back at the beginning of April. Lee deserved at least that much after all of his kindness and generosity. It wasn't just anyone who would willingly open up to his home to one so dangerous and unpredictable.

"I'm very sorry about that, Lee. It was never my intention…"

"How am I supposed to trust you, Hermione? I thought that you were different than the person you'd been pretending to be for so long. But after what you did?"

She knew she would have to be completely honest and truthful if she was ever going to get anywhere with Lee. Or any of the other Resistance members, for that matter. They weren't exactly known for being so trusting of those that lied to them.

"I'm not sure what you've heard, Lee, but I'll tell you everything. You can ask me whatever you want if you're not satisfied with what I tell you."

He seemed to consider her offer for a few beats before finally nodding his head in agreement. And for one of the first times, she actually meant it. She didn't have anything to hide from her fellow Gryffindor. What did she have to lose? Nothing.

"When I was here months ago, Ginny asked me to be a spy for the Resistance. She wanted me to go back home and pass along information to her. Because it was so dangerous and I was putting not only my life, but the life of my husband and son in danger, I made her promise me that someone would teach me how to cloak my magic first. I wanted to be able to leave the country when I was ready. She agreed. Aberforth was my teacher."

His eyes narrowed when she mentioned Aberforth. Clearly, he wasn't aware of the connection. Possibly he wasn't even aware of the deal that was made. After all, a spy that was well known by many people wasn't nearly effective as one that was a well-kept secret. Few would've ever imagined that she would turn her back on the Dark Lord. Not after her many years of faithful service.

"I made a mistake when we were practicing. He grabbed my arm too hard and I cast a stunner at him without thinking or cloaking my magic. It was an accident. My husband and a few other Death Eaters arrived moments later. I was only just able to escape, but it was too late for Aberforth. He's the reason I went back to Hogsmeade, went back to my husband, went back to the Ministry."

"What are you saying exactly, Hermione?"

She gave him a detailed description of her actions from the moment she returned to Hogsmeade until she was able to free Aberforth. Nothing was off-limits. Every detail about Aberforth's escape was known to Lee, including the personal peril she put herself in to make it happen. All she left out was the fact that her husband murdered the Dark Lord to keep her out of trouble by creating a big enough distraction that no one followed up on her actions. Lee seemed impressed. When the last words fell off her tongue, he whistled.

"I never heard _any_ of that. Ginny told us all that it was your plan from the very beginning to arrest Aberforth. Even showed us the Daily Prophet article where you were being praised for his capture."

"That was all a lie. Just one more way to keep the fact that I ran away out of the papers."

"But if that's true, why would Ginny say that you _meant_ to do it? Aberforth was sent away to Liverpool almost immediately after he escaped. None of us got to talk to him."

She wasn't surprised to hear that Ginny was spreading lies about her to the rest of the Resistance. No doubt it was easy for most of them to believe that Hermione was evil and only out to save her own arse.

"I don't think Ginny can be trusted, Lee. There's too much I've witnessed her do lately that makes me believe that her loyalty isn't to the Resistance. I want to talk to Charlie."

The second oldest Weasley son was the one person that Hermione felt like would tell her the truth if she asked. Percy always kept his thoughts close to his chest. But not Charlie. He was one of the most honest men she'd ever known, and if there was someone who needed to know that his sister couldn't be trusted, it was him.

"I will get a message to Charlie that you want to talk to him."

They ended their private meeting only a few minutes later. Refusing to let her leave his shed without a hug, as Hermione returned the embrace she couldn't shake the feeling that Lee still didn't trust her. Not that she blamed him. No, he was smarter than she ever gave him credit for.


	311. November 6th

November 6th

For the first night in many, sleep was not elusive. Whether it was because of the poor sleep she'd had the night before or the large amount of alcohol she consumed while sitting at the bar of the Three Broomsticks waiting for Thorfinn to return from wherever he'd run away to, Hermione wasn't sure. When she returned to her temporary home in the iconic tavern, she'd been surprised that her massive blond shadow was nowhere to be seen. She was concerned that he'd run off to find Antonin to tell her husband about how close she was with Rodolphus. One more mark on her poor report. She wanted to speak candidly with the wizard who was supposedly just playing a part. Wanted to let him know that she wanted even less to do with Rodolphus than he did. But, to her disappointment, he never showed back up.

She'd managed to drink enough to help her forget at least temporarily that she wasn't sure what to do next. Once she took care of making it seem like Ron was attacked, she planned on just going down the list and picking out the ones she loathed the most. After his attack, she worried that there was already someone out there who was aware of her plans. Someone who would stop at nothing to make sure she didn't succeed. It was enough to make her want to take Oliver out of school and leave just the two of them for Brazil on their own. Not that Antonin would allow that. Nor would Oliver for that matter. He would want his father to come with them or he wouldn't want to go at all. And if she was perfectly honest, Hermione didn't understand the first thing about being a good mother. She needed help.

When she'd had too much to drink and was in danger of making a complete fool of herself, she found her own way up her bedroom. Alcohol didn't make her feel as numb as her potions, but it was better than nothing. She laid down on her bed fully clothed. Within moments, she was deep asleep.

Her entire room was cloaked in darkness when she opened her eyes again. Still exhausted and feeling the effects of the alcohol, she hadn't been asleep very long. The clock on the bedside table showed the time to be just a few minutes after three in the morning. No sounds from downstairs drifted up to her ears. The streets outside were silent as well. Everyone else in the world, it seemed, was tucked away safely in bed.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been woken up for a reason. Her instincts might have been rusty, but she was certain that _something_ was off. Careful not to make too much noise or movement, she slid her hand underneath her pillow slowly to clutch her wand. Once she was secure in her grip, she rolled over and leapt out of bed in one single, fluid motion. She was poised to strike, ready to curse whomever was foolish enough to break into her room in the middle of the night when she was sleeping.

Charlie Weasley simply smiled when she pressed her wand under his chin. Completely unfazed by having a Death Eater attack him in the dark, he was amused. Once she realized who the intruder was, Hermione relaxed only slightly. Even though she wanted to speak to him in private, she wasn't expecting it to happen so soon or when she wasn't prepared for it. He held up both of his empty hands to prove that he wasn't armed.

"I understand you wanted to talk to me."

"How did you get in here?"

His smile grew wider. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but she could've sworn he winked at her.

"This isn't exactly the first time I've snuck into a pretty witch's room in the middle of the night."

Hermione was caught off-guard by his remark. Laughing to herself, she removed her wand from under his chin.

"Of course it's not. I should've guessed."

"Be honest with me. There was a time when you would've loved for me to sneak into yours."

She was almost embarrassed by his statement. Of course there was a time in the distant past when she used to imagine that very scenario. Nights at the Burrow when the entire Weasley family was gathered led to all sorts of fantasies that she would've been mortified for anyone else to know. Did Charlie _always_ know she fancied him? She laughed again in an effort to show she wasn't unnerved.

"Another life. It could've been fun."

He nodded and smiled, but said nothing else. Like the snap of two fingers, the atmosphere in the room turned serious again. They were past the greetings. She hoped that they would be able to discuss everything she wished. There was always a chance that Charlie wouldn't want to hear what she had to say about his younger sister.

"I had to sneak out of my own home to come here. Thanks to you, my sister and my niece have taken over my house. I understand you're responsible."

"If you're waiting to hear an apology from me for what I did to that horrible man, you're going to be disappointed. I'm not ashamed of killing him. Not after what he did to me."

"I always told Will he was playing with fire. Should've just left you alone, but you became an obsession once he saw you in Edinburgh."

"I don't want to talk about him."

There was only a finite amount of time they had to possibly talk. Why they were wasting their time discussing the fate of William Wood was frustrating to Hermione. She never wanted to think of that idiot again for as long as she lived. While the murder of his brother was one that still haunted her every day, she would never lose a moment's sleep over William. He got exactly what he deserved. How many times did she warn him to leave her alone? He should've listened.

"All right. Fair enough. What _do_ you want to talk about then?"

"Your sister is a spy working against the Resistance for Rodolphus Lestrange."

No longer was she content with just speculating. All signs pointed to Ginny being on the wrong side of the conflict. Why else would she lie to the other Resistance leaders? And she couldn't shake the feeling that she was responsible for what happened to Ron. There was more than just grief on her face that night as she watched her older brother be dug out of the rubble of his home. If there was another person alive who understood what guilt looked and felt like, it was Hermione.

"That's a very serious accusation, Hermione. Why should I believe you over my own sister?"

"What is Rodolphus Lestrange's animagus form?"

Charlie looked at her as if she was speaking a language he didn't understand. At least it seemed obvious that just like Aberforth, he was unaware that the Resistance had been harboring a fugitive from the Dark Lord for years. He sighed.

"He's a Saint Bernard."

"How did you..?"

"I talked to Aberforth. He told me. I already knew your feelings about Ginny before I came here. And your belief that she's a spy."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say next. He'd already had plenty of time to think over her accusations. Knowing that Ginny was living in his house, it was also possible and even quite _likely_ that he'd already discussed this topic with his sister. No longer was Charlie smiling. All hint of amusement was gone from his face. He just simply looked _tired_. Hermione could understand his feelings exactly.

"I'm worried about my sister, Hermione. She hasn't been herself for a very long time."

"Before or after she gave birth to my husband's daughter?"

Without missing a beat, Charlie replied.

" _After_."

"How long have you known the truth?"

"From the beginning. She's not as sneaky as she thinks she is sometimes and then Dolohov was looking for her at the same time she was hiding her pregnancy. Wasn't hard to put the pieces together when Maisie was born and she looked nothing like Will _or_ Ginny, for that matter."

It still bothered Hermione to keep such a major secret from her husband. Even though she no longer believed he would run off with Ginny to start a new family, she couldn't shake the jealousy. Her own insecurities often came back at the most inopportune times to plague her. Perhaps there would never be a day when she wouldn't fear that her husband was only waiting for the moment that a fertile and willing witch was willing to give him what he desired to run away. It made even less sense considering how rocky the current state of their marriage was. There was absolutely no reason to believe that they would ever be able to reconcile their differences. He didn't trust her. She didn't want the same kind of future he did. If there was a better definition out there of an unhealthy relationship, she couldn't imagine it.

"Do _you_ think Ginny is a spy, Charlie?"

He sighed again, worry heavy on his shoulders. She would've liked to have spent hours with him learning everything that she could about what was happening with the broken factions of the Resistance, but there was not enough time. With both Thorfinn and Rodolphus sniffing around the Three Broomsticks at frighteningly frequent intervals, she couldn't afford either of them discovering that she had the wizard in her room. Rodolphus might kill Charlie on the spot and she worried what Antonin would think when he heard from his best friend that she'd been alone in the middle of the night with a handsome dragonkeeper.

"If she is, she's not one willingly."

His statement made a lot of sense even if Hermione was often quick to think the worst she could about the other witch. There was a certain type of person that willingly became a spy and quite honestly, that wasn't Ginny. Maybe there was something to Percy's earlier observation about his sister the day they were in Ron's kitchen together. She'd apparently been very different since she brought her daughter back to the country. Was it possible that Maisie was in danger? There was very little that a mother wouldn't be willing to do if the safety of their child was at stake. Including kill her own brother. Was Rodolphus controlling Ginny with threats of harming her child? It was _exactly_ the sort of diabolical act he was capable of committing.

"I understand that Lestrange has been fairly adamant about you leaving the Three Broomsticks and moving in with him."

"How do you know about that?"

"Ahh, Hermione, you underestimate my charm." He winked, some of the heaviness of their earlier conversation lightening. "I have my own eyes and ears around this village too."

He wouldn't give her any other information about just who it was that was passing him along bits and pieces about Hermione's life. Didn't really matter. She knew better than most that it could be any number of people.

"If you're _really_ interested in bringing Rodolphus and his allies down, then might I suggest doing whatever it takes to earn his trust? You could take them down from the inside."

His idea was an interesting one that she was embarrassed to admit she hadn't considered in too much detail. Being that close to Rodolphus on a regular basis frightened her beyond words. She wasn't sure that she could remain calm enough to be a spy herself.

"I'll keep on eye on my sister. See if she's in some sort of trouble."

Charlie left her room moments later. While she was satisfied that he would be checking up on his sister, she felt guilty about not telling him her suspicions about Ron's attack. Would it have mattered? She crawled back into her bed with her mind no longer at ease.


	312. November 7th

November 7th

Following Charlie's suggestion that Hermione do what she could to earn Rodolphus' trust and try to bring him down from the inside, she'd thought of little else. When Rodolphus made the initial invitation that she move in with him into the Dower House, she thought he was more than a little insane. The very thought was terrifying to her. How could she possibly spend every waking moment around the man who mucked about in her mind for so long? She couldn't possibly relax enough around him to sleep. It was complete madness. And it wouldn't take long before Rodolphus assumed that he had full access to her body again. She wasn't sure she could handle him touching her like he used to. Not after she learned what he'd done to her for so long.

But she couldn't deny the fact that Charlie had a point. Eventually, Rodolphus _would_ let his guard down around her or believe that he could trust her with his secrets. Should she just ignore all of her fears and worries and do it anyway? Her entire goal was to bring her biggest enemy down and escape the country. She feared that if she tried leaving without taking care of Rodolphus first, he would follow her to the ends of the earth. He'd already made it perfectly clear that he had some mysterious plans that she was at the center of. Would she be able to do that faster living in his house and sharing his bed? She was almost willing to try it.

 _That_ was a decision that she wouldn't make lightly. Before she took Rodolphus up on his offer to move into the Dower House, Hermione needed to consider all of the possibilities. Her marriage with Antonin was certain to suffer even more than it already was if she chose to take Charlie's advice. She wasn't sure that she and her husband would ever be able to mend what was broken. Or if she even wanted to.

And Draco? It made her laugh to even consider what she had with that wizard a _relationship_. It wasn't. Not only had they parted badly when he kicked her out of his flat, she didn't care for him enough. He'd made a pleasant distraction when she needed one and he'd been a somewhat trustworthy ally. When it suited him, of course. Nothing more. The very idea that he thought he was falling in love with her was preposterous. Did he really expect her to believe such a ridiculous lie? He was as manipulative as his uncle.

Her thoughts also were continually on Ron. There hadn't been any change in his condition even days later that she was aware of. Nothing had been said in the Daily Prophet to indicate he'd improved or gotten worse. While she was aware that they wouldn't share private medical details, based on his notoriety in the previous regime, she would've expected _something_ to be said.

Frustrated with her racing mind, Hermione decided to take a long walk in the woods around the village. Hopeful that the physical exertion would help to clear her mind, she didn't care that the weather was terrible. November was hardly the best time of year to walk in. Desperation, however, left her open to trying just about anything. The chill in the air and the snow on the ground reminded her of the year she spent on the run. So much about her life had changed since she made the decision to return to Hogsmeade months earlier. She never would've imagined when she was in fear that her husband was going to catch her and kill her that she would be living such a different existence when she forced herself to go back. Her life felt almost like a dream. Or at least someone else's life. Since the spells were removed from her mind and her memories were returning, she didn't always feel like herself.

There were days she missed her time on the run. Life seemed much simpler back then. She didn't know who she was supposed to be afraid of so she just tried to avoid everyone. How different would the entire world have been if she'd stayed away? Hannah would still be alive most likely. And the Dark Lord would probably still be lingering on so there would be no need for a power struggle amongst his most loyal followers just yet. The world certainly would've been more peaceful. But Oliver would still be afraid of her and she wouldn't have learned what she had about her husband. Was the promise of a false peace worth losing what she'd gained? She didn't think so.

Movement in the corner of her eye drew her quickly out of the miasma of her own thoughts. Realizing that she wasn't alone and therefore in grave potential danger, she spun around with her wand outstretched, ready to attack. She was growing weary of being on the defensive, but such was her life. Likely until the very end of her days she would have to remain in a similar state of preparedness. Perhaps she should've been expecting to come face to face with Draco again, but she wasn't. She hadn't seen him since the night he threw her out of his flat. Even though she suspected he was still tracking her on a minimum daily basis, he hadn't approached her until that moment.

"What do you want, Draco?"

"Remember the last time we were alone in these woods?"

It was a ridiculous question. Of course she remembered the day he pushed her up against the trunk of the tree and… She shook her head in an effort to dislodge any further memories that threatened to plague her mind. Already her cheeks were burning at the reminder. Why did Draco have such an effect on her? What sort of spells or mind control was he attempting? She knew she was being paranoid, but if there existed anyone alive who had the right to be, she couldn't imagine anyone being a better candidate.

"You didn't answer my question, Draco. _What_ do you want?"

"I know where Aubin is."

She was surprised. Of all of the reasons that he could possibly seek her out again after so much time apart, that wasn't one she'd considered. It could all be some sort of elaborate plan. She couldn't be too careful. How many times in recent memory had Draco lied to her? Likely more than she was even aware of. It was his speciality apparently. How else was it possible that he could be working for the Resistance for so many years while still believed to be a loyal Death Eater? Not just anyone could accomplish such a feat.

"Where?"

"At _this_ moment? Not sure."

It was a waste of time speaking to him. She rolled her eyes and began walking away from the infuriating wizard. Before she could get more than a step away, Draco gently grasped her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. Part of her was tempted to send a stunner straight to his gut.

"But I know where he will be when it gets dark tonight."

Still annoyed that he wasn't telling her what she wanted to know, Hermione was beginning to lose her patience. All she wanted was a straight answer. Why couldn't he just speak without riddles?

"Your brother-in-law decided to appeal to his half-brother for help."

She knew he didn't mean Antonin. Her husband wanted to kill his younger brother for his part in torturing and almost murdering his wife. Not to mention his threats against Oliver.

"Alain?"

Draco shook his head.

"Alexandre?"

He shook his head again. Hermione didn't understand what he was trying to tell her. What other half-brother could he possibly mean? Draco smiled, pleased with himself for annoying her so thoroughly.

"Apparently, my _Uncle_ Aubin has always been an embarrassment and a secret my father never wanted to admit to. When he appealed to Father for help, Father wasn't interested. Wanted nothing to do with him. Not until I promised him that we could finally get rid of him."

After all that passed between the two of them, Hermione was impressed that Draco was still willing to help her. It would've been very easy to go straight to Rodolphus with this information first. To tell her meant that he was likely going against orders from his uncle. Rodolphus hadn't made it a secret that he was searching for the horrible wizard.

"He's been instructed to come to the Manor when it's dark tonight. Father promised to keep him there long enough for you to do what you wish with him."

Hermione was further amazed and grateful that Lucius wanted to help. She'd been under the assumption that the disgraced wizard was firmly on Rodolphus' side. No one else seemed to want him. Twenty years after the fall of their family, very few wanted to even speak the name Malfoy. Antonin only wanted to use the Malfoys if it was convenient. Rodolphus appeared to actually care for his late wife's family.

"Why are you helping me, Draco?"

His hesitation to respond wasn't difficult to detect. Sometimes he could be the most guarded person she'd ever met. Other times he was an open book. She didn't rush him for an answer. If he was going to give her one, she knew she had to be patient.

"I want him dead. I hate him for what he did to you."

"Why didn't you kill Wood and Aubin when you had the chance? Why did you just stun them the night you saved me?"

It was a question she'd asked herself over and over again since she learned the details of that night. Most Death Eaters were the sort to cast Avadas first and then ask questions second. The moment the words came out of her mouth she could see the shame pasted all over Draco's face. He didn't want to answer. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he looked her straight in the eyes.

"I've never killed anyone before."

Draco was full of surprises that day. Because they were both Death Eaters, she just naturally assumed that he would've killed at least _one_ person in twenty years. How was it even possible that he'd never been forced to cast the spell that ended another's life? She was impressed. Most in their ranks never even considered the consequences of their actions. Certainly plenty of instances over the years Hermione herself had killed without thought. When she didn't immediately respond and the awkward silence between them grew even more tense, Draco puffed out his chest and tried to appear unaffected. She could see right through him.

"I've never had the stomach for it. Others might make it seem easy, but it never has been for me. My first mission as a Death Eater was supposed to be a murder and we all know how I bollocksed that up."

Mentioning his failure to kill Albus Dumbledore when they were in their sixth year at Hogwarts must have stung his pride. It was a well-known failure that he'd been taunted about for as long as Hermione could remember. Draco's name was synonymous with 'coward' or 'loser'. It all boiled down to the night he was unable to cast the spell to end his Headmaster's life. Maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised to hear that he'd never been able to follow through with another killing.

"I didn't know it was possible for a Death Eater to last so long without committing a single murder."

The redness was back in his cheeks. Hermione was envious. Not only was it likely a record and Draco was probably the _only_ Death Eater without a single kill, she wished that she could have had as clean a conscience as he did. Or, maybe he didn't. As a tracker, it had been his duty to find the enemies of the regime. He was still responsible even indirectly for many deaths.

"Be careful, Hermione."

He ran off again without saying another word.


	313. November 8th

November 8th

Patience did not come easily for Hermione. It rarely did for most Gryffindors. Used to just rushing out in the face of danger without care for the consequences, either they learned how to be patient or they didn't survive in their dangerous world long enough for it to matter. She was grateful that she learned to adapt the older she got. Harry would hardly recognize his best friend if he was able to see her again. There were days she felt like she'd never be like the girl she used to be.

When the sun had been down for a few hours and the clock struck midnight, Hermione knew she'd been patient long enough. She descended the stairs from her rented bedroom to the main room of the Three Broomsticks. Just as she suspected, Thorfinn was settled down on his favorite barstool gulping down glasses of his preferred fire whiskey. Maybe it would've been better to approach him earlier in the evening when he was likely to be more sober, but she didn't think that was necessary. He was almost always drunk those days. And besides, she thought she would get a better response from him if he wasn't entirely sober.

She took the seat next to him, ignoring the glare he shot in her direction. Even though he might have been softening towards her somewhat, she knew that he was still angry. Likely there would always be a part of him that would blame her for what happened to his wife. Whether it was rational or not didn't really matter. She couldn't blame him or even feel the least bit offended. Part of her felt like she was responsible.

There was a very valid reason why she chose not to go straight to Antonin with information about his brother. As much as Antonin might have claimed he wanted his brother dead, Hermione feared that faced with the actual moment of killing his younger brother, her husband wouldn't be able to do it. She didn't want there to be a single opportunity for mistake. Also, she had a legitimate fear that if Antonin was aware of what his brother did and told Thorfinn before she had a chance, the blond wizard might kill the murderer of his wife before she had a chance to help. _That_ was not an option in her mind. She had to see the light leave Aubin's eyes before she could relax again. Antonin would try to keep her out of it if he could. Maybe he would think that he was 'protecting' her. It didn't matter. She wouldn't let him take that experience away from her no matter how many lies she had to tell and secrets she had to keep.

"I know who killed Hannah."

His bloodshot blue eyes narrowed. Turning his massive torso to look her straight in the eyes, Hermione could tell that he wasn't going to dignify her with a response. She would have to give him more information before he would speak. It almost made her laugh.

"I'm going to kill him tonight. Would you like to help?"

There was simply no way she was going to go to Malfoy Manor by herself. She wasn't stupid no matter how many mistakes she'd made in recent days. Going alone was just asking for trouble. Considering the number of times he'd betrayed what little sliver passed for her trust, Draco might have been springing a trap for her to fall into. Rodolphus wouldn't hesitate to accompany her, so if Thorfinn refused, at least she knew that she had a backup. She just thought that maybe exacting his revenge would help the brute move forward in his mourning. It saddened her to see the drastic changes he'd undergone in such a short period of time. A little over a month had gone by and he was almost a stranger.

Thorfinn picked up his glass and knocked all of the contents back in a single gulp. When it was empty, he slammed the glass on top of the bar and stood to his feet. Still refusing to show any other emotion besides disdain for the witch next to him, the wizard stared at Hermione.

"Are we going or not?"

She smiled when he asked his question. Rising quickly to her feet, she didn't want to give him a second to rethink his decision. Outside of the tavern she told him to Apparate to Malfoy Manor. Thorfinn narrowed his eyes again and stared for a beat or two, but said nothing about their destination. Just did as she bid. Hermione was only seconds behind him.

The opulent Manor loomed in the distance. She had to fight off a shiver up her spine. It had been over twenty years since she last stepped foot anywhere near the wretched place. Left up to her, she'd burn it to the ground. She didn't blame Draco for having his own flat away from the horrible manor. Thorfinn didn't want to waste time. He was past the gates and halfway to the front door before Hermione even moved. She practically had to run to catch up with him.

Lucius Malfoy stood waiting for his guests in the doorway. Annoyed at being left to wait for so long, he almost seemed like the wizard he was years earlier when Hermione was a child and he hadn't yet been completely disgraced. It was easy to remember why she loathed him so much when he stared at her with that haughty expression of his that she thought she'd seen the last of. Evidently his close relationship with Rodolphus empowered the cretin. He might even be living under the delusion that he would one day rise to his previous elevated position in society. How Hermione wished to shove into his face the impossibility of that desire! She hated the man.

"My little _brother_ is in my study. Please try to keep his blood off the rugs. So tiresome to clean them."

Thorfinn knew exactly where to go. Once again that night Hermione had to rush to keep up with the burly wizard. It had been a long time since she last saw him so determined. An encouraging sight, she had to push it to the back of her mind to consider later. She had to remain focused at all times for what they were about to do. One misstep could result in yet another failure.

Aubin was terrified, just as Hermione liked to see him. When she entered the room, his eyes went wide and they only grew wider when he focused on Thorfinn's face. Realizing that the widower of the woman he'd callously murdered weeks earlier was only steps away, he reached into his pocket for his wand, ready to commit murder again if it saved his sorry arse. At least there wasn't an innocent child to be used as a shield.

"Where is my..?"

Working himself into a state of panic, it was amusing to watch Aubin realize he didn't even have his wand for protection. Lucius held up the piece of wood his illegitimate baby brother was looking for. Aubin's face turned a deep shade of green. He knew that he wasn't long for their world.

"You really should pay close attention to your wand, _brother_. I took it when you weren't looking."

Any hope that he might have recovered his wand when he tried to lunge at his brother was dashed by a lazy flick of Hermione' wrist. Much like what had been done to her the night she was tortured, she flung her brother-in-law across the room into a heavy bookshelf. A loud crack and a shriek of pain from the monster made her smile. She always did enjoy causing pain to those who deserved it.

"Please remember what I said about the rugs. Take all of the time you require."

Lucius exited his study and locked the door behind him. With the click of the lock in everyone's ears, Hermione could practically smell the fear radiating off of Aubin. He cowered in the corner near the bookshelf he'd slammed into, acting as if they might just leave him alone if he didn't move. How ridiculous and child-like fear could render a person. She'd had plenty of occasions over time as an interrogator to see similar behavior in other victims. Of course, she would _never_ consider Aubin a victim. He deserved to die a painful death. Based on the heat in Thorfinn's eyes, she felt confident that he would get one before they left that night.

"Lovely to see you again, Aubin. I was just about to tell Thorfinn here exactly what your former lover told me about the day that you murdered his wife."

"I…"

"Nothing you say will make a bit of difference."

She gave a brief explanation of what she'd uncovered the night that she and Rodolphus tortured William Wood to death. The redder Thorfinn's cheeks grew, the more she _almost_ felt sorry for Aubin. Her brother-in-law was afraid out of his wits. There was no way for him to leave the room and Thorfinn's temper was legendary. Perhaps he should've considered the very moment he found himself in before he cast the Avada that killed Hannah. No doubt he would've decided to come up with a different plan.

When Thorfinn fully understood the treachery of that day, he was across the room in just a few steps. With his hand gripped around Aubin's throat, he yanked the cowering wizard off of the floor and slammed his back against the bookshelf again. All color in Aubin's face disappeared. If Hermione smelled the acrid smell of urine or an even more unpleasant odor, she wouldn't have been surprised. Aubin was a coward and Thorfinn knew what to do with those.

"You killed my wife?"

Aubin gulped, but he didn't say anything. He was too afraid. Likely he was about to lose all control of his own body. Hermione knew the signs. Usually it took longer to get to a breaking point, but he was soft. Thorfinn tightened his grip on the cretin's throat. Still he said nothing.

"My wife was the most beautiful woman that ever walked on this earth. She was kind and generous and pure. She was too good for this world. And you _dared_ to kill her?"

When it was evident that Aubin wasn't even capable of uttering a response, Thorfinn released his hold on his neck. Gasping for air and rubbing at his throat, tears rolled down his cheeks. Hermione briefly considered trying to find Antonin just so he could witness what an embarrassment his younger brother turned out to be. But, she stopped herself. This was Thorfinn's moment. If ever there was someone who needed to make the arsehole pay, it was Thorfinn.

Perhaps Aubin thought that Thorfinn would just kill him with an Unforgivable like he'd done his wife. It would've been painless and over before he knew what was happening. Monsters like him didn't deserve such an easy death. Not once did Thorfinn even bother to remove his wand from his pocket. He uttered not a single spell. It was his desire to do everything by hand. Aubin didn't remain silent long. His screams likely could be heard in every corner of the massive mansion.

First, Thorfinn snapped each of Aubin's arms. Though his victim might have been considered to be in good shape, it didn't take much effort for the bones to break in Thorfinn's hands. He was methodical in his actions. He started with the wrists, then moved up to the forearms, and ended by practically pulling the arm out of its socket. The exact actions were repeated on the other arm. There was no way for Aubin to fight back with his arms when he was finished. Not that Aubin could've been able to summon up enough strength or been able to stop the never ceasing flow of tears out of his terrified eyes.

Next, he used his beefy fists to punch the man's ribs. Several feet away Hermione could hear the cracking of the ribs with each blow. It was a good thing that Thorfinn wasn't going to allow the man to live much longer. The sound of his labored breathing was getting on Hermione's nerves. Why must death produce so many annoying sounds?

He used his feet to stomp on Aubin's legs. Just like the arms, he started with the ankles, then moved up to the shins, then to the kneecaps, and finishing with breaking the femurs of each leg. Aubin was going in and out of consciousness by that point. The pain had to have been excruciating. She hoped that it was cathartic for Thorfinn.

Aubin's nose broke with the first punch. At first she tried to keep a running count of the number of blows to his face, but there came a point when even Hermione had to look away from the carnage. A madness came over Thorfinn. She didn't like seeing how far gone her friend could get in his blood thirst. All she could hear was the sound of his fist meeting flesh over and over again. No longer could she hear any whimpering or pleading. Deciding that she had to stop Thorfinn, she forced herself to look.

There was nothing left. Nothing but blood and tissue she didn't want to identify. Placing a gentle hand on Thorfinn's shoulder, she prepared herself for accidentally getting hurt in the process. She'd been injured before when she tried to stop the wizard lost in his rage. Though he felt guilty about it after the fact, he warned her that she shouldn't try it again. This time, however, he calmed at the touch of her hand.

"Thorfinn, it's over. He's dead. I think he's been dead a while now."

His bloodied hand fell to his side. She couldn't be sure how much of it was Aubin's blood and how much of it was his. Prepared to cleanse his hand, she gasped when Thorfinn burst into loud sobs. Unsure if he would push her away or not, Hermione fell to her knees next to the wizard that had been her friend for almost twenty years. She opened her arms and to her surprise, he allowed her to comfort him.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed on the floor before they both stood up and left. It didn't really matter. All she could think of was how glad she was that it finally seemed like the wall that had been built up between them following Hannah's murder was starting to crumble. And Aubin was dead, of course. She slipped under the covers a short time later to sleep more contented than she had in a very long time.


	314. November 9th

**_Author's Note: Thanks so much to all of you wonderful readers who take the time to review and let me know that you're still enjoying the story. I know some readers get shy and anxious about leaving a review, but I promise they don't have to be special or long to make us writers feel appreciated. I'm nearing the end of writing this story and the encouragement that you all have offered is what I need to keep going. Thank you for being so warm and encouraging! I've needed it. ;)_**

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November 9th

Hermione's life had simply become one long series of questions that never seemed to have any answers. When it felt like she _finally_ had the answer to a question she'd been confused about for months, at least three more would pop up in its place. Would there ever come a day when she knew it all? When she no longer had to worry and wonder about her future? _Unlikely._ She assumed that she would only have her answers at the same time that she experienced the peace of death. Of course, as she didn't truly understand what happened after one died, it was possible that there would be mysteries that never had resolutions. The very thought depressed her beyond measure. For someone that desired answers above most others, it was positively maddening to not understand what was happening.

One person that confused her was Kingsley Shacklebolt. Though not the person who confused her the _most_ , he nonetheless was present in her thoughts quite frequently. When it would seem like she understood why the wizard was behaving the way he was, something would happen or he would say something that made her doubt her previous beliefs. He was a mysterious man with a past that she knew he wasn't telling her everything about. As the last remaining member of the Shacklebolt family, it was up to him to represent the proud Pureblood family that held a great deal of influence in their society once upon a time. He was _exactly_ the sort of person that Rodolphus would seek out to complete his Wizengamot scheme.

Kingsley urged Hermione weeks earlier not to make any rash decisions about Rodolphus until she learned about his plans. Was that his way of saying that at least in that instance he felt that Rodolphus was better for his survival than Antonin? She was unsure of everything. While she knew that Rodolphus was open with her about his plans, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that he told her _everything_. That was complete madness. He would never let anyone get close enough to know all of his secrets. How did Kingsley factor in to all of the parts of Rodolphus' plans that she didn't know?

There was only one possible way she thought she _might_ be able to get more answers. War wasn't fought entirely on the battlefield. That had been a lesson learned the hard way more times than she wanted to recount. No, it was most often fought in back alleys or private meetings. It was scheming and spying and dozens of other underhanded tactics. While a Gryffindor might desire to rush out into the heat of the battle and fight with blood and viscera, it was hardly the most effective way to win. Strategy didn't always come easy to the ones that admired courage and daring, but it was necessary.

When the door opened to Kingsley's flat, he wasn't surprised to see Hermione standing just outside. Maybe he was even convinced that she would've come earlier than she did. It wasn't like her to keep away for very long when she knew someone had answers she wanted after all. The handsome former auror simply stepped back to allow her entrance into his humble home.

"Don't you have a job? How are you _always_ home when I come here?"

It was hardly the first question she really wanted the answer to, but it was the first one that tumbled out of her mouth. Kingsley only laughed. Part of her felt like a petulant child annoyed that something silly she said amused the adults when she was trying to be serious. He pointed to a closed laptop computer on his dining table. Papers were neatly stacked beside it.

"Muggles are amazing. I never have to leave home to complete my work."

She rolled her eyes. It wasn't the life that she expected the wizard to really desire. Years earlier when they were still fighting on the same side, she assumed that he would one day rise to the top of the Ministry and become the Minister for Magic. Something about his commanding presence seemed made for the office. She would've gladly worked in the Ministry under his leadership. Their world would likely have been much better if the final battle's outcome was different.

"Are you on Rodolphus' side?"

There was no reason to delay the blunt discussion she wished to have with Kingsley. He didn't appear to be taken aback by the question. Once he'd settled down in his armchair and she was perched on the edge of his sofa, he responded. Just another reminder that there was only one man that he fought for. She was frustrated enough with his refusal to answer her question the way she wanted it answered that she considered leaving his flat for good. What was the point in remaining if he was going to do nothing but make her angry?

"But you've been working with my husband for years."

"Yes, when it suited me and was in my own best interests."

Something about the wizard made her feel like a teenager again. Maybe it was because of all of the conversations they used to have over tea while they sat at the kitchen table in Number Twelve. Even back then he was careful with the words he used. Vague answers and riddles were often spoken. She rolled her eyes again, not even caring that she was nearing forty.

"I hate when you don't answer my questions, Kingsley. It's infuriating."

"But I _did_ answer them, my dear."

"Don't be patronizing. It's unattractive."

He laughed again. For once, it wasn't a sound that she liked. Hermione began to regret ever coming by his flat in the first place. What was she really hoping that she would learn? Kingsley had already proven that he wasn't just going to reveal all of his secrets simply because she asked him nicely. He knew how the game was played.

"If you've been working with Antonin for so long, why didn't you tell him that I was here when you found me?"

"Because like I said before, I worked with your husband when it suited me and was in my own best interests. What would I have to gain by telling him where you were? It seemed like a domestic squabble that I didn't want to get involved with. Besides, why would you have attacked your own husband unless you were in danger? I _do_ still possess a conscience, Hermione. I didn't want to put you back in a position where you could've been hurt again."

It was a more honest answer than she expected. There had been a lot to think about since she discovered yet another secret alliance that she'd been unaware of. She'd wondered why Kingsley didn't immediately turn her back over to Antonin when she was laying on his sofa covered in her own sick. Surely he didn't actually _enjoy_ caring for her while she was going through the process of withdrawal from her potions.

"Speaking of your husband, he was here yesterday. Very angry too. I'm worried about his blood pressure. Has he had it checked by a Healer?"

"Why was he mad?"

"Because it looks like someone he believed to be an ally of his double-crossed him. Lestrange asked Augustus Rookwood to take over the Ollivander seat on the Wizengamot. Thanks to his recent marriage, he's been promoted to Lestrange's inner circle."

Hermione wondered if she should seek out Antonin to tell him the truth of the plan she made at Augustus' kitchen table. When they'd had their horrible fight, she'd had every intention of telling him. Once she dropped Antonin's watch, she no longer had a way to track him. It seemed safer that way. She didn't know what was happening between them, if it could be fixed or even if she _wanted_ it to be fixed.

She pushed aside the depressing reminders of her failing marriage to focus on the silver lining in the news she'd just received. With Augustus offered a seat, she could fulfill her promise to make him a widower. There was nothing stopping her from seeking Alecto out and giving her the bloody painful death she'd wanted to give her ever since she discovered the bitch's betrayal. Remembering the _fun_ she'd had with Thorfinn when he killed Aubin, she decided that she would confide in the wizard the promise she made to Hannah about Alecto. No doubt he would want to help get rid of the sister of the monster who harmed his wife so after the final battle. Thorfinn could be the one to tell Antonin the truth about Augustus. After all, he had one of those damned mirrors. He wouldn't have any trouble getting into contact with her husband.

Deciding that she'd had enough of being in Kingsley's flat without getting proper answers, Hermione decided to be blunt. He was the sort of man to appreciate bald honesty after all. Maybe it would work in her favor.

"Do you see Rodolphus as being your way to get back into the wizarding world?"

It was foolish and naïve to believe that he hadn't already been approached by Rodolphus. For reasons she couldn't possibly understand, it was important to the man that the Wizengamot be stocked entirely with Purebloods. She hated that despite being in the twenty-first century, their society was still so backward. Would they ever catch up with Muggles? She highly doubted it. They were still so enmeshed in a disagreement that had already lasted over a thousand years. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns would _always_ be second-class citizens in their eyes. A million years ago when she was young and idealistic and the reality of life hadn't crushed her innocence, Hermione actually thought she might want to one day tackle the pro-Pureblood laws. Maybe _she_ could even be the Minister for Magic. Just thinking about it only made her stomach churn. She didn't have the energy or the desire to change the world. She simply wanted to survive.

Kingsley was in no rush to answer her question. That in itself was telling. For a man who spent over twenty years on the outside of the world he'd grown up in, it had to have been tempting to be allowed back in, especially with a modicum amount of power that his position as the Shacklebolt family representative on the Wizengamot would provide. She knew all too well how lonely it felt being away from the wizarding world and she'd only done it for less than a year.

"You're not really on Antonin's side, are you?"

Still he said nothing. Kingsley simply stared. He didn't appear uncomfortable, just unwilling to tell her what she wanted to know. Frustrated that once again she had more questions than answers, Hermione stood to her feet. There was no attempt to get her to remain.

Secret alliances had a way of coming back to bite the ones involved when they least expected it. As much as she always admired Kingsley when she was younger, most of her hoped that _he_ would be the one burned, not her husband. She slammed Kingsley's front door shut behind her, promising that she wouldn't return. Not if he was going to remain so tight-lipped and secretive. She had enough men in her life who wouldn't tell her what she wanted to know. One more was likely to drive her completely round the bend, something she was already afraid had happened.

It was tempting to seek out her husband to tell him her suspicions about Kingsley. Didn't he deserve to know that the wizard only cared about what happened to himself? If Antonin relied too heavily on him, he might get himself hurt or worse. Only her pride kept her from trying to find her husband. Surely he already knew who could be trusted and who couldn't.

She loathed Kingsley. It was unlikely that she would ever change her mind. Another part of her childhood was cruelly ripped away. There was a time that she respected the former auror. Those days were over.


	315. November 10th

November 10th

Saturdays in the village of Hogsmeade were not easy days for Hermione. Not when the students were released from the castle and allowed to wander the streets. It made her miss her son. And the innocence that she once possessed. Too often she would hear laughter from students and imagine those days a long time ago when she was a student. She wondered if she would ever be able to move on from the losses of her former life.

But, mostly, she found herself looking into every young face that entered the Three Broomsticks, hoping that Oliver was one of them. He was too young to be allowed out of the castle for Hogsmeade Saturdays, but that didn't mean she didn't hope that she would see him. She wondered if he was doing all right following his last spot of trouble with Professor McGonagall. Every time she started to write him a letter, she stopped herself. The last thing her son needed was to worry about his parents. She wasn't sure what she could say in her letters that would hide the truth from him. Lying was exhausting. It felt wrong to do it to her son. Besides, she didn't know if Antonin was writing him. Would her letters contradict something he'd told him already? It was best that she just leave him be for the moment. He wasn't used to a lot of communication from his mother anyway. It might confuse him even further.

Thorfinn was seated at his usual barstool doing his best to ignore the sounds of the happy children behind him. His two eldest daughters _were_ old enough to join the fun in the village. At each ringing of the bell over the door, his blue eyes cut to the entrance. If he was anxious to see Daisy or Emmy, he certainly didn't seem like it. Taking pity on the man, Hermione sat next to him just as she'd done days earlier. He didn't speak to her, but he didn't insult her either. Progress was indeed being made.

"I made a promise to Augie that I'd kill his new wife once he secured his position on the Wizengamot. Rodolphus hasn't been eager to trust him considering our past."

His head turned slowly in her direction. He was intrigued. Though she'd worried a great deal in recent weeks and months that she was making poor decisions, this wasn't one of them. Hermione knew that if she wanted Antonin to know something, all she needed to do was tell his best friend. No doubt Thorfinn was eager to use his mirror to tell him everything. She didn't care what anyone said. Men were worse gossips than women.

"I promised Hannah that she could help me kill Alecto. Not as good as her brother, but it was something. You said you wanted to rip him apart. Want to settle for his sister?"

He really was a handsome man when he smiled. Hermione hoped that there would be plenty of occasions in the future where the rest of the world could see it for themselves. Occasions _without_ blood even. As much as she enjoyed the prospect of causing horrendous pain to the wretched woman, she didn't want the rest of their lives to be nothing but blood and guts. Surely there was more out there? Even for murderers like them? Thorfinn was intrigued.

"When do you want to start?"

"Now seems as good a time as any."

His response was another pleased smile. Hermione liked that they were moving back towards how they used to be. There was a time when she trusted very few people in the world more than she trusted Thorfinn. She thought that maybe he felt the same way. After Hannah's murder, she was afraid that they would never find common ground again. Not that she would blame him. What he'd gone through in such a short period of time was heartbreaking.

There was no reason to linger any longer in the tavern that was quickly filling up with students. Once outside, they both Apparated to London. Hermione arrived first. Perhaps it was because she'd recently been to the location or because Thorfinn was already drunk. He landed moments later, just long enough to make her start to second-guess herself. While there was very little that she wanted more than to make Alecto bleed and cry, she wondered if she shouldn't have been more careful. Eventually she would start killing people that Rodolphus would be angry about. Was she prepared for his wrath?

"Come on, Hermione. We don't have all day."

She knew he was right. The longer they hesitated, the more of a chance they would fail. To their advantage, the offices of the Daily Prophet were almost completely empty. Saturdays were generally a slow news day. Only the most diehard workaholics would be inside. Or the poor souls stuck with the terrible weekend schedule. Hermione knew that the newspaper's newest senior reporter would be there working. Alecto was desperate to prove herself worthy of the position. She knew it was something that the older witch had secretly wanted for most of her life.

"I'll go into her office and distract her. You clear everyone else out."

It felt more like old times again when Thorfinn gave her an order. She used to defer to his experience when they were on missions together. Without hesitation, she did as he bid. To be honest, she wanted to spend as little time with Alecto as possible. Thorfinn was the better bet at getting her guard down. Alecto never made it a secret that she would've loved to invite the blond into her bed. He'd been fortunate enough to stay out of it for over twenty years.

All of the offices were empty except for Alecto's. Once Thorfinn made his presence known, the reporter dropped everything she was doing in order to entertain her new guest. She didn't even bother looking outside of her door for any other unexpected visitors. Hermione continued her search for anyone else in the building. Nervous at first to walk up to Albert's office door just in case he was there, she relaxed when she saw it empty. She wasn't sure she would ever be ready to face that man again after what happened the last time they were in the same room together.

In the end she only found three others inside the building. Simple Imperius curses sent them out into Diagon Alley. Hermione locked and sealed the doors. There was no sense risking being caught while they were in the middle of their odious task. Someone out there might actually want to stop them. Difficult though it was to imagine, she wanted the building secure.

Her stomach roiled when she pushed open Alecto's door to find the two inhabitants locked into a fierce kissing session. The witch didn't even notice that she was no longer alone with her blond conquest. Thorfinn's eyes were open. Once he saw Hermione enter, he held up Alecto's wand behind her back. A summoning spell sent it shooting across the room into her hand. When it was evident that their prey was unarmed, she slammed the door shut, startling the reporter.

"Cheating on your new husband already, Allie? How naughty."

Alecto's eyes grew wide as the seriousness of the situation she was in became clear. Frantically searching for her wand, it didn't take her long to realize how utterly fucked she really was. Hermione held up the bitch's wand for her to see. It was amusing to her that so many had been so reckless with their wands in recent days. They'd all gotten soft and complacent. Clearly very few remembered how dangerous their world had become again. For too long the worst of the Death Eaters lived in the relative security of their proximity to the head of the regime. With the Dark Lord dead, they would _all_ need to relearn how insignificant they really were. Any one of them could be dead.

"What do you want, Hermione? Why are you here?"

It was amusing to see Alecto try to hide how frightened she was. Holding the power of another's life entirely in her hand was an intoxicating feeling that Hermione didn't think she would ever grow tired of. She became a Death Eater because she was tired of feeling weak, tired of feeling like she had to rely on others to keep her safe. Knowing that she was going to kill another, especially one that had brought such misery to her in life, made her feel empowered. No longer was she the trembling girl in the broom cupboard.

"I made a promise to your husband recently. I promised him that the moment he was finally admitted into Rodolphus' confidence that I'd make him a widower."

To Alecto's credit, she didn't cry or plead or beg for her life. She knew that the moment she'd been dreading for her entire wretched existence was finally upon her. Perhaps she was even relieved that she no longer had to keep fighting. It was how Hermione felt the day she was tied to the chair in Aubin's cottage after all. Though it wasn't as much fun killing someone who didn't try to fight back or who wasn't sobbing, nonetheless Hermione took her time. She wanted to extend the process as long as possible. Her training and expertise meant they could have remained in that small office for many, _many_ hours if she so desired. There was an art to keeping a victim alive while still inflicting maximum pain. Only Thorfinn's impatience and his reminder that they couldn't remain in the offices for long sped up the process.

Slicing her throat open would've made it all too obvious who was responsible for her murder. As much as Hermione wished to feel the warm spray of Alecto's life blood splash across her face, she knew that she couldn't make it obvious that she was the culprit. Rodolphus might've been angry to discover what she'd been up to. So, she settled for an abridged session. Thorfinn used his brute strength to break some of her bones. Not for the first time, Hermione considered the fact that she'd never even thought about recruiting the wizard to her former Department in the Ministry a shame. He would've done well.

Thorfinn's wand cast the Avada that finally ended the wretched bitch's life. As her mangled body lay cooling in the chair she'd been so desperate to earn, the two murderers passed her private bottle of fire whiskey between themselves. Each of them were satisfied with the kill.

"This was always the plan. Augie and I discussed it before he went to France to divorce his first wife. He's still on Antonin's side."

"And you?"

"I don't know whose side I'm on beyond my own. Antonin doesn't seem to want me anymore."

A heavy sigh exploded out of the wizard. He took a long draw on the bottle before speaking his mind. It wasn't always easy to listen to the truthful words that came out of his mouth even though she appreciated and respected him. Too many people took one look at his massive frame and his penchant for violence to assume that he was nothing but an ignorant brute. That observation couldn't be further from the truth. There were very valid reasons why Thorfinn and Antonin had been best friends for decades.

"You're wrong about that. He's scared, Princess. Scared that he can't protect you from Rodolphus fucking with your mind again."

"I don't need him to protect me."

"Never said you did, but it's instinctive in us to want to keep our witches and children safe. We don't actually _mean_ to be obnoxious. Blame biology."

His wink made her laugh. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed her old friend. Still clutching the almost empty bottle in his hand, Thorfinn stood.

"I'm going back to my favorite table at the Three Broomsticks and drinking until I forget I ever pressed my lips against hers."

With another laugh, Hermione grabbed his collar and pulled him down until she could brush _her_ lips against his. Over almost as soon as it began, he raised a single eyebrow and smiled the same grin she loved so much.

"Does that help?"

"It does, but not enough, I'm afraid."

Each of them left moments later. Before she walked out of the office, Hermione made certain to take one final look at the bitch who'd worked with Rodolphus for so long to bring misery into her life. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face if she tried.


	316. November 11th

November 11th

For possibly the first time in her life, or more likely in her recent memory, Hermione actually looked forward to the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. She wondered how long it took for Alecto's body to be found, who was the unfortunate soul who stumbled upon the scene, and how her untimely death would be covered in the newspaper she worked for. Also, she couldn't help but be a tiny bit concerned that some of the blowback from the crime would land on her. As careful as she and Thorfinn were, there were always opportunities to improve. And she had to admit that considering their most recent interactions, Hermione was the most likely suspect. She knew she would have to be careful how she proceeded in the future. Enemies were everywhere.

Law and order post the Dark Lord was something a joke, except there was nothing funny about it. Pius Thicknesse was proving his complete ineptitude as Minster for Magic. There was a very valid reason he'd only been placed in his position to be a puppet. As much as she might have wished to be effective, he was in over his head. The various departments and divisions within the Ministry ran themselves, leaving no authority to the central head of the government. Hermione could only imagine how chaotic the organization had become. Yet again she was grateful to no longer be a part of that wretched cesspool of corruption. How was it possible that she ever deemed that a desirable career choice?

She placed her order for her usual breakfast with one of the barmaids, actually feeling hungry enough to eat it. A satisfying murder made one crave food, sleep, and sex. Two out of three wasn't too bad. She would've been able to find a willing partner if she just looked around, but she wasn't interested. Too often sex felt like a chore. Though more than willing to use it if helped her further her cause, she was actually growing weary of the meaningless sex that had been such a large part of her life as a Death Eater.

No matter what she did in the past or might do in the future, she would _never_ allow the overly-opinionated prudes with their obnoxious sense of moral superiority to make her feel guilty of how she'd learned to use her body as an effective weapon. Climbing into the right bed saved her life a time or two. She'd been able to cultivate alliances and destroy enemies all while enjoying the physical pleasures of the flesh. She was not ashamed even as she heard the insults muttered under her critics' breaths. All it made Hermione think was how pathetic and boring their own sex lives must be to judge hers. Likely they weren't getting nearly enough sexual satisfaction to quench their primal cravings. Or they'd been cursed with terrible lovers who didn't understand how to make their bodies sing. Either way, she pitied _them_. What a miserable sex-less existence they likely lived. Just the thought depressed Hermione. How did people manage to make it through life without enjoying sex? It was a reality she wanted no part of.

When her tray arrived with her steaming hot breakfast, Hermione picked up her copy of the Daily Prophet first. She was almost giddy with excitement. Who could she kill next to get the same kind of euphoric high? There were still so many enemies left after all. Though unlikely to fill her with as much joy as Alecto's murder or William Wood's for that matter, at least she would feel like she was doing _something_ in their unpredictable and dangerous world.

Most of the front page was dedicated to memorializing another of their beloved, fallen reporters. With so many fatalities in recent days, who would be foolish enough to apply for the job opening next? Few details were given regarding Alecto's death as it was still 'under investigation', but no space was spared to tout all of the non-existent virtues of the deceased. Augustus was reported as being shocked and inconsolable. Hermione had to bite her bottom lip to keep from bursting out in loud laughter. It wouldn't do her any favors to be seen publicly celebrating the bitch's death.

A short article at the bottom of the page caught her eye, causing all hints of joy to disappear immediately. There wasn't even a picture to accompany the too-short article. Did he deserve so little respect?

 _Ronald Weasley Dead of His Injuries_

She grew furious at the complete lack of recognition. Only a few details about how long he'd been in hospital and how he'd gotten there in the first place were printed. Nothing at all about his twenty years of loyal service to the Dark Lord or his love for his family or anything at all about the funny, Quidditch-mad boy who once faced a notorious murderer on a broken leg to protect his best friend. Or the wizard who jumped into a lake in the dead of winter without hesitation to save the life of the very same friend. He was reduced to nothing but a few meaningless lines. It was unfair and wrong. He was worth so much more than that.

Tears of rage and utter sadness rolled out of her eyes. It didn't matter that she hadn't been friends with him for twenty years. She mourned the loss of the boy he once was, the one that she loved very dearly. Why was reality so cruel? Embarrassed and further infuriated that someone might have seen her be emotional, Hermione ignored her breakfast and ran out the front door still clutching the newspaper in her hand. Running almost entirely on rage and instinct, she was surprised for only a moment to find herself standing in front of Draco's building. She hadn't been to his flat since the day he kicked her out. None of that mattered just then. Perhaps they could discuss that incident later, after she'd said all she wanted to say to the frustrating wizard.

"You're the reason Ron is dead."

Her words came flying out of her mouth the very second Draco opened his front door to her loud, insistent knocking. His confusion was evident at once. Furrowing his brow, he seemed on the verge of demanding what she was saying when she could no longer hold the rest of her tears back. Not caring that he was witnessing her emotional turmoil, she continued.

"You followed me to his house and told your uncle I went there."

Draco didn't even try to deny what was so evidently the truth. If the news got back to Rodolphus and his younger brother that Ron's loyalty was in question, they wouldn't hesitate to ensure he was no longer a problem. She'd been a witness many times over the years to their method of handling problems. What Hermione didn't understand was what Draco was really up to. How could he proclaim in one second that he cared about her and then betray her the next? What was he really doing?

" _Why_ do you keep betraying me, Draco? Why do you pretend like you care about me and then run off to tell your uncle what you've learned?"

"I _do_ care about you, Hermione. I've never pretended."

She wiped at the tears that were still streaming from her eyes. Part of her feared that they would never stop. It was the reason why she spent so many years suppressing the obnoxious tears. Crying made her look weak. Even though she didn't believe there was anything wrong at all with letting out a little emotion now and then to prevent from going completely mad, she knew that others amongst the Death Eaters didn't feel the same way. It was easier to just learn how to not cry than it was to worry. She didn't like feeling so vulnerable in front of the wizard. Deciding that she wasn't going to get anywhere with him, Hermione turned around to head back to the lift and then to her escape. A gentle hand stopped her from moving.

"Come inside for a minute. You shouldn't be wandering around like this."

There was no reason to argue or push him away. Truthfully, Hermione didn't want to leave. She'd been able to find a safe refuge in his flat before. Was it possible she could again? She allowed him to lead her inside and over to his large sofa. Once she was seated, she covered her face with her hands and willed the tears to stop. They didn't.

"I didn't know Weasley died. I'm sorry to hear that. Truly."

Hermione wasn't sure that she actually believed him, but she didn't have the energy to argue. They all had a long, complicated history. She didn't have the first clue what sort of relationship the two of them had since the war ended. It had always been her goal to avoid them both whenever possible. But she couldn't ignore the fact that Draco had only recently tracked her to Ron's house when she told him not to. It was his fault that Ron was dead.

"You're very confusing, Draco. One moment it seems like you're on my side and then the next, you make it obvious that you're not. Whose side are you on?"

He didn't want to answer the question. Much like his uncle, she didn't expect to ever get the full truth out of him. There was something that Draco wasn't telling her. Likely a _lot_ of somethings. If she was wiser, she would run out of the flat and never return. But, as he'd had occasion to remind her of, she was too damn curious for her own good. If there was even the slightest hope that he might tell her what she wanted to hear, she wouldn't leave. He held a special power over her that she resented.

"Why won't you tell me, Draco? Why can't you tell me what you're really doing? Who you are really fighting for? What are _your_ plans?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak and immediately closed it again. She could tell that he was bothered by her line of questioning, but she didn't care. He couldn't act like he was upset and sad over Ron's death when she knew that he played a hand in it. Even if it was very small, she knew that his report of Ron's potential disloyalty was likely the deciding factor in whether or not he was attacked. Maybe he'd never directly murdered someone. That didn't mean his hands were clean. Far from it, really. He simply allowed others to do the dirty work.

She didn't want to imagine Ron as being nothing more than a problem. Not when he once meant so much to her. The tears began anew as she considered the fact that she was the last of the three Gryffindors. Both of her boys were dead. Would it be much longer before she joined them? She didn't push away Draco when he pulled her shaking form into his arms. No matter how furious she was with him in that moment, she appreciated the comfort of his touch, the reminder, no matter how false, that she wasn't alone.

Whether she was the one to kiss him first or Draco was, she didn't know. The emotions and intensity of the moment escalated very quickly. She'd been so lonely, it shouldn't have really been a surprise that a touch of his hand turned into so much more. When they were alone, it was difficult to resist the pull of temptation. Ripping at the other's clothes, each of them simply wanted to forget the horror and sadness in their world to cling to something. It might have been false, but she desired the reminder that she was still alive.

Regret washed over her the moment they both cried out in the throes of their mutual releases. None of her sadness was gone. It had only been ignored for the short period of time that they allowed themselves the opportunity to forget. Back at full force, she worried she was going to drown or suffocate. Perhaps realizing that she was wishing she'd never been there or maybe because he was feeling the same way, Draco made an excuse to leave the room to get them both something to drink.

She watched the wizard cross his living room completely naked. What had once been a sight that she enjoyed seeing only made her stomach twist and turn. Not wishing to be there when he returned to the room, Hermione sat up to put her own clothes back on. She was embarrassed that she allowed her guard down even for a moment. As she was picking her discarded jumper off of the floor, she heard a distinctive vibrating sound coming from Draco's trousers. Though she knew it was wrong to dig in another person's pockets, her curiosity got the better of her. She slipped her hand in one of the front pockets, removing a small silver compact mirror as she did. _Exactly_ like Antonin's, she had the gnawing feeling that it wasn't a coincidence. Confused and hoping she was wrong, she opened the mirror to see her husband's face looking back at hers.

"Hermione?"

Antonin was as confused as Hermione. Why was her _husband_ using a secret mirror to contact Draco? She snapped it shut. When she looked up a moment later, Draco stood in the doorway with wide eyes.

"I can explain."

"Don't bother. I don't want to know."

She was out of his flat the moment she was dressed. If there was another secret alliance that she was unaware of, that wasn't the day for her to uncover it. She was too exhausted as it was to hear anything he might have to say.


	317. November 12th

November 12th

Hermione wasn't sure why she ran out of Draco's flat without getting any answers. It didn't make much logical sense. Of that she was _painfully_ aware. For one of the first times in their acquaintance, he actually seemed to _want_ to tell her one of his secrets. So why then did she not stay long enough to hear him out? She'd been frustrated with all of the secrets, annoyed with all of the alliances she knew nothing about. Draco practically begged her to stay to listen his explanations. Why wouldn't she listen?

Maybe because she was almost certain that anything he told her was going to be a lie. Draco wasn't exactly known for being honest. Every time she had a conversation with him, even when they were naked in bed and _should've_ been able to be completely open with each other, she never felt like he was being truthful. He was playing some part in an elaborate game that she didn't understand all of the rules to. In the back of her mind she constantly worried that he was just manipulating her and trying to make her a fool. Certainly he wouldn't be the first man to try to do the same. She was exhausted of being lied to. If she allowed Draco the opportunity to explain why her husband was contacting him privately with a magic mirror, she had little faith that she could believe any of it.

She couldn't help but wonder the extent of her husband's relationship with Draco. Even as part of her wished she could go back in time to before she picked up the damned mirror, she wanted to know how long the two of them had been working together and for what purpose. Was _everyone_ allied together behind her back? Was it _literally_ Hermione against the world like she always feared? She shook her head to rid herself of such a preposterous notion. How self-absorbed could one person be to believe that everyone was against them and the world revolved around them? While she couldn't deny that she had always had a high opinion of herself in many facets of her life, she wasn't quite _that_ bad. It wasn't all about Hermione no matter how many times it could feel that way.

The night she and Antonin reconnected on the sofa in Aubin's cottage, she'd simply assumed that her husband had been contacted by Thorfinn with his mirror. She didn't know how many mirrors existed. There could be dozens! One more infuriating piece of a vastly frustrating puzzle. What would it be like to live a normal life free from the stress and worried of constant violence? It was an existence she felt she would never get to experience.

Especially when she stood over a bleeding Marcus Flint tied to a chair in his own kitchen. Unable to sit still while she had so many thoughts running through her mind, she needed something to keep her hands occupied. Marcus offered a suitable distraction. Left alone to stew in her anger for long, she worried about her delicate mental health.

"Why are you doing this, Hermione? I've never done anything to you."

Because of recent events, including her near-murder and the seeming betrayal of men she cared about, Hermione was somewhat concerned that she would never stop being angry. Almost like she was a volcano that had been simmering for years, ready for the top to blow and rain down death and destruction. No longer did she care the least bit about the rebuilding of the wizarding world. Nor did she care about her own future. There was no reason to believe she would be alive much longer. She chose to focus instead on her own personal enemies. Fuck the list. She had scores to settle.

When Marcus repeated his question, Hermione rolled her eyes so hard she feared she might be in danger of causing herself physical harm. For being such a devoted Death Eater after his son was killed years earlier in a tragic Diagon Alley attack, he could be entirely too trusting. Getting him in his current position was all too easy. He'd hardly struggled. The idiot actually invited her inside when she knocked on the front door. Even offered a cup of tea because it was so cold outside. He was filling the kettle at the tap when she attacked him from behind.

Did he not understand how unstable she was? There had been whispers for years and after that horrifying display during the Dark Lord's funeral, it was no longer a secret that she wasn't playing with a full deck. Marcus should've been more careful with the visitors he allowed to enter his home. Besides, his wife hated Hermione above all other witches. Wizards too, probably. For once, the woman's hatred had nothing to do whatsoever with fear that Hermione was sleeping with her husband. Though she and Marcus had always been friendly, there had never been anything between them. Even if Hermione had been interested, which she never was, Marcus was another one of those rare breeds who only had eyes for his own wife. No, Mrs. Flint's hatred for Hermione was entirely personal. They had a long history, none of it particularly pleasant.

She wanted answers anywhere she could get them about Rodolphus' plans. There was much more than he was willing to tell her. Rebuilding the Wizengamot had nothing to do with her as Rodolphus only wished to have Purebloods represented. Or as close to Pureblood as it was possible to get. Some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families were a trifle less pure than they were when Cantankerus Nott wrote his book about them almost a hundred years earlier. No, there was something else Rodolphus had in mind for Hermione. She hoped that maybe he or his younger brother had been careless with their tongues when Marcus was around. More like a loyal dog than an equal, she could see them not being so guarded in his presence. Maybe something was said that could help her understand what to expect next. And getting rid of another of their trusted allies was an added benefit.

"I want to know more about Rodolphus' plans. You must've heard him talking to his brother about what he wants to do."

"Yes, he wanted to rebuild the Wizengamot. Asked me to represent the Flint family."

She sliced his chest again with a spell. He flinched and hissed at the pain. Blood was already pooling on the kitchen tile at his feet. It gave Hermione a perverse pleasure to desecrate Mrs. Flinch's pristine kitchen. As one who took a great deal of pride in keeping her home neat and tidy, finding her husband's dead body and blood everywhere might send her into an obsessive panic. Would her first scream be because her beloved husband was dead or because the false sense of perfection she always tried to strive for would be besmirched? Would she frantically scrub up the blood before calling for help lest others know she had a home that was less than perfect? Mrs. Flint had an image she cared more about than most people. Perhaps Hermione was at least somewhat responsible for her manic need to project a flawless face. The thought only made Hermione laugh. Even after so many years she was still pathetic.

"I already know about the Wizengamot. What plans does he have for _me_?"

"I don't know… ahh! Hermione, please! I'm telling you the truth."

There was an immense amount of satisfaction that could be had during a successful interrogation. Most of her subjects broke easily. Others she had to _encourage_. That took time, something she was woefully short on. The Flint children might all be tucked safely away of Hogwarts, but Mrs. Flint would eventually come home. Hermione worried she wouldn't get the answers she needed in time. It made her miss Level Eleven. At least down there she could take all of the time she wanted.

"You must have heard something."

She conjured a pair of pliers. Maybe using Muggle tools was a bit primitive, but even a staunch Pureblood supremacist like Rabastan couldn't argue that they worked. Marcus must've realized what she was going to do. One touch of his mouth and he tried to bite her hand. She punched him in the jaw with all of her might, pleased when she heard cracking. Blood dribbled down his chin with his saliva. It was disgusting but she'd handled worse.

"Would you like to rethink your answer?"

"I already told you…"

A spell froze his mouth open. Safe from worry that he would try to bite her again or close her mouth, Hermione was able to slip the pliers inside. There was some debate amongst experts as to which teeth were more painful to extract. Hermione never understood why anyone cared. They _all_ hurt. Picking one of the crooked teeth in front, she pulled. There was a very valid reason the phrase "pulling teeth" meant something was difficult, tedious, and time-consuming. His mouth might've been frozen open, but Marcus was still able to scream while Hermione yanked and pulled. Tears streamed down from the corner of his eyes. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Most people cried under the same circumstances. A human body could only withstand so much pain after all. Every time Hermione had to remove a tooth or several in completion of her duties, she thought of her parents and had to bite back a grin. Would her parents appreciate the humor of a daughter of two well-respected dentists extracting teeth purely for information?

"Marcus, I could keep doing this, but I don't think either one of us wants that."

She released the spell on his mouth. He spat globs of blood onto the tile as he tried very hard to keep from breaking. It was difficult to remain calm in an interrogation, especially when one was all but certain they wouldn't be leaving it alive. Madam Dolohov had just as many, if not more, kills as the wizard Marcus followed around like a lovesick lapdog. He knew the odds of survival were slim. Likely it was the very reason he wasn't speaking. She had to change tactics.

"Your wife gets home a few minutes after five, is that correct?"

Mention of the horrible woman he married a few years after the end of the war changed him immediately. She almost smiled. Love could be such a weakness. Maybe he wouldn't say anything to save himself, but she was sure he'd spill to protect his wife.

"Do what you must to me, Hermione, but leave Marietta out of this. She's never done anything wrong."

Hermione disagreed, but said nothing. The fear in his eyes when talking about the woman he loved was easy to spot. She could use it to her advantage.

"I don't like your wife. Never have. Wouldn't bother me to finally get rid of her."

" _Please_ , Hermione. Leave her alone. My children need their mum."

"Tell me something useful and we can both walk out of here alive. Marietta never needs to even know."

It was a complete lie, of course, but Marcus didn't need to know that. He attacked her family on at least two separate occasions. That couldn't be forgotten or forgiven. His shoulders slumped as he made the decision to betray the ones he'd been blindly following.

"I don't know everything."

"I never thought you did. Just tell me what you do know."

He sighed, shame colored his features.

"Rabastan used to send me to the apothecary for potions."

"What kind?"

"I didn't know what they were at first. Didn't care really, but one day I got curious."

"You mean, one day _Marietta_ got curious."

He didn't even try to deny her statement. There were two kinds of successful marriages between a Death Eater and a non-Death Eater: the Death Eater spouse either shared _everything_ or nothing. Giving only half the truth eventually grew tiresome and those marriages usually failed. The Flints evidently had one of the former. Marriages between two Death Eaters were infinitely more complicated.

"One was to induce anger and the other was a mild aphrodisiac. Mari said it was hardly more effective than eating oysters or chocolates. "Hardly worth the effort" she said. I gave them to Rabastan and he told me to leave. But, I didn't. I left the room but watched him mix them with another through the keyhole. I didn't understand why. Never much cared for potions. Snape said I was too impatient and clumsy."

Hermione bit back the uncharitable remark that it was more likely he just simply wasn't smart enough. There was no reason to call him an idiot. No doubt others had been calling him that all his life.

"Another time I brought him the potions and Rodolphus was there. He sent me away but I listened again. Rabastan was complaining. Said it was too tedious and demanded to know why they were necessary. Rodolphus said the combination of all three potions made it easier to cast the memory charms he used. I didn't know they were for you until later. I saw you drinking a vial and then you disappeared with Rodolphus. Thought at first you two were just… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Then I thought Rodolphus was maybe casting spells on you. Mari said…"

"That it's what I deserved? That you shouldn't tell me?"

"Something like that." He sighed again. "I heard Rodolphus talking to Alecto once about you. It was a few months after that. Maybe a year. She wanted to know if Rodolphus had any success "waking you up". I still don't know what she meant by that. Rodolphus was mad. Said it wasn't working and that he'd probably have to do it another way, the way that was more complicated and time consuming."

Her fears that Rodolphus had been trying to turn her into some sort of weapon or worse hadn't gone away even after Mr. Akingbade declared her free of Rodolphus' memory charms. Marcus' confession terrified her. What was Rodolphus trying to do to her and was it still possible?

"I don't know anything more than that, Hermione. I _swear_ on my children's lives."

Coming from a man who'd once held his son in his arm as he died thanks to a Resistance bomb, Hermione knew that wasn't a swear he made lightly. Though once again she was left with more questions than answers, at least he was able to explain _something_ to her.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

The light left his eyes at once. She didn't want the kitchen to look like there'd been an interrogation. It would come back to her and could cause her future headaches. A few spells cleaned up the mess. Untying him from the chair and levitating his lifeless body to the tile, it could easily seem like he'd died of a massive heart attack. He wasn't exactly known for eating healthy and years away from the Quidditch pitch changed his body. Maybe no one would notice he was murdered.

"Marcus!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

"You were supposed to be at work, Marietta."

The woman was sobbing, whether from grief or fear it was unclear. As Hermione stood to her feet, she took a glance at the woman's face. Though time had made the marks virtually undetectable, she could still see the word 'sneak' written across the wretched woman's face. It might have been poor planning to not create a countercurse for the cursed parchment from Dumbledore's Army, but she no longer cared.

"I didn't feel well. Thought something was wrong."

"Stupid woman."

Marietta was too consumed in her own fear to even try to fight. Not that she would've been able to defeat Hermione. The second time she uttered the killing curse, she didn't even have to put much effort into it. She'd been wanting to kill the woman for years.

" _Avada kedavra_."

Hermione stifled a yawn and finished cleaning up all traces that she'd been there. She'd let whoever found their bodies worry about what to do next.


	318. November 13th

_**Author's Note: Lots of interesting reviews last chapter! No, I'm sorry, but Hermione isn't a horcrux. (How could she be? There are way too many holes for that one to work, I'm afraid. I would have to make the story WAY more complicated for that to work, and as I've already been told that I've made it "too complicated to be enjoyable", that's not what's going on.) And remember, for the better part of two decades she was an interrogator for the regime... meaning what she did to Marcus? All in a normal day's work. There's a reason this story is marked as a Dark!Hermione. She's not a good person. Will she ever be again? Uncertain. It's possible. Keep reading. And don't forget, she actually had some dark moments in canon too. She's never been entirely innocent and pure.**_

* * *

November 13th

Hermione hadn't forgotten what happened to Ron even if the rest of the wizarding world seemed to. As much as she wanted to avoid the Daily Prophet, she forced herself to look for any additional articles about the wizard who died tragically. There weren't any. It was almost as if he'd never existed. No further details about his attack were provided. Nothing. Either the investigation wasn't complete or no one cared enough to look into it. She suspected it was the latter.

One person might have been able to give Hermione more information about that confusing night. The morning after she murdered the Flints she still felt restless. She made the decision to seek out more answers and potentially put an end to another enemy. With the small house tucked away in the woods firmly set in her mind, she Disapparated away from the village she was growing weary of being in. She thought that it would be time to move on soon. Having Thorfinn always nearby and ready to report on her activities and visitors to Antonin was tiresome.

No one was inside Ginny's house. Not that she really expected them to be. After the evening spent torturing William Wood, she didn't expect anyone to ever want to live there again. At least not someone who knew the dark history. Besides, she already knew from Charlie that Ginny and her daughter were staying with him. Hermione simply needed access to the house to try to find one of Ginny's possessions to track her real location.

She was pleased to discover that Wood's body had been removed and all traces of blood from that night cleaned up. The smell of death after it began to ripen was loathsome. Hermione never could stand it. There was a special crew in charge of sanitizing the side-rooms on Level Eleven. Not enough gold existed to entice her to take that job.

The bedroom was where she was most likely to find something Ginny owned. Maybe she left a nightgown or a hairbrush behind. Anything would be better than nothing. She hated being in the same room with the bed she witnessed that disgusting display on weeks earlier, but it couldn't be helped. Resolving to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible, Hermione opened the uppermost drawer in the chest of drawers to rummage around for something useful.

Ginny left in a hurry to her delight. Several articles of clothing were still neatly folded inside. While she could theoretically use any of those, she wanted to find something more effective. When she heard the clink of glass vials underneath a heavy woolen jumper, the potions addict in Hermione got excited. Was she about to stumble upon a treasure trove of illicit, delicious potions? Why else would Ginny keep them hidden? Almost as soon as she had that thought she felt ashamed. She'd made promises to several people that she had every intention of keeping. Potions would only make her life even more complicated. She certainly didn't need that.

There were five vials tucked away in the back of the drawer. All of them had the same mother-of-pearl sheen. Though it had been many years since she last saw the potion, Hermione was almost certain she knew what it was. Removing the stopper from one, she inhaled deeply. At the first hints of freshly mown grass and new parchment, she knew her suspicion was correct. Why did Ginny have Amortentia hidden in her house? Or in her house at all?

"What are you doing here?"

Proving once again that effective members of the Resistance were like ghosts, Ginny appeared seemingly out of thin air. She had her wand pointed at the intruder, ready to fight. But even with all of her brash Gryffindor bravado, it was easy to see that she was nervous. Hermione wasn't the least bit scared to be alone with the other witch. Funny how much courage one had when they're not afraid of and even welcoming of death. She held up the vial.

"What are you doing with this?"

Shame colored Ginny's cheeks bright red, but she said nothing.

"Is this how you kept my husband interested?"

Though she was angry and growing steadily more so, Ginny was on the verge of tears. Still she said nothing.

" _Why_ would you give my husband love potions?"

It was clear that Ginny did not want to have the conversation they were having, but Hermione had to give her credit for not running away. Maybe the younger witch was afraid she would be stopped if she tried. Or, maybe perhaps more likely, she was tired of running. As she sat down on the edge of the bed it was clear that she was exhausted. Truthfully, she looked awful and she'd lost too much weight in too short a time.

"Because Antonin has never been interested in anything more than just a quick one up against the wall in an alley. Had to figure out some way to keep him here for longer than half an hour."

"Why?"

Anger flashed in Ginny's brown eyes. The atmosphere in the room grew tense. Hermione tightened her grip on her own wand just in case she lost control.

"Because I was _ordered_ to. _Ordered_ to seduce him again and find some way to keep him interested long enough for _you_ to stumble on us. Did you enjoy the show, by the way?"

Hermione was as disgusted as Ginny was mortified. What was the purpose of that horrible display? And who would do it? She was frustrated with all of the never-ending questions. Would they ever stop?

"I tried to gradually wean him off the potions, see if he would stay on his own. He didn't."

Her bitterness was impossible to miss. Hermione _almost_ felt sorry for her. _Almost_. She still had about a thousand more questions. At least Ginny seemed in the mood to talk. Maybe she'd even learn something useful.

"Who ordered you?"

"Who do you think?"

"Rodolphus."

She only nodded. Some of her suspicions no longer felt as insane as they once did.

"So you _are_ the spy?"

Ginny scoffed at the question, laughed, and then burst into sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she didn't even care that she had an audience. Hermione could recognize a woman at the end of her tether. Much more and Ginny would snap. When she was able to calm herself a few minutes later, she wiped at her face and looked Hermione in the eyes. She wanted to prove she was telling the truth. An expert like Hermione could've already figured that out, of course, but Hermione appreciated the gesture. It was by no means small.

"Rodolphus knew about Maisie from the very beginning. I have no idea how. Maybe he could smell her when I was pregnant. I haven't the faintest idea. You'd have to ask him."

Hermione had every intention of doing so when she found the right opportunity to ask. All recent signs seemed to indicate that she would need to seek him out again, sooner rather than later. Considering he'd gone a while without dropping by, she assumed he might try to find her first. The man was obsessed. Why? She wished she knew.

"Somehow he knew the baby was Antonin's. For all I know, he _watched_ her be conceived. He's always been a creepy bastard. He threatened me. Told me that if I didn't help him he would tell Antonin. I was terrified. I didn't know what Antonin would do if he found out about the baby and by that point, I'd gotten used to the idea of becoming a mum. I was _excited_."

It seemed poor form to tell the woman that especially at that horrible time in their volatile marriage, Antonin very well could've left his wife and taken his son to start a new family with Ginny. Might have even been glad to do so. She certainly wouldn't have minded. No, it was too cruel to rub that bit of knowledge into her wounds. Antonin wouldn't make the same decision in the present. How she knew that she wasn't sure.

"Rodolphus blackmailed me. There's no other term for it."

"What did he want you to do?"

"Help him defect from You-Know-Who. He brought me to this house. I'd already planned to go in hiding before I started showing. He covered every bit of this house in protective wards and enchantments. No one, not even Draco Malfoy with his special tracking spell, could find me here."

Hermione found her explanation odd.

"But that doesn't make sense. There aren't any wards on this house. I noticed that the night I killed Wood."

Ginny's eyes narrowed at the reminder of her best friend's death. If she wasn't being kept on such a tight leash by Rodolphus, Hermione had no doubt she would be in real danger from her former friend's wrath.

"Rodolphus removed them. Said that Antonin would be able to sense them. He would know Rodolphus had been here. He can identify the magic of those who cast the wards?"

Hermione nodded. He'd been gifted with innate abilities that few others possessed in that area. Much like a real Seer or a metamorphmagus or a Parselmouth, it was one of his natural magical strengths. While he could teach others some of what he could do, they would never be as good.

"I stayed in this house while I was pregnant and for a long time afterward. Up until _that_ night…" She glared again at Hermione. "…I loved it here. Felt safe even."

"How did you help Rodolphus escape?"

"Taught him how to cloak his magic. That wasn't easy, especially for an animagus. Also brought him to the village. Helped him find a place to stay there. He wanted to be in the middle of it all. Wanted to know all of the Resistance's secrets. Since we met in Tiberius Zeller's house most of the time, I suggested confounding him. He could live comfortably in front of his fireplace and hear all he wished."

The details of how Rodolphus was able to survive for so long without the Dark Lord knowing he was alive or any other Death Eater being able to find him had always intrigued Hermione. Whenever she would ask him how he was keeping such a low profile, he would just smile, tell her not to worry her pretty little head about him, and usually try to distract her with a kiss or something much more enjoyable. As the truth began to come out of Ginny's mouth, she felt like she should've been able to guess the Resistance was somehow responsible.

"He's been threatening to tell Antonin about his daughter since before she was even born. Those threats were enough to get me to do what he wanted, but he's gotten worse."

"What do you mean?"

"He's no longer threatening to just tell Antonin. He's getting more and more paranoid. After I told you about my daughter, I had Will take her out of the country. Rodolphus insisted that I bring her back after you saw us together. He wants her close. He wants to…"

"He wants to what, Ginny?"

Tears rolled out of her eyes again. The resolve she'd been able to build up was cracking. Ginny took a deep breath and tried to continue. She had to stop once more to wipe the tears away before she could.

"He said that if I don't do _everything_ that he tells me to, he's going to _kill_ her."

And Hermione knew that that wasn't an idle threat. Rodolphus had never cared much for children. The exact number that he'd killed over the years wasn't known. If he said that he would kill Maisie, he would.

"She's _all_ I have, Hermione. I can't… I can't _not_ do what he tells me to do."

"Ginny, I saw you the night that Ron's house blew up. Did you…?"

Her renewed sobs was all the answer that Hermione needed. If she was ordered to kill her brother or her daughter would be murdered instead, how was she able to do anything _but_ kill Ron? Hermione couldn't blame her. Truthfully, she couldn't blame her for _anything_ she'd done. Not in the name of protecting her daughter. She knew that if she was faced with the same choice, she would do whatever was necessary to ensure that Oliver was safe. Maybe that was a relatively new feeling for her since she stopped taking her potions and actually gotten to know her son better, but it was still valid.

The more she knew about Ginny's predicament, the more impossible it became for her to hate the witch. What sort of mother would she be if she just allowed Rodolphus to kill Maisie for her failures? She was doing the best that she could under impossible situations. Anyone who couldn't forgive Ginny or understand _why_ she'd done what she'd done was more of a monster than Hermione could ever dream of being. Sympathy like she'd rarely felt in her life took over her senses.

"You _have_ to be careful, Ginny. If Antonin finds out you gave him potions _and_ you've been keeping his child from him? He'll kill you."

"I'm aware."

Hermione couldn't believe that she actually felt _sorry_ for the other woman. Living in constant fear for _years_ of losing her child couldn't have been easy. She felt torn. As much as she wanted to hate Ginny, she struggled. Wouldn't she have done the same for Oliver if she'd been in her right mind all along?

"Did you come here today to kill me?"

"I came here today because I had questions."

"And if you didn't like the answers?"

"Doesn't matter anymore."

And she meant it. Everything changed. Rodolphus would have to pay for what he'd done. Another mother couldn't be forced to live in such fear. If she wasn't careful, Hermione could very well be next. There was no longer any reason to stay in that house. She'd gotten the answers she needed. Before she walked out of the door of the bedroom, Hermione turned around to look one last time at the broken woman seated at the edge of the bed.

" _Please_ , Ginny. Be very careful."


	319. November 14th

November 14th

Even with over a day to consider her next moves, Hermione wasn't sure what to do about Ginny. As much as she hated her, she couldn't help but pity the woman for the impossible situation she found herself in. What mother could blame another for being willing to sacrifice _everything_ just to protect her child? Hermione might have been a shit mum, but even she knew she'd do the same for Oliver. If there was ever hope in the future for her to be better, she didn't know. Maybe if the world was kinder to her than it had already been. Though she knew she should be angry and out for Ginny's blood, it was difficult for her to summon up enough moral outrage.

The world was too cruel. Just the simple business of living and dying demanded too much out of people. Hermione could understand all too well why there were those people who existed that just wanted to find any out they could. As she sat in the chair next to her personal fireplace in her room at the Three Broomsticks the morning after her unexpected visit with Ginny, she felt more isolated and exhausted than she had in a long time. Was what she was doing even worth the energy? Was she making any bit of difference?

A knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts. Grateful for a respite from the increasingly morose and fatalistic imaginings, she was also annoyed. Who would dare to disturb her in her privacy? She'd already opened the door a short time earlier to accept the tray of breakfast from one of the useless barmaids. When she allowed the chit to levitate the tray onto the small table next to her chair, Hermione slammed the door in her face with explicit instructions that she be left alone for the rest of the day. She found the positive attitudes of the young witches that would flit in and out of her room to make her bed and tidy up grating. Did they not understand that soon their looks would fade and they would be faced with the true ugliness of humanity?

"Go away!"

The knocking at the door only became more frantic when she shouted. Angry that they would ignore her very clear wishes, Hermione crossed the room in just a few seconds to yank open the door. Prepared to scream at whomever it was that dared to disturb her solitude, the desire vanished at once when her eyes landed on a shivering, crying Rosalind Nott.

"I didn't know where else to go."

She did make the promise to her when she made that awful visit to the Nott family home that if she needed anything she could be found at the Three Broomsticks. It must have been something serious to encourage the young pregnant witch to seek Hermione out. Feeling an odd sense of protectiveness, she gently pulled Rosalind inside the safety of her room. Once the door was closed, she coated it in thick protective wards. She didn't want any curious souls who might have seen her enter the establishment to get too close to listen at the keyhole.

Rosalind was freezing. The weather outside was not conducive to a pleasant stroll. As her entire body shook and trembled with her shivers, Hermione carefully removed her wet cloak and wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders. She led her over to the chair she'd just risen from next to the fire. While the girl tried to warm up, she reheated the pot of tea that she hadn't touched on her breakfast tray. She wished she could slip some calming potion into her cup, but it wasn't safe for pregnant witches to drink. Once Rosalind warmed up, she calmed.

"Millicent kicked me out of the manor."

The entire story came tumbling out of the girl's mouth moments later. Millicent Nott and her elder brother showed up at the manor to demand that Rosalind take her leave. Marius Bulstrode was nastier than many Death Eaters despite never becoming one himself. Hermione wasn't surprised that he was somehow involved in her eviction. As some sort of solicitor, she never cared enough about him to get the exact description of his chosen profession. He had immense knowledge of the law, especially the more archaic customs that the worst of the Pureblood families abided by. Every time their paths crossed in the previous twenty years, Hermione made it a point to avoid him. He didn't have much use for her either.

"I was ordered to leave the manor, but I wasn't allowed to take _anything_ with me. He said those were the terms of my marital contract. I didn't really understand what he meant."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew _exactly_ what the girl didn't. An antiquated feature of many Pureblood marriage contracts featured a clause that was to discourage young witches from straying from their usually much, _much_ older husbands. If any infidelity was uncovered, they were to be thrown out of their husband's house and sent back to their parents with nothing. At least the Bulstrodes were _generous_ enough to let the girl leave with her clothes on. Some witches believed to be in violation of the terms of their marriage were sent back to their parents in the nude.

"My parents are dead. They didn't have any money, just debts. That's why Theodore agreed to marry me. He paid their debts for me."

"So any property that might've belonged to you now belongs to Theodore's _true_ heirs."

Sometimes she worried that she would never be able to _stop_ rolling her eyes. When would the wizarding society evolve past the buying and selling of young witches? It was absolutely deplorable. They should've been well past the horrific custom that treated women like chattel.

"Do you have any other family? Siblings? Grandparents? Aunts?"

Rosalind shook her head, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Based on the state of her clothes and the dirt that she could see on her face, Hermione knew she'd been wandering a while before she finally sought her out. How many days did this pregnant _child_ wander in the freezing temperatures with nowhere to go? Any number of unscrupulous monsters could've taken advantage of her naïveté and desperation. She took her beaded bag out of her pocket and rummaged around inside for a pair of clean, warm pajamas. They might be a little big on the tiny girl, but it would be better than staying in the filthy clothes she had on.

"Why don't you take a hot shower to get warm and cleaned up? I'll go downstairs to get you something to eat."

A hot shower and the promise of food was enough to stem the flow of tears for a short time at least. Once Rosalind was safely in the bathroom, Hermione headed to the main room of the tavern. Her breakfast tray had been picked at and it was hardly enough to fill the girl's belly. Likely it had been days since she last had a proper meal.

As she waited for her order to be made, she considered her options. Rosalind needed somewhere safe to go. For whatever reason, Hermione felt a profound sense of responsibility to the girl. Without her interference, Rosalind might have been the wife of a disgusting tyrant like Theodore, but at least she would've been somewhat protected. It was entirely too risky for her to take care of the girl herself. Considering her recent activities, it was possible that she could die soon. She refused to even consider Rabastan as an option. No, she had to keep the two of them as far apart as possible. She had a legitimate fear that Rabastan might prefer to simply kill her and the child instead of worry about providing for her.

She could feel eyes on her as she waited. Her location really was too exposed. Turning in the direction of the sensation, she was able to catch Thorfinn in the act of staring. He was at the tavern more than he was at home. Her paranoia made her believe that that was by design because _she_ was there. Antonin was keeping tabs on his wife even if he wasn't interested in seeking her out himself. She would need to leave where she was staying soon.

Thankfully, because of the miracles of magic and food preparation, she didn't have to wait long for Rosalind's meal. Carefully levitating it in front of her as she returned to go up the stairs, she ignored the continued feeling of intense surveillance. Let Thorfinn look all he wanted. She wasn't doing anything wrong. For once she was even doing something good.

Rosalind was still in the shower when Hermione returned to her room. Not that she could blame the girl. It looked like several days had gone by since she was thrown out of her late husband's house. She couldn't understand why Millicent and her brother would be so cruel. Weren't they aware that she didn't have any choice in the matter of her marriage? Hermione had her differences with Millicent over the years, just as she did with most of the other wives of her fellow Death Eaters, but she still couldn't believe that she would be so hateful to a girl who had nothing.

She would have to be taken somewhere safe where she wouldn't be found by Rabastan. The horrible man hopefully wouldn't be long for their world. As she took care of her enemies, she looked forward to the day when she would be able to use all that she'd learned from Rabastan against him. His would not be a swift, painless death. No, she had plans for him. Plans to make him scream and suffer. It was only fair. Who did Hermione trust enough to care for the girl? There were few options.

"Thank you for being so kind to me."

A hot shower, clean clothes and the prospect of a hot meal changed the young witch's outlook completely. There was even a smile on her exhausted face when she sat down at the table to tuck into her meal. Hermione felt like she owed it to her after what she did. Funny how she'd never worried much about the family members she left behind after she got rid of an enemy. There used to be so much in her life that she could use to distract herself from the horrors of what she was actually doing. Maybe the universe brought Rosalind into her life to remind her what an awful human being she'd been for so long. What sort of person woke up each morning from their warm bed next to their husband who loved them to go to work where they _murdered_ people? It was disgusting. She hated herself when she allowed her mind to think on what she'd done with her life. Harry would've been so disappointed in how she turned out.

When her relatively silent meal was finished, Rosalind's eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Hermione offered her the use of her bed which she gladly accepted. Within moments of crawling under the sheets and laying her head on the soft pillow, she was asleep. How was it possible that even after what she'd been put through that she could just fall asleep so quickly secure in the knowledge that she was safe? It had been a long time since Hermione felt the same. She'd been looking over her shoulder for years.

There were two options for Rosalind if Hermione couldn't get her tucked away somewhere safe. Neither of them were particularly good. She would either be killed by the father of her child merely for being an embarrassment and an inconvenience or she would have to grow tougher, stronger, _harder_ to survive in the world. Much like Hermione had to do twenty years earlier. Was that why she felt such a strong desire to keep her safe? Usually she didn't care. She knew it was the truth whether she wanted to consider it or not. Rosalind was a chance to prevent what happened to Hermione from happening to another.

It became suddenly clear where she needed to take Rosalind. They would have to be very careful that no one saw them. When it was dark, Hermione would take her. There might not be any hope for the embittered, battle-weary woman, but there was still some for the girl.


	320. November 15th

November 15th

It was necessary to wait until most of the patrons of the Three Broomsticks were too drunk to notice the comings and goings of their fellow patrons. Explaining how and why Hermione had a pregnant teenager hidden away in her bedroom was something she didn't want to imagine. No doubt it would all get back to Antonin if Thorfinn was present. For all she was aware, there were other spies in the tavern she didn't know about. Rodolphus always seemed to know when she was there after all.

To Hermione's relief, no one seemed to care about the two women. Not even her constant shadow. Thorfinn was too busy arguing with another wizard about some topic she was certain would only make her roll her eyes. Quidditch, most likely. Very little else could inflame a man's passions so. She walked confidently through the main room. Rosalind was only a step behind her, afraid to be left behind. Out in the cold darkness of the late night, Hermione grasped the girl's hand in hers and Disapparated them away from the village.

Cornwall was the only option that made the least bit of sense. Augustus lived alone in his house and very few visitors ever desired to go his way. With his wife dead so recently, he wasn't likely to be entertaining any other witches. The attic room that Antonin helped to conceal was still there. And most importantly, Hermione knew that she could trust Augustus without question. He'd been her protector once before when she was in desperate need of one. She felt confident that he would be willing to be one again if she all but asked.

"Where are we?"

There was fear in Rosalind's voice. Hermione was loathe to give her any details of her plans before they arrived just in case there were any problems. Rosalind didn't understand how important it was to remain calm and keep secrets. She'd never been forced to learn how to survive in a Death Eater's world. If Rabastan or someone else with equally nefarious plans stopped them, Hermione didn't want the girl to have knowledge of their plans in case she was easily broken under the pressure.

"I have a very dear friend who lives in that house over there. Can you see it?"

She was relieved to discover that when they arrived she was still able to see Augustus' house. With the Fidelius Charm he cast on it in the preparations for the home to be used as a safe house for her family, if necessary, she thought that maybe his late wife demanded it be redone once she moved in. Rosalind nodded. Evidently, Alecto _had_ insisted it be removed, but hadn't bothered to add it back on. Was that because they'd had frequent visitors? It could still be dangerous to bring her there if so. This was her only idea.

"He's a kind man and I'm certain that he will let you stay here for a little while. At least until Rabastan is no longer a problem."

"Why would Rabastan be a problem?"

Her naïveté was as amusing as it was terrifying. It was tempting to not explain to her why her baby's father might want to kill her in an effort to keep her innocent, but Hermione knew that was dangerous. Rosalind needed to understand the full danger of her situation. Before they took a single step closer to Augustus' front door, Hermione gently grasped the girl's elbow and looked into her eyes. She wanted to be able to gauge whether or not she actually _heard_ what she was about to tell her.

"You are in danger, Rosalind. As long as Rabastan is alive, you are not safe. I'm not bringing you here just because you need a warm place to stay until you get back on your feet. I'm bringing you here because you need _protection_."

"From what? I don't have anything. Millicent already took everything away from me that I had left. She said that if I went back she'd have me arrested."

"Rabastan orchestrated a plan to get you pregnant. Were you aware of that?"

Her wide eyes indicated that she wasn't. Was it possible that she was ever this naïve and trusting? As much as she hated to do it, she knew that she would have to give the girl a cold, hard dose of reality.

"It wasn't an accident. Rabastan is well-versed on how to prevent those sorts of accidents. His brother is trying to rebuild the Wizengamot. They wanted you to represent the Notts. Having a son that you could pass off as Theodore's would've guaranteed your right to be there. Since Millicent and her brother were able to prove that you weren't lawfully married to Theodore, you're nothing but a liability to Rabastan now. If you showed up at his doorstep pregnant, you would embarrass him in front of his wife. He sees you as just a complication."

Tears rolled down Rosalind's cheeks as she learned the truth. Maybe she already knew it, but had been unwilling to actually believe it. Hermione had certainly had enough times in her life where she'd been in the midst of denial. Likely she was in that very moment about a number of topics.

"I'm afraid that Rabastan would try to kill you. Or maybe just your baby."

Rosalind's hands touched her belly in the protective motion that expectant mothers were known for. The longer she considered Hermione's words, the less she cried. She was already beginning the process that would harden her into a less trusting adult. It was necessary. Had to be done.

"I'm going to kill Rabastan… or die trying."

It bothered her to make the statement that she might actually die in her quest to rid the world of the horrible man's existence, but it was something that she couldn't ignore for even a second. Every single person she'd recently killed, except for perhaps Rita and Marietta Flint, could've done the same or worse back to her if the tides changed. She couldn't afford to get too arrogant in her abilities.

"There is a good man who lives in that house. He will keep you protected. Keep you _and_ your son protected."

Seemingly pacified by Hermione's assurances, Rosalind didn't hesitate to follow her to the front door. At the late hour it was entirely possible that they would catch Augustus asleep. She would have to be careful that he wouldn't try to attack them straight out of the gate. With so many Death Eaters dying in recent days, he could very well be on edge. Standing with her body shielding Rosalind's and prepared with a shielding charm on her tongue, she knocked on the front door.

"Hermione? What the devil are you…?"

Augustus' sleepy eyes widened at the sight of the teenage witch standing with her. Whether he recognized her from being a guest at her wedding reception, she wasn't sure. At least he didn't seem in a rush to send them on their way. He stepped backwards a couple of steps to allow them inside his home. When he closed the door, Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in greeting.

"I'm so sorry to come by in the middle of the night, but I didn't think it would be wise to come during the daytime."

"No, that's all right. I understand. Hermione, what..?"

He was at a loss. Not that she couldn't understand his confusion. She asked Rosalind to make herself comfortable on the sofa while she and Augustus spoke privately. Taking him by the hand, Hermione pulled him down the corridor to the privacy of his bedroom. It felt wrong to be alone with him in the room again, but she wanted a quiet place where Rosalind wasn't able to overhear their conversation. There was a small possibility that Augustus would send them both out of his house.

"That's Rosalind Nott. She's in danger and needs a place to hide for a little while."

The entire story came rushing out of Hermione's mouth in a torrent. She explained everything about how Rabastan was responsible for making it impossible for Theodore Nott to consummate his new marriage and the danger that put his widow in when Hermione killed him. She told him about the pregnancy, how she'd been left alone in that horrible, drafty house until the day Millicent and her brother kicked her out with nothing.

Augustus was sympathetic to the girl's plight. More than a few times when he heard a bit of the tale that was difficult to hear, he'd clenched his jaw or grit his teeth. Even gasped once or twice. Despite being a Death Eater for most of his life and spending over a decade and a half locked up in Azkaban prison, he still had compassion for those he knew that were in trouble. Maybe a part of him would always be like he was when he was seated outside her broom cupboard.

"You protected me when I was alone in the world, Augie. I know I have no right to ask you, but can you offer her the same protection? She has _no one_ and she's pregnant and terrified and I can't help her myself because…"

" _Shh_."

He stopped her rambling with a finger across her lips. Embarrassed at her show of vulnerability, she stared at the buttons on his pajamas until she was brave enough to look him in the eye. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time. He moved the finger from her lips and gently brushed the back of his knuckle against her cheek.

"When have I _ever_ been able to deny you? Of course I'll help."

She wanted to kiss him in gratitude, but stopped herself before she made the dangerous move. All that would do was give him the wrong impression. As much as she cared about Augustus and still loved him in a way, it wasn't how it used to be. She knew that she would only bring him misery and pain. Hadn't she hurt him enough?

"It won't be forever, I promise. Just until Rabastan is dead. She won't be safe until I can get rid of him."

"You've been busy lately."

There was an odd note in his tone that she didn't recognize. Was he more upset by Alecto's murder than she realized? Maybe she misread him and maybe he was lying when he told her over and over again that he was only using Alecto for information and to try to get in Rodolphus' good graces.

"Are you angry with me for killing Alecto?"

His loud laughter dispelled the last of her concerns that she'd upset him. A weight was lifted from her shoulders and she allowed a small smile. He really did have a nice laugh.

"Did you know Allie saved every knut she's ever earned? Made some good investments too. You're looking at a new independently wealthy widower."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. The news of Alecto's bulging vault wasn't exactly a secret to her, at least. Because she was born very, _very_ poor, Alecto was obsessed with money. She hoarded gold like a dragon in the fairy tales. Her rundown flat in London with the secondhand furniture was her home only because she was too cheap to spend a sickle more.

"Her nieces are _furious_. They thought they were going to get it all."

The mood in the room grew serious again. Augustus placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"I would do anything for you, Hermione. I'll keep Rosalind as safe as if she was my own daughter. As long as its necessary, she can stay here."

"Thank you, Augie."

"What are you going to do next?"

She'd spent a good deal of the day while they waited for darkness thinking about that very question.

"What I have to do, whether I like it or not."


	321. November 16th

_**Author's Note**_ ** _: I want to take a minute to thank each and every one of you lovely readers who have left me_ encouraging _reviews throughout this entire story. Those who take pleasure in insulting writers and their free stories they share with little hope or expectation of receiving anything, including reviews? Not so much. You can go crawl back under your bridge. This experience writing this story has been extremely challenging and one that I will never attempt again. I know it hasn't been everyone's cup of tea. Some of you even believe I have "ruined" my story by writing it this way, but whatever. This was a challenge that_ I _set for_ myself _and I don't really care if you like it or not. I'm very thankful to those who do enjoy it and have taken the time to let me know it. Truthfully, this story may very well be the last story I ever write, but as I have made a promise, I_ _will_ _finish this. For myself and for those that appreciate what I'm doing, but mostly for myself. As I have been undergoing massive struggles in my personal life, writing was my escape. It's not been much fun for awhile now. Hardly seems like a smart decision to keep doing something that just makes me miserable._**

 ** _So, I wanted you all to be aware that I will not be available to answer any questions or address any concerns you might have for several days. I will also not be available on FB or in The Death Eater's Express. Please understand if I don't respond to you for a little while, it's nothing_** ** _personal. But don't worry, those of you who read stories and don't really give a crap about the real human beings who write them, this story will be finished and it will be finished on time. Thank you for your understanding and patience. Maybe think about encouraging the other writers out there in this fandom or others that you enjoy. You never know when your kind words might be the only kind words they hear in all aspects of their lives. "Everyone is fighting a_** ** _battle you know nothing about. Be kind."_**

* * *

November 16th

It took an entire day of worrying and second-guessing herself to get Hermione to finally make up her mind. Once she saw Rosalind settled safely in the bedroom next to Augustus', she rushed back to the Three Broomsticks. Another moment in the company of her ex-lover and she feared that her immense gratitude might make her do something she would regret. There would always be a kind of love between them even if it wasn't exactly healthy or what all of the great love songs were written about. She'd felt safe with Augustus nearby and hoped that Rosalind would as well. After all, she was out of options.

Only a little over six weeks remained until the end of the year. Hermione couldn't believed how much had happened in that time or that she'd survived it at all. Many days in the previous months left her worried that she was running out of time. Maybe, if she was _really_ lucky and didn't make too many mistakes, she might actually make it to the end of the year alive. It was a hope that she carried within the darkest parts of her heart, but one that she didn't actually believe would come to pass.

She'd made too many enemies in her life. Including her husband, it seemed. They hadn't spoken since the night she dropped his watch as she walked out the door of his stolen cottage. He didn't trust her anymore. Maybe he never really did. Were those weeks where she was foolish enough to believe that they could actually have a future been nothing but a fantasy inside a sick woman's deluded mind? Antonin seemed to believe that she was working with Rodolphus or she was still involved with him in a sexual relationship. What sort of lies was Thorfinn filling his ear with? Or was it his own paranoid, jealous mind that was creating the scenarios?

The more she considered how messed up everything had gotten in her marriage, the more she was ready to continue her plans. She had several more enemies still alive. Some that had done their damnedest to ruin her life or the lives of the people she loved. That could not be borne. Revenge might have been a poor motivator, but it was all she had. And in order to keep going forward, she knew that she would have to do something that made her sick to her stomach.

Pushing aside her concerns for the moment, she occupied her mind with the simple task of repacking her beaded bag. The Three Broomsticks had been a suitable temporary home while she needed it, but it was time to move on. She wouldn't get as far as she needed hiding away in the rented room. The real action was a few hundred miles south of there. As she moved about the room checking to make certain she wasn't leaving anything behind, she could feel herself grow more and more nervous with each passing moment. Was she making the right decision?

When she no longer had the act of packing to keep her from delaying her exodus any longer, Hermione took one last look at the room that had been her short-term home. She knew she wouldn't be back. Downstairs many of the villagers were gathering for an early lunch. Just like a trusty hound, Thorfinn sat on his usual barstool surveying the main room. His eyes fell on her, but he didn't say a word or even nod in her direction. She was taking a big risk leaving Hogsmeade. If Antonin discovered where she was going, and she was positive that he would, it might be the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. Some things were unforgivable.

"Rosmerta, I need to check out."

The owner of the Three Broomsticks narrowed her eyes at Hermione's announcement as if she couldn't trust what she was hearing. When she didn't immediately hand her a bill or even act like she was going to, Hermione's frustration grew. She slammed the key to her room loudly on the bar top, not caring that she had an audience. Didn't Rosmerta recognize a woman on the verge of ruining her own life? Couldn't she tell that any delay at all might prevent her from going through with her terrible plan?

"I need to pay you."

"No, you don't."

She was confused. While she had paid for part of her stay, she knew she hadn't paid for everything. Rosmerta wasn't known for being a generous person, especially not to people that she hated. Hermione dug into her bag to pull out a handful of gold galleons. If the woman didn't tell her how much she owed, she was just going to leave _something_ behind, even if it was more than she was required to pay. She wouldn't take the hateful woman's charity.

"Put your gold away, Madam Dolohov. Your _husband_ has been paying your bill for weeks. You owe me nothing."

Hermione's eyes immediately sought out Thorfinn. The wizard wasn't even making it a secret that he was watching the entire exchange. He would be the sort to pay for her room and board at her husband's insistence. Thorfinn would do anything for his best friend, even when he was trying to make it seem like he loathed the very ground he walked on. Annoyed that they had some sort of arrangement behind her back, she crossed the room to stand in front of the blond.

"You can tell Antonin that I no longer require his assistance. I'm not his _obligation_ anymore."

Thorfinn didn't say a word in response. Not that she expected him to. Since the murder of his wife, he'd become a wizard of few words. Assisting her in two brutal murders helped to thaw their chilly relationship only temporarily. Clearly they were back to being little more than acquaintances. It would've hurt her feelings if she didn't have other worries to concern her instead.

She left Hogsmeade only moments after exiting the Three Broomsticks. Fearful once again that she would lose her nerve, she couldn't wait. The gates to the Lestrange family's estate were open, welcoming her to their little slice of the world. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life or was she doing what was necessary? Even Charlie Weasley seemed to believe that this was what she should do if she wanted the opportunity to bring Rodolphus down once and for all.

The walk to the Dower House took her longer than she expected. Each step grew more difficult. She felt very seriously that she was walking towards her own death. Rodolphus was obsessed. He wouldn't let her leave the house once she announced her intention to take him up on his offer. She would have to follow through with her plans no matter how dangerous and foolish they might be.

Before she could even raise her hand to knock on the Dower House's front door, it swung open to reveal a smiling wizard entirely too proud of himself. She longed to curse the smile off of his face, but instead did her best to seem like she was pleased to be there. Was he always in the habit of staring out his window on the off-chance that she might decide to visit? Or were their gates warded like Draco's flat to warn the residents inside when they had a visitor? Of course, it was also possible that one of his spies in Hogsmeade informed him that she'd checked out of the Three Broomsticks.

"Dare I hope that you've finally decided to take me up on my generous offer?"

"I'm fairly certain one of the barmaids, maybe even Rosmerta herself, is spying on me for my husband. I'd rather he not know where I'm at or what I'm having for breakfast."

It was at least partially the truth. Rodolphus had a real talent for sniffing out deceptions.

"Are _you_ working with my husband? Are you planning on telling him everything I do or say? Because all of these secret alliances are threatening to do my head in."

Rodolphus' boisterous laughter once made her laugh too. When he allowed himself to let loose and stop being the uptight, overly prim and proper Pureblood, he could be a lot of fun. She almost missed the days they used to have together. That is, of course, until she remembered the upsetting fact that he was manipulating her mind with altered potions and memory charms.

"No, my dear, I can assure you on my honor as a Lestrange that I have _no_ alliance, secret or otherwise, with your husband. If it was up to me, he'd be dead and no longer a problem."

"Surely you don't give yourself enough credit, Roddy. If you wanted someone dead, even Antonin, you could get it done."

"Ahh, I fear you overestimate the power I have. There are very valid reasons why Antonin has yet to be killed and why he's been allowed to continue his futile attempt to try to put his own spies on the Wizengamot."

Hermione was exhausted just thinking about all of the intrigue and secrecy that had become a part of their society since the Dark Lord was murdered by her husband. Hearing that Rodolphus was aware of what Antonin was trying to do also wasn't a surprise. Like she was well aware of already, there were spies _everywhere_. No doubt one of the people Antonin believed he could trust implicitly was passing along information to Rodolphus. Her money was on Draco. While she wasn't aware of the extent of their working relationship, the fact that Draco had a matching silver mirror seemed to indicate he was fully entrenched. He'd already made it a habit of betraying the Dolohov family to his uncle when it suited his purposes. Why would he stop?

"So you're saying that you don't have complete power in all of this?"

"You have always been a curious one, haven't you?"

"I see that you're not denying anything I've said."

"No, Hermione, I do _not_ have complete power. How would that be any different from how the Dark Lord chose to rule? The purpose of this experiment was to ensure that the government continued for more than one generation and that it wasn't ruled by a dictator with absolute power."

Expecting to get actual answers from Rodolphus was always a fruitless endeavor. He should've considered making a career for himself in law when he was younger. She'd met very few people who could speak so eloquently at length and not actually say anything. It was a talent that few could lay claim to. She knew that no matter how many questions she asked him, she wouldn't get straight answers. Subtlety would need to be employed. And perhaps a large vat of his favorite wine. Maybe even… no, she didn't want to allow her mind to travel down that path yet.

"I'm pleased that you decided to leave that horrible rat-infested tavern. Even my house-elves live in finer accommodations than those."

"My head hurts, Rodolphus. I'd like to lay down."

He took her arm in his to lead her up the stairs to the bedroom. The horrifying reality that she was going to be expected to sleep next to him in the same bed hadn't quite hit her fully. Not until they stood outside the closed door that led to the room she'd been in countless times in the past. Before he reached for the doorknob to allow her entrance, he smiled and took her instead to the empty guest room on the other side of the corridor.

"I've never wanted you in my bed without it being your choice, my dear, and that has not changed. When you are ready…"

He kissed her hand. She didn't have the courage to tell him that he might die before she was ready for that to happen again. Somehow she didn't think that was the response he'd want to hear.


	322. November 17th

November 17th

Being inside of Rodolphus' home was nothing less than bizarre. Just as he made his promise outside her bedroom door, he was nothing but a complete gentleman. Part of her worried that despite his assurances that he didn't expect her to crawl into his bed until _she_ wanted to be there, that she might wake up in the middle of the night to find him towering over her bed. Living in fear was not something that she wanted to consider doing again. She had to remain calm, had to remind herself continually that she was there only temporarily. The faster she got the answers she needed, the sooner she could leave.

Rodolphus wasn't going to tell her everything she wanted to know just because she asked. He was the sort of man who thrived on secrecy. For every secret he might choose to divulge, she knew that there were at least a dozen more he didn't. She had to be patient, a virtue that she had a shortening supply of the longer the year progressed.

She wasn't even entirely sure where she was to begin unraveling the network of lies and nefarious plans he'd weaved. There was a delicate balance that she had to maintain. If she asked too many questions too quickly, he would get suspicious and then she would have nothing. Would he have been foolish enough to leave a copy of his plans just lying around where she could find them? As much as she hoped that might be the case, she knew he was no fool. Likely insane and diabolical, he wasn't stupid. Never had been. _If_ such a document existed, it was locked up under heavy wards she probably wouldn't be able to tear down. She would have to remain ever vigilant, ready to jump at the opportunity to uncover even the barest of details.

Antonin would find out she was living there before she'd been there a day or two, if he hadn't already been aware the moment she crossed through the gates of the estate. She worried that he would think she was there for the wrong reasons, that she was a part of Rodolphus' quest to take over the wizarding world. Would he even believe her if she tried to get a message to him what she was doing? The depressing reality was that she didn't think her husband would ever trust her again. She wasn't sure if he'd ever trusted her to begin with. Because of their history, she knew that she could no longer allow herself to even worry about him. She had to follow her own mission just as he had to follow his.

Though the bed in Rodolphus' guest room was very comfortable, she hadn't slept well the first night she was there. Constant fear and worry that someone would attack her while she slept kept her from dozing more than a few minutes here and there. When the sun rose in the sky, she'd calmed somewhat and been able to sleep for a few hours. At least she didn't have to worry there was someone waiting to kill her in the shadows when there no longer were shadows. Sometime around mid-morning she forced herself out of the bed to face her new life.

Rodolphus was seated in the large room off of the lounge that he used as his private study. Scrolls and books were spread across the mahogany desk. With his head bowed and his full attention focused on a piece of parchment that he was scribbling on, he didn't even hear her when she entered the room. It was strange to find the man completely unaware of his own surroundings. Hermione stood silently in the doorway for several seconds before he lifted his head to smile.

"All of that time you spent on the run improved your ability to sneak around, my dear. I didn't even hear you."

"I will take that as a compliment."

"That's how it was meant. Did you sleep well?"

She gave him her most insincere smile. There was no way that he actually cared how she slept. It was only his impeccable manners as a host that compelled him to ask. Instead of describing her long, sleepless night afraid that she would be accosted in her bed out of fear of offending him, or giving him ideas he didn't need to possess, she entered the study. A comfortable chair was placed across from him in order to give visitors the opportunity to converse with the wizard, but that wasn't where she stopped. She moved around the large piece of furniture to perch herself on the edge only centimeters away. Rodolphus was pleased with the seating arrangement.

"Is this how you spend your days? Behind this desk scribbling nonsense?"

"Most days, yes. Did you have something more diverting in mind?"

The thinly veiled innuendo threatened to make her skin crawl. She knew that by moving into his house she was in danger of having to employ some of her more effective weapons against the wizard, but that didn't mean she was ready for it. Climbing back into his bed would be done only as a last resort. She possessed other methods of persuasion that might work before she had to do something so drastic.

"No, I'm afraid not. I was just curious."

She hopped off the edge of the desk before he could stop her. As tempting as it was to start immediately asking him questions, she knew she would have to wait for a better moment. He would need to be lured into a false sense of security. Making her excuses to leave him for a comfortable chair in the lounge and good book, she didn't even wait for him to suggest an alternative. His soft chuckles followed her out of the room.

For the rest of that first day in Rodolphus' house she was able to watch the comings and goings from the relative privacy of his lounge. The front windows provided her with an excellent view of the front door and those approaching it. People were in and out of the Dower House all day long. Almost all of them she knew or recognized in some capacity. None of them were particularly surprising. Was this the heart of the new regime? Even several people that she knew from the list she was given stopped in for a few minutes to speak to Rodolphus. She was unaware of the sheer number of people who were on Rodolphus' side. It was no wonder that Antonin had been worried for so long.

There was once a time in the distant past when her husband and Rodolphus were friends. Or, at the very least, they were friendly. A few years older than Antonin, Rodolphus didn't interact with his future fellow Death Eater at school much. It wasn't until they were sworn followers of the Dark Lord's that they became better acquainted. If circumstances had been different, the two men might have teamed up together to take over the regime in the aftermath of Lord Voldemort's death, but something prevented it. She didn't know the details. Only that any hope they'd ever had of being more than just polite acquaintances was crushed during the years they were both locked up in Azkaban. Neither man had ever been willing to share the details when she asked. Each of them told her that it was unimportant, that she needn't worry herself about ancient history. Was it over a woman? Disagreements like those often were. When she started spending more time with Rodolphus in her early days as a Death Eater, Antonin had never discouraged it. He might have been wary, but he never said so. In time, she no longer cared what caused the rift between the men. There were other more important things to consider and worry about.

The day passed surprisingly quickly. She didn't expect that. Somehow she thought that every moment that ticked by would feel like an eternity. Though she learned nothing of any real great value, she wasn't discouraged as they shared an after-dinner drink in the lounge. She was nervous as she sat on the same sofa with Rodolphus that the atmosphere would change. It hadn't been that long ago that he kissed her while they were seated in the same place. As the conversation started to slow down and the looks he gave her were beginning to linger a little bit longer than was right and proper, Hermione could feel her heart racing in a manner that wasn't good. The wizard smiled at her; his eyes drifted down to her lips.

"Forgive me for just barging in, but no one answered when I knocked."

For one of the very first times in her life, Hermione was actually grateful to see Rabastan. His brother, however, was _not_. As she listened to Rodolphus remind him in no uncertain terms that the Dower House was _his_ private home and he should have more respect for his privacy, Hermione sipped at her wine to hide her smile. Even as he was being berated for the countless time in his life by his elder brother, Rabastan seemed amused to find Hermione there.

"Have you seen Flint today, Roddy?"

"Why? Are you needing someone to kick?"

"No, he was supposed to be working on something for me, but he hasn't checked in."

Hermione bit back a laugh. How long would it take before someone stumbled upon the Flints' cooling bodies in their kitchen? She hadn't done a very good job at concealing the bodies. There had been no need. Even if their deaths were somehow traced back to her, she didn't care. It was a dangerous world they were all living in.

"If you gave Marcus something to do and he's avoiding you, seems to me that he hasn't completed whatever it was you wanted done. You know you have to keep a tight rein on people like him, Rabastan."

Seemingly satisfied that his brother was correct, Rabastan turned his attention back to Hermione. She hated when he stared at her so boldly. It brought to mind too many times in the past when she'd been exposed with nothing to hide from the wretched, horrible man.

"Do I have something in my teeth, Rabastan? Why do you keep staring?"

His smile broadened just enough to make Hermione feel even more nervous than she already did.

"I just find it very _interesting_ that you're here. Came all on your own, did you?"

"Careful how you speak to my guest."

"I would never _dream_ of insulting our Hermione, brother. I merely found it interesting that she came so willingly. Wasn't that long ago she seemed content to never leave her husband's bed."

Up until that moment Hermione didn't realize that she had the capacity to loathe Rabastan any more than she already did. He was going to be a problem. Either she couldn't stay there long or she had to get rid of Rabastan. The best case scenario would be to get the information she needed quickly and then kill him. She couldn't wait for the day she could feel his blood splash across her skin.

"I'm going to locate Flint. The idiot can't stay hidden long."

Rabastan made his exit shortly after his announcement to Hermione's relief. Worried that being alone again with Rodolphus would put them back into a situation she wasn't ready for, she rose to her feet when her glass of wine was empty.

"I think I'm going to take a long bath and then go to bed."

As she passed by Rodolphus he grabbed her hand. Gently, he pulled it close to allow him to kiss the inside of her wrist. It was an intimate gesture she wasn't prepared for.

"I'm very glad you chose to come here, my dear. I hope you will be very happy here."

She smiled at him even as she felt sick to her stomach. Likely she would be convinced she'd made the wrong decision to go there up until the very moment she left.


	323. November 18th

November 18th

Hermione's second night in the Dower House was marginally better than the first. At least she was able to get more sleep than she had the night before. Rodolphus seemed sincere in his assurance that he would only want her in his bed at her desire. Never before had he forced her to do anything that she didn't want to, but that was a long time ago. Another lifetime, really. She wasn't the same person that she used to be and she got the impression that neither was he.

After she was showered and dressed for the day, she descended the stairs to the small dining room where Rodolphus had all of his meals served to him by his family's house-elves. Though it was never going to be something that she was comfortable with, she didn't make any fuss about the rights of the creatures his family kept enslaved for dozens of generations. He wouldn't be persuaded and she wanted him happy and relaxed. Breakfast was always served promptly at eight unless the master was recovering from his exertions the night before.

He was already seated at the table when she entered. At the sound of her footsteps, Rodolphus folded down the morning edition of the Daily Prophet he was reading to smile and wish her a good morning. When he asked her how she slept she was able to give him a truthful answer. Plates appeared in front of her the moment she sat down in the chair to his left. As grateful as she was for a warm, free meal, she worried that the churning of her stomach wouldn't allow her to enjoy it or even to swallow much. Too much stress brought on a number of digestive issues that she didn't want to contemplate. The only cure for many of those ailments was for the reduction of stress. Until she was dead or everyone else was dead, she didn't expect there to be much opportunity for that.

"Anything interesting in there this morning?"

She wasn't sure why she was so quick to try to engage him in conversation. The blessed silence of the morning meal was something that she could've gotten used to. When she spoke, Rodolphus politely folded the newspaper and set it down next to his plate.

"Not particularly, no. The quality of journalism has gone way down in recent years. Especially since the best reporters keep mysteriously dying."

Rodolphus seemed to be amused by the reminder of the murders. Even with his smile Hermione still worried that he was angry about what happened to Alecto. She didn't understand the extent of their relationship or their partnership. Clearly they'd been working together for years. Was he just pretending to be unbothered so he could catch her off-guard later? Once again she felt the desire to start asking questions, but she stopped herself out of fear of appearing too eager.

"Marcus and his lovely wife were murdered. Rabastan found them last night."

"How awful."

He laughed at her unconvincing response. At some point in the past she'd made it perfectly clear how she felt about Marietta Flint neé Edgecombe. The bitch could rot in Hell for all she cared. She wouldn't shed a single tear or have a moment of regret for what she did. More than once Rodolphus mentioned the scarring of the horrible woman's face that she was responsible for to see if she felt any remorse. She didn't. The terms of the parchment that _all_ members of Dumbledore's Army signed had been clear. It wasn't Hermione's fault that the witch thought she was above them.

"Albert printed a story about it. So many _suspicious_ murders lately. He has a theory."

"Don't tell me. He thinks _I'm_ responsible."

His renewed laughter was the only answer she needed. Not that she was surprised. Of course Albert would automatically assume that she was responsible. He'd been boosting his newspaper sales for months with the the drivel that she was crazy and unhinged. Curious to know just how disgusting his article was, Hermione ripped the paper away from Rodolphus to read for herself.

The wizard was a fool not to recognize that he was making a dangerous enemy. She'd already told him that she was tired of the lies that were printed about her because they were upsetting her son. What could Oliver think of his mother if every time he opened the newspaper he had to read about her being a suspect in a heinous crime? Considering the Flint children went to school at Hogwarts with her son, it was entirely possible that one of them might try to retaliate by harming Oliver. _That_ was unacceptable. She would not allow that horrible man the opportunity to print another word about her.

Offering no explanation, Hermione rose to her feet and stormed out of the Dower House. No one tried to stop her even as she headed for the gates. Rodolphus knew her well enough to understand when she could not be deterred. When she was free to Apparate, she thought about the London offices of the Daily Prophet in Diagon Alley. She was there only seconds later.

Though it was a Sunday morning, she had little doubt that Albert would already be in the office. Because he was so understaffed he had to be there longer hours to make certain that the newspaper continued to run smoothly. Besides, Sundays were the busiest days. Not only was the morning edition the largest volume all week, there was always an evening edition as well.

As she stood outside of the office willing herself to remain calm, she knew what she had to do. The newspaper had long ago served its usefulness. She never wanted to see another Daily Prophet for as long as she lived. Diagon Alley was quiet that early in the morning. Anyone who crossed her path was wise enough to pass quickly. None of them dared to look her in the eye. Perhaps she had the look of madness that the paper was so quick to report on.

She pointed her wand at the leftmost corner of the building and muttered a spell. Then she repeated the same with the right. Familiarity with the offices meant that she knew it was a detached building sharing no common walls with any of its neighbors. The owners of the nearby shops would be pleased to have that design feature before the day was over. She was able to slip between the Daily Prophet offices and its immediate neighbor to sneak around to the back of the building. Most of the deliveries were made in the back. All in all, perhaps five minutes passed before she had the entire office building coated in an invisible containment field. If her spell managed to break out of the field, she would be universally despised and hated even more than she already was. Countless innocents would be killed as well. She couldn't afford to have that on her conscience. Only when she was one hundred percent confident that the containment field Felix Travers taught her years earlier was up correctly and impenetrable did she circle back around to the front of the building.

The staff of the Daily Prophet had been printing lies in its newspaper since the publication's founding in 1743. It was time that _something_ was done about it. She was able to push aside the nagging in the back of her mind that for once the paper _was_ telling the truth. She _did_ murder the Flints. Ignoring the reminder was easy because she knew there were plenty of other times that they'd printed nothing but codswallop and tosh.

No one stopped her when she entered the building. The full staff wasn't there, but plenty of offices had occupants. She only had eyes for one, however. Albert was in the process of bringing a coffee cup to his lips when she threw open the door. The dark liquid sloshed out of the cup, staining the front of his shirt. Realizing by the look in her face that she wasn't there to seduce him again or to have a friendly chat, the editor reached immediately for his wand. A short duel ensued before Hermione had him bound to his chair, his wand snapped in two at his feet.

"I told you that your lies were upsetting my son."

"Maybe your son needs to know what sort of crazy whore his mother really is."

She wouldn't allow him to get under her skin. His hatred for her went back many years. Nothing he said had the power to hurt her again. Focusing on the depth of darkness she had within herself, Hermione conjured a ball of fire into her hand. Not quite the bluebell flames of her youth, she'd graduated to something more sinister. Unable to move from his chair and recognizing the contained ball of Fiendfyre she held in her hand, Albert Runcorn was terrified.

"What do you think you're playing at?"

Already her concentration was wavering. Fiendfyre was a difficult Dark spell to cast in the first place, but to control it was even harder. Most died in their first attempt. She was grateful that she'd had a good teacher in Felix. Dropping the fireball on his desk, she knew that she would have to leave the building quickly lest she get caught in the inferno herself. The flames overtook his entire desk, jumping to the fabric of his robes. His screams were loud in her ears as she calmly walked out of his office.

The rest of the staff in the building worked themselves up into a panic at the first shouts of pain. Though very few of them had ever seen Fiendfyre in person, not a single one of them was unaware of what they were seeing. Albert's screams of torment mingled with the terrified shrieks from his employees. Hermione continued her calm walk to the front door while everyone else ran frantically for the front door or the back.

By the time she reached the exit, Albert's screams were over. She allowed a small smile to stretch across her lips. Maybe she should've gotten rid of him earlier when it was evident that he would be nothing but an enemy. No one even bothered to try to save the editor. It was every man for himself. How fitting for the chaos their world had descended into.

A terrified crowd of concerned shopkeepers and curious bystanders gathered round the escaped newspaper staff. Hermione allowed herself to be pleased that it seemed as if most of the staff, if not all, was able to get out of the building before it was fully engulfed in the flames. Collateral damage used to mean nothing to her, but that was no longer the case. She wanted to get rid of her enemies without killing anyone else she shouldn't. Her fractured soul could only take so much. When she had to atone for her sins in the mysterious afterlife, assuming that one even existed, she didn't want another innocent soul on her conscience.

The containment field kept the Fiendfyre from escaping the building. Without it, the unpredictable and dangerous spell could potentially take over all of Diagon Alley. She knew it was a risk when she cast the spell. Going down in history as the witch who singlehandedly destroyed Diagon Alley with a spell might've been amusing, but she was glad that she hadn't completely destroyed the iconic location. She'd had some wonderful memories there.

"What happened here?"

"I don't know. We were just inside working and then we heard screams."

Several of the rattled staff of the newspaper began giving their accounts to the crowd. When Hermione felt the faces begin to turn one by one in to her direction, she knew it was time to leave. The Fiendfyre would eventually die out on its own when there was nothing left within the containment field for it to consume or a competent member of the Ministry would be summoned to take care of it. Either way, the offices of the Daily Prophet and its editor were history.


	324. November 19th

November 19th

After the excitement in Diagon Alley, Hermione only had just enough magical energy left to Apparate her back to the Lestrange family estate in Norfolk before she collapsed. How she made it from the gates to the bed across the corridor from Rodolphus' room, she wasn't sure. Based on the fact that she'd been changed into a soft nightgown and her body cleansed of all traces of the acrid smell of Fiendfyre smoke, she assumed it was one of the army of house-elves that catered to the needs of the family. Rodolphus might not miss a chance to see her naked, but he wasn't the sort to take such thorough, gentle care of anyone.

She didn't wake up until midday. The amount of magical energy that was required to not only create the initial containment field, but then to conjure up Fiendfyre she could hold in her hand even for a few moments was astronomical. There was a very valid reason why so few ever wanted to attempt such a spell. Also, the fact that Vincent Crabbe wasn't able to control it when he was a foolish teenager proved that not everyone understood that energy had to come from somewhere.

It was all too easy to assume that because a person had the ability to use magic that they had an infinite supply ready to be used on a whim. That simply wasn't the case. Some witches and wizards were stronger, more powerful than others. Part of that had to do with genetics. As much as it infuriated Hermione to recognize that there were indeed some Pureblood families out there who were just naturally more gifted at casting magic, she knew it was the truth. Much like there were Muggle families that just naturally were more athletic than their fellow Muggles without needing to train incessantly. A Muggle couldn't run a marathon and then bounce back after a few minutes of rest just to run another one. There was a finite amount of energy that had to consume. The same went for magic.

Hermione could spend all day sitting on a sofa levitating a feather without expending much magical energy at all. But, if she tried to cast a series of powerful spells for many hours, she would eventually be too tired and depleted to continue. One could train themselves to undergo a rigorous routine of high-energy magical spells. It took patience and determination and even then they would have to rest at some point to replenish. Some witches and wizards had to work twice as hard as others to be half as good. It was a cruel twist of fate. Blood status didn't always determine a person's magical competency, no matter how many bigoted, misguided Purebloods claimed it so. A Muggle-born might be inherently more powerful than a Pureblood who could trace their magical heritage back a thousand years. These were facts that many Purebloods fought wars to prevent getting out. It was all madness that Hermione had little time or energy for. Maybe in a different world she would've been glad to fight against the pro Pureblood laws; not in the current universe she was forced into living.

Fiendfyre would zap the magical energy stores of _anyone_ who tried to sustain it. That was a lesson hard-learned by Hermione during the months she trained to cast it with confidence with Felix. Considering she hadn't cast the spell in a long time, years possibly, she was fortunate that it worked at all. Conditioning was just as important in magic as it was in physical exercise. If she wanted to cause more devastation in the future with the same powerful energy, she needed to keep practicing. Energy didn't just magically appear out of nowhere. It had to be taken from somewhere. Endurance was key.

When she could not lay in her bed for another moment longer, Hermione forced herself to get up to face what remained of the day. She worried that if she lingered in her bed for too long, Rodolphus might choose to come seek her out. The last thing she wanted was him anywhere near her bedroom. He might get ideas she wasn't ready to carry through with just yet. After a long shower left her feeling more human than when she woke up, she dressed and headed downstairs.

Rodolphus was already busy at work behind his desk in his study. The moment her shadow crossed in front of his door, he called out for her to join him. She'd been hoping foolishly that she would be able to slip unnoticed into the tiny kitchen to find something to eat before he knew she was awake. Likely there would be lots of questions about her activities the day before. He wasn't a dumb man in the slightest. The fate of Albert Runcorn and the London offices of the Daily Prophet would be attributed to her wand. Would he be angry? She never could tell how he would react.

In the end, she needn't have worried. One step inside his study and Rodolphus was nothing but smiles. Hermione felt instantly at ease. While there were certainly times that his laughter and joy put her on edge, he didn't seem like he was going to be angry with her for her previous day's activities. He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk.

"I wasn't sure how long you would stay asleep today. Are you well-rested?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You missed an exciting day while you were asleep."

All at once she felt exhausted again. How was it possible that the man could have that effect on her with just the sound of his voice? She longed to crawl back under the covers, pull them over her head, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist. No longer did she want to remain in Rodolphus' house. Her plan to get him to trust her long enough to tear down his defensive walls seemed like a terrible idea. But, she knew that leaving wasn't an option yet. She hadn't learned anything useful and she hadn't been able to poison him. While she was well aware of the fact that if properly motivated, she could kill the wizard even in his own home, she wanted more than that. She was desperate to know what he'd done to her mind. Until she learned for certain that he couldn't control her again, she had to remain right where she was.

"What happened?"

"I'd give you a Daily Prophet to read all about it, but I'm afraid the Daily Prophet is no more. Burned into nothing by an impressive display of Fiendfyre according to eyewitness reports."

His smile indicated that he was amused and no doubt aware of her role in the conflagration. Even if he had been upset, she had no regrets. She did what was required. The newspaper had been printing too many lies about too many people for too many years. It wasn't just for herself that she got rid of the hateful place. Harry had been just as big a victim of their salacious lies. No longer would she allow the publication to make a profit with their attempts to ruin innocent lives.

"Albert Runcorn seems to be the only fatality."

Hermione couldn't even muster up enough false sympathy to put on a show. Nothing would ever make her pretend to be upset that the awful wizard was dead. It should've happened sooner, in her opinion. She thought it was a shame that she hadn't been able to kill him before she had to suffer the indignities of his hands and lips on her body. Just thinking about the day she killed Rita in his office made her entire body shudder. For once she was grateful that Rita Skeeter felt the need to be so nosy. If she hadn't taken it upon herself to sneak into her boss' office against his knowledge to eavesdrop on what was happening inside the room, Hermione wouldn't have had the perfect opportunity to bash the woman into a pulp with her shoe. And, even more disgusting, she would've actually had to go through Albert's seduction. The thought made her skin crawl.

"While I must admit to finding the entire situation amusing, you _must_ be more careful, my dear. What if you'd been injured in the fire yourself? Or someone from the Ministry tried to arrest you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. There wasn't much that scared her those days. Being tied to a chair and sliced into ribbons until she was almost dead took a lot of her fear away. Maybe she was worried about her son's safety or what was actually happening in her troubled marriage, but she didn't fear a physical end for herself. Death would come for her one day. If it was soon, she didn't much care. Her life had been long enough. At times, it was _too_ long.

"You're leaving a bloody path behind you and I fear that it could catch up to you eventually."

"I'm not worried, Rodolphus. If I die, I die."

The smile on his face disappeared in an instant. Rodolphus had always been known for his rather volatile mood swings. She could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift as his face grew redder with his increasing anger. Standing to his feet, he leaned over the top of his desk until his face was in hers. Hermione held her breath, afraid to even move.

"I don't _ever_ want to hear about you dying again. Is that understood?"

All she could do was nod her head. It had been a long time since she'd last seen him so discomposed. Ordinarily he was in better control of his emotions unless something major set him off. Speaking flippantly about her eventual demise was clearly not something she should repeat. Rodolphus seemed unhinged. She was afraid of him and wanted to get far away from him before he exploded.

"I'm very sorry. Excuse me."

His eyes watched her exit his study moments after she made her apology. Feeling him stare at her back as she left only made her more nervous. She would have to be careful speaking to him in the future if he was going to turn so quickly. No longer feeling hungry, but wanting to escape, she made her way to the small kitchen in the back of the house. She knew she would have to wait to approach him again after he'd calmed down.

The door to the kitchen wasn't even fully closed behind her when she could hear the heavy front door open and slam loudly. She peeked out the crack in the open door just in time to see Rodolphus' back. Perhaps he just wished to take a long walk to relax and steady his blood pressure.

Some of her boldness returned when the tyrant was no longer inside his house. Deciding that she would take it upon herself to find the answers she wanted, Hermione returned to the empty study. It was wrong to go through a person's desk without their permission, but she didn't care. Weren't they living in a perpetual state of war? All's fair and such.

The parchments he left lying on top of his desk were of no interest to her. Mostly personal correspondence from people she cared nothing about, she knew that even in the midst of his worst anger, he wouldn't be foolish enough to leave incriminating documents behind. No, she had to be more creative in her search.

Nothing caught her eye in any of the drawers of the desk either. All that she could find that seemed a little strange to her was a framed picture of Bellatrix from shortly before they were married. Still dressed in her Hogwarts robes, young Bellatrix looked almost innocent. Hermione ignored the similarities of some of their facial features. The idea that she shared anything in common with that madwoman always put her on edge. She ran her hands underneath his desk searching for any secret latch or compartment.

Just as she was about to give up her search entirely, she felt a slight indention in the wood. Pressing gently on it, she gasped when a hidden drawer popped open in the side of the large desk. Was this where Rodolphus kept the most damning evidence of his treachery? She couldn't wait to discover all that he held in his private hiding place. How important must it be to be kept so hidden?

More pictures of Bellatrix in varying stages of her relatively short life filled part of the drawer. Some of them were taken with a younger version of her husband. They both seemed so young, so _happy_. Did they know that their lives would be ruined by their decision to follow Lord Voldemort? It was depressing. Hermione kept digging through the pictures until she found a stack of letters tied with a green hair ribbon. Why was Rodolphus still holding on to the sappy letters he exchanged with his bride-to-be when she was still in Hogwarts? Afraid to keep digging in what was obviously an intensely private drawer, she put everything back where she found it.

She searched every inch of the rest of the house for anything that might be useful. Her search came up empty.


	325. November 20th

**_Author's Note: Scholastic79 - Hermione lost her daughter from falling down the stairs ten years ago. Rodolphus went into hiding four years before the story began. Her memory issues began thirteen years earlier when she was first married. Hope that helps make a little more sense to the timeline. You were right about the other dates._**

* * *

November 20th

Hermione was woken up in the middle of the night from a deep sleep by the sound of a drunken Rodolphus stumbling down the corridor to his room. Just a few minutes after two, she was surprised to hear him come home at all. He'd been very angry when she made the off-hand remark about dying. When he'd disappeared in the past to calm down at the bottom of a bottle, he would be missing for days. She'd been foolishly hoping she might have a respite from his presence. Already she was tired of being around him and second-guessing her choices at every turn, especially after finding nothing of any value in her search of his house in his absence.

It was no secret to anyone that knew the wizard that Rodolphus had a terrible drinking problem. He always had, even before he was chucked into Azkaban. Life with the dementors only encouraged him to drink even more when he escaped. The death of his beloved wife didn't help matters. But, every Death Eater had their favorite vice. They had to in order to get through the horrors of their lives. Rodolphus had been able to get his drinking somewhat under control, only indulging when he was truly upset.

A crashing table in the corridor was the encouragement Hermione needed to get out of bed. How would she ever learn what she needed to learn if Rodolphus stumbled down the stairs and broke his neck? She covered her nightgown with a dressing gown before stepping out into the darkened corridor.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

The table wasn't all that crashed to the floor. Rodolphus laid on his back staring up at his guest. Hermione was thankful that the lamps weren't lit or he'd have a perfect view up her nightgown. She rolled her eyes, annoyed with where her life had led her up until that moment.

"It would serve you right if you cracked your skull open and bled to death."

He laughed even as he struggled to stand up. When it became obvious he wouldn't be able to get up on his own, Hermione slid her arm under his and pulled. Between the two of them, he was returned to his feet. She didn't release her hold on him. His body continued to sway; he wouldn't be upright for very long.

It was a struggle to get the wizard into his room and to his bed, especially considering his urge to touch his helper inappropriately every few steps and pretend it was an accident. Leaving him to kill himself on the staircase didn't seem like a terrible option by the time she was able to push him down on the top of his bed.

A sleepy house-elf arrived at Hermione's first call. Moments later she was pouring a sobering potion down his throat. Gradually the effects began to take root and Rodolphus grew annoyed and sullen with the abrupt change in his physical body.

"I paid several galleons to get that drunk. Why would you take it away from me?"

"So you wouldn't drown in your own vomit in the middle of the night."

"Would you even care if I did?"

His petulant moods were even more frustrating than when he was angry. Drinking often made him sad and overly sensitive. Hermione _hated_ being around him in such a state. It was almost more enjoyable worrying that any second he was going to get angry enough to kill her or one of their companions. Years earlier he was in those moods a great deal. She would stay with him until she'd had enough, which usually didn't take long. Deciding that anything other than complete honesty wouldn't be acceptable, she told him the truth.

"There was a time I cared for you very much, Rodolphus."

Perhaps surprised by her words and feeling tender, he brushed his fingertips against her cheek. The sensation left a trail of goosebumps on her skin. She could feel her cheeks flush. Did he notice? She hoped he couldn't see the effect he had on her. It was very likely that he would misinterpret her body's biological signs for something more than they were.

"What do I have to do to make it happen again?"

She sighed, wishing to have just about any other conversation than the one he wanted to have. What did it matter if she once cared about him more than she should've? Not that she ever loved him. No, even in her most reckless phase of life she knew better than to develop any real feelings for the man she knew would never be able to return them. Was she aware that he was manipulating even back then?

"You're still drunk."

"Maybe."

To still be somewhat intoxicated after a full dose of sobering potion meant that he had to have had a lot to drink. How his liver managed to continue to function had to have been nothing less than a total miracle. Of course that was a sentiment that could've been applied to _many_ of her former fellow Death Eaters. None of them expected to live very long, so they made certain to do a lot of living in the time they had.

Rodolphus stood up to try to get undressed. His uncoordinated movements proved that he needed another vial of sobering potion. Tempted to call for the house-elf again, Hermione stopped herself. He liked to talk when he'd been drinking. If she could lull him into a sense of security, he might begin answering some of her questions. She would start him off slowly, just to be careful. Too much too soon and he'd never answer another.

"Stop that. Let me."

She slapped at his hands before they could rip his buttons off of his robes. He'd been growing frustrated and in her opinion, he spent entirely too much money at Twilfitt and Tattings to treat his clothing so poorly. It felt intimate to move the buttons out of their buttonholes and help him tug the garment off of his shoulders. Rodolphus couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Feeling too exposed and vulnerable, she returned their conversation to his earlier pathetic question about what it would take to get her to care about him again. The entire discussion was ridiculous. When he sobered up, he would likely even be embarrassed. This wasn't the face he showed to the rest of the world.

"You've never been in love with me, Rodolphus. Don't insult me by trying to claim you were."

What she found in his secret drawer in his study was all the reminder that she needed that she would _never_ be the woman he truly desired and wanted by his side. The pictures and the letters and the other tokens she didn't want to examine too closely proved that he would never love anyone other than Bellatrix. Maybe he'd been able to delude himself into thinking that Hermione could be a suitable substitute. There was even a strong physical resemblance between his late wife and the woman helping him remove his clothes. Didn't matter that Hermione didn't want to admit that truth out loud. Likely she shared a common ancestor with the crazy bitch. Part of the reason why Hermione wore her hair in such a restrictive style in public was because she didn't want others to see the similarities. With her wild curls unbound, she felt too much like the insane witch that escaped from Azkaban.

It was actually quite sad that Rodolphus convinced himself that she would make a good enough substitute for the witch he really wanted. That wasn't any sort of life. And what if Hermione decided to give in to the fantasy? He might be able to believe he was happy for a short period of time, but then he would grow to resent her and likely even hate her. It was nothing more than an illusion. They would both end up miserable. She was thankful that she'd had her wits about her enough over the years to keep from developing any misplaced feelings.

Rodolphus' grabbed one of her hands in both of his. The atmosphere in the room turned electric. Afraid to look up into his eyes to see what she knew must be there, she kept her eyes focused on the bare skin of his exposed chest. There was no denying how the wizard wanted the next few minutes to go. Drunk or sober, he would've wanted to drag her down onto the bed with him. It had been over a year since he pressed her against the house she shared with her husband in the back garden to claim her in the middle of his son's birthday party. They used to struggle to keep their hands off of each other. How many times did they sneak off alone together in the previous twenty years? She wouldn't ever be able to count them all.

It was naïve to believe that she wouldn't be expected to climb back into bed with him if she took him up on his offer to move into the Dower House. She hadn't been naïve in many, _many_ years. Too many really. Reality forced her to grow up too fast. Hermione knew before she even took a single step towards his front door that in order to get the answers she desired, she would likely have to fall back into the same routines of old. She'd been prepared for that, even afraid that it might happen that first night she arrived. The very fact that she'd been there as long as she had without him insisting had been unusual. Likely he was playing his own games.

Eventually, Hermione knew that she would be expected to be in his bed again. Would it be better for her mission if she just went ahead and got it over with? What was the point in delaying? The sooner that she could gain enough of his trust that he shared his secrets, the sooner she could get the hell out of there. If Rodolphus thought she could be trusted, he might tell her more.

Deciding there was nothing else to think about, she was going to go for it. Fuck everyone who would dare to call her a whore. It was _her_ body to do with as she pleased. She wouldn't allow another uptight prude to make her feel guilty for her own choices. Forcing her chin up to allow her eyes to meet his, she could see nothing but hot desire all over the passionate wizard's face.

She was the one to kiss him first. The boldness was more an act of desperation. Legitimate fear coursed through her veins that she wouldn't be able to do what she'd already decided. Somehow using sex for power or to gather information like she'd done countless times in the past without even thinking about it wasn't as easy. Sex never meant much to her even when she was with someone that she loved, or _thought_ she loved. What had changed in her life to make it more difficult?

Rodolphus was noticeably excited by her making the first move. His arms snaked around her back to press the entire length of her body against his. There were no secrets of his own desire. She felt a shudder. Was it fear or something worse? Determined to press on, she allowed her hands to drift down to his trousers. The sooner she got those off, the sooner they could be done with the whole endeavor. Sometimes the wizard liked to take his time. Usually, however, their encounters were frenzied and frantic.

The exact moment that his trousers pooled on the floor at his ankles, Rodolphus ripped her dressing gown off her frame. Not caring about the state of the garment, he tugged until it was in pieces and on the floor with his own clothes. Her nightgown was easily pulled over her head in one swift motion. Completely naked and entirely exposed, she began having second and third and fourth thoughts about what she was doing. The feel of Rodolphus' hands on her hips and then the way he practically threw her down on top of the bed pushed those thoughts away. It was too late to turn back. She'd made the decision to use what ever talents she had to subdue the man and she had to stick by it. Or leave with nothing.

"I'm so happy that you're back in my bed where you belong. I've missed you."

He laid his body on top of hers as he assaulted her mouth again. She closed her eyes in an effort to pretend that she was with someone else, someone that didn't terrify her. When that didn't work, she tried to think about the past when they'd been together and she'd had so much fun. It hadn't always been the potions that altered her mind enough to enjoy their time together. The man possessed many interesting talents. She gasped at the roughness with which he pulled her thighs apart with his hands. He was only gentle when he wanted to be. Feeling his tip at the entrance to her body where he hadn't been in so long reminded her of the past. She could do this. She might even be able to enjoy herself if she stopped worrying so much about what was happening or who she was with. Hadn't he made it a point to everyone who cast their lot in with his that she was to remain unharmed? Why would he go against his own wishes?

"Who do you belong to?"

The once familiar question startled her out of her own thoughts. He _always_ asked it right before he would fuck her. It made him feel powerful when she stroked his ego, whether she meant it or not. She was moments away from telling him what he wanted to hear, but the words wouldn't come out. Something else did instead.

"No one."

His entire body tensed at the incorrect answer. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at the naked woman in his bed. She knew it was foolish to provoke him. He was a dangerous man for a reason.

"Who do you belong to?"

"No one."

His anger was palpable when he asked the second time. Giving her one last chance to tell him that she belonged to him, he asked a third time.

"No one. I belong to _no one_."

Rodolphus grabbed her hips in his large hands for a second time that night. Only instead of throwing her on the bed, he picked her up and threw her to the floor. Hitting just hard enough that she felt the air knocked out of her chest, she almost missed his order that she leave. She didn't wait for him to repeat himself or to hurt her again before she was out of the room and across the corridor.


	326. November 21st

November 21st

Avoiding Rodolphus in the small Dower House was a lot easier than Hermione assumed it would be. Following the rather violent end to their _almost_ sexual encounter, she'd been trying to stay out of his way. Not that he minded her hiding in her bedroom and even taking her meals at odd times of the day to avoid meeting him in the dining room. He seemed perfectly content to forget for the present that there was another soul inside his house. Neither of them appeared to be looking forward to changing their current circumstances at any time soon.

It had been frightening to run from Rodolphus' room naked in the middle of the night, unsure if he would follow her a short time later to make her pay for her boldness. This was a man who liked to inflict pain on those that displeased him. Rejecting him at a very delicate moment couldn't have been easy for his fragile self-esteem. She knew that they couldn't keep living the way they were for long. Something would give eventually.

After spending more than twenty-four hours inside her bedroom without leaving, Hermione was going stir-crazy. She'd spent too much time over the previous year and a half remaining in the same place. Getting out of the Dower House even for a few hours could help clear her mind. Hopefully, with a fresh perspective she would be able to figure out how to smooth over the hurt feelings.

Just the short walk from her temporary home to the gates of the estate chilled her entire body. Her cloak was warm, but not enough to beat the cold. She reached into her beaded bag to search for one of her favorite scarves. Considering she had no further plans for how to spend a few hours than to walk around outside _somewhere_ , she would be foolish not to be properly dressed.

Her fingertips brushed the cool metal of the chain she stole from Draco Malfoy's flat. When she took it out of his book, she never planned on actually using it to cast the tracking spell. It simply provided her with the security that she could _if_ she wanted to. Curiosity might indeed one day kill her just as well as the damned proverbial cat. There were many questions she wanted to ask the tracker about his relationship with her husband. At the time she discovered they were working together, she didn't want to hear his explanation. No doubt it would be partial truth riddled with outright lies. With a much cooler head as time passed, she was sure that she could at least _listen_ to what Draco had to say for himself. Just because she listened didn't mean she had to believe him.

Casting the tracking spell on the silver chain was easy. Within moments of it glowing blue, she was able to Apparate directly to his current location. Seeing the depressing façade of the damned Malfoy Manor annoyed her down to her very bones. Why hadn't that monstrosity been blown up after the end of the last war? Surely the owners wouldn't want any lingering reminders of what life was like in there under the Dark Lord's bony thumb. After the night that she assisted Thorfinn in killing Aubin, she'd hoped that she would never have to return to the cursed location again.

"Hermione?"

Before she could make up her mind whether she would step through the open gates towards the house or turn around and pretend she'd never been there, the very wizard she'd been trying to track called out her name. She couldn't very well rush off after she'd been spotted. No, that would be the height of rudeness, and she refused to allow any of the proper Pureblood snobs to accuse her of not having manners. Draco was at her side less than a minute after calling out her name.

"I saw you when you arrived. Came here for a late breakfast with my mum. Would you like to come inside?"

She couldn't stop the snort that came out of her mouth at the very idea of sitting in Narcissa Malfoy's formal dining room discussing current events over eggs. Maybe in another life she could've enjoyed getting to know his parents on a more personal level, but in their present incarnation of reality, it was madness. It had been a mistake to track him in the first place. When she turned away to make her exit, his hand slipped into hers.

"Don't go, _please_."

No promise to remain had been made before a lurching and a squeezing through space infuriated the witch. Their feet landed in the middle of a forest. Furious that Draco would dare to Side-Along Apparate her anywhere without her permission enraged her to her very core. Where were they? _Why_ would he do that? She slapped his arm.

"I told you never to do that again."

Draco shrugged his shoulders and smirked, not a single ounce of regret anywhere on his countenance.

"You were going to run off. I just thought you might like this location better. You were looking for me after all, weren't you?"

She didn't miss the change in the tone of his voice. Deep and teasing, she could feel it through her skin. Why did she allow him, or any man really, to have that sort of power over her? It was frustrating. Too much time isolated in the Dower House was threatening to turn her batty.

"Where are we?"

"The Forest of Dean. You seem to like this place."

It was thoughtful that he chose a neutral location to talk where she did indeed feel at peace. A nearby fallen log was decided upon by both parties to be a suitable place to sit. When they were situated as comfortably on the giant piece of wood as possible, Hermione was the one to break the silence of the forest.

"I didn't let you explain _why_ you were communicating with my husband using those mirrors. Please tell me now."

"I was concerned about you when you just ran out of my flat like that. Wasn't sure if I'd done something wrong."

"I was just _confused_ when I realized that you and Antonin were in communication."

She was trying to remain as diplomatic as possible, but it was getting harder and harder the longer they sat together. When she saw Antonin's face in Draco's mirror, she'd felt betrayed. Why did it seem like everyone was working behind her back together? Perhaps she was being overly paranoid. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. Knowing that yet again she wasn't allowed to be involved in a secret made her feel isolated even more than she already did. Part of the reason she sought out attention and companionship outside of her marriage was because Antonin had a terrible way of keeping secrets from her that he claimed were for her 'own good'. She hated being treated like a child even when he believed that he was just trying to help.

"Antonin and I have been working together since before the first of the year. It was actually _his_ idea to have me try to track you down."

"But you claimed that Rodolphus was the one that demanded you find me and keep tabs on me to make certain I wasn't in any danger."

"It really wasn't that difficult to plant the idea in Rodolphus' mind that you needed to be tracked. Once he thought it up on his own, with some gentle prodding and pushing from me of course, it was easy to make him think it was his idea, but no, Antonin was who told me to do it first."

If she stopped to really consider the implications of what Draco was saying to her about the secret alliance he had with her husband, she felt mortified. Was Antonin aware of _everything_ that she'd done when she was on the run? Or how about after she was back in Hogsmeade pretending to be a dutiful wife? Even though she was extremely curious, she was afraid to ask Draco how much Antonin knew. She was afraid that she wouldn't like the answer.

"How else do you think I got this to track you with?"

Draco pulled a gold necklace out of his pocket. Simple and plain, all it possessed was a small round pendant that was hardly bigger than the nail of her smallest finger. Her eyes widened when she realized what he held. She thought it had been lost. Ripping it from his grasp, she wanted to make sure that it was what he claimed it to be. On the back of the small pendant there was the faintest engraving of a tiny lightning bolt. Early on in her marriage, Antonin presented her with the necklace as a subtle way for her to remember her best friend. It had been such a breach of the Dark Lord's trust to even _allude_ to the boy that almost killed him twice. For one of his most loyal Death Eaters to give his wife such a thoughtful, personal gift, they could've both been executed. Because it meant so much to her, she never took it off. Only in the chaos of the day she stabbed her husband did she lose it. Antonin reached for it as he was falling to the ground with the knife still protruding from his side. The chain snapped in his fall. There had been no time to retrieve it from him before Corban burst into the room to stop her from escaping.

"All right, I believe you. Antonin was the _only_ one you could've possibly gotten that from."

It was tempting to keep it in her possession, but before she slipped the chain around her neck, Draco grabbed it. He smiled as he returned it to his pocket. She thought it was only fair that he continue to be able to track her considering she could do the same to him with the silver chain.

"Mostly I've just been gathering intelligence for Antonin and his allies. I pass on most of what I learn to Rodolphus too. We have to make it look like I'm not working against my uncle."

"Is that why you were always telling him everything you learned about me?"

The wizard had the sense to feel uncomfortable by her blunt question. She'd loathed the fact that every time she told Draco something it seemed to eventually get back to Rodolphus. Was that all part of the plan that he'd cooked up with her husband? And if it was, how much about her _personal_ relationship with Draco did he know about?

"Antonin doesn't know about _our_ relationship. I swear. It's one thing telling my uncle about what we do when we're together and something completely different telling your husband."

"I doubt he doesn't know. I was naked when I opened your mirror that day in your flat."

He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward and ill at ease. Hermione was feeling even more frustrated than she did when she arrived. Somehow she got the impression that there were only a few carefully composed statements that he was going to be allowed to give her explaining his clandestine work with Antonin. No one wanted her to know what was happening. She wasn't stupid enough to miss those clues.

"Is it true that you are staying at Rodolphus' house?"

"Yes, I am."

She chose not elaborate any further on the reasons why she was actually there. Anything that she told Draco, she had to worry about getting back to Antonin. She wasn't ready for him to know what she was trying to uncover. If he thought she was in danger, he might do something reckless to save her. Sometimes he regretted introducing the worst of her Gryffindor traits to her husband. She'd been a bad influence on him.

"Please be careful, Hermione. You still have a lot of enemies."

That was a truth that she didn't need explained. Wiping her palms on her thighs, she started to stand up, but was stopped before she got very far. Draco didn't want to let her walk away without kissing her. She allowed it for just a few seconds before she pushed him away. He was a complication that she didn't need at the moment.

"Thank you for giving me at least _some_ of the truth, Draco. I appreciate it."

She returned to the estate seconds later. Her short visit with the tracker only emphasized for her how important it was that she continue to seek out the truth of Rodolphus' plans for her. There was nowhere else she could go to find it out. As much as it pained her and frightened her to be across the corridor from the wizard she was convinced was insane, she knew she had to be there. Just a little bit longer.


	327. November 22nd

November 22nd

Living in Rodolphus' house after their uncomfortable encounter in his bedroom remained awkward. Hermione grew tired of avoiding the wizard because of his hurt pride and her anxiety. How was she supposed to get to the bottom of his nefarious plans for her if she continued to hide in her room? Her discussion with Draco the day before helped her to begin sorting out her priorities. For the rest of that day and for most of the night, she dissected every word that was spoken in their conversation to try to uncover all possible hidden meanings.

She really shouldn't have been surprised to learn that Antonin had yet another secret ally she knew nothing about. Hadn't she learned by then that her husband was a man possessed of surprising diplomatic talents? Somehow he'd been able to amass a number of supporters from all sides in secret. It was impressive, if a bit annoying. Part of her kept waiting for the bombshell to drop that Antonin had been secretly allied with Rodolphus all that time too, but mostly she recognized that as being ridiculous. Rodolphus manipulated her mind for years and was even responsible for one of her miscarriages after that horrible incident with the stairs ten years earlier. And those were just the incidents they were aware of! No, there was absolutely no way she would ever believe that Antonin would enter in to a partnership willingly with Rodolphus.

Making the decision to try to press forward despite their setback a few nights earlier, Hermione made certain she was ready to enter the dining room for breakfast precisely at eight o'clock. Rodolphus' eyes widened slightly in surprise when she took the seat next to his, but he almost immediately returned his features to the same chilly indifference he was known for. Evidently it would be up to her to make the first move because he wasn't budging. Men could be entirely too stubborn when their pride was the least bit injured.

"I owe you an apology, Rodolphus."

It made her sick to her stomach to tell that lie. She did _not_ owe him anything or feel the least bit sorry about what happened that night. If faced with the exact same circumstances and asked the exact same question, she would repeat that she belonged to no one. After twenty years of having her life dictated and controlled by Lord Voldemort, she refused to allow another wizard to lay claim to her life in any way. She certainly was the master of her own body.

"The other night I shouldn't have said what I did. It was never my intention to insult you."

He slowly began to thaw as she spoke the disingenuous words. How she managed to force them off her tongue was a mystery. She felt dirty just saying them. Offering her the first warm smile she'd seen since that night, he reached across the table to cover her hand with his.

"Perhaps I have been a bit possessive of you in the past, my dear. I promise that I will try to be better in the future."

She didn't call him out for a liar even though she knew he was. There was simply no way that a man like him would be able to change his ways so drastically just because a witch asked him to. No, he would do it again. The next time, because she knew there would be a next time, he had her naked, he would ask the same question. It was a power move for him, likely the only way he could feel in control of the situation. Either she would have to swallow her disgust to lie to him that her body belonged to him or she would have to come up with a different plan. She was hoping to find one where she didn't have to touch the man again.

Breakfast moved at a snail's pace. Partly because she didn't have much of an appetite, but mostly because he kept staring at her without saying anything. She felt like she was being examined as some sort of oddity. When he stood up to announce that he had to leave to go to London for a few hours, Hermione almost sighed out loud in relief. Rodolphus leaned over to kiss her on the cheek on his way out.

No longer faced with the prospect of another minute alone with the wizard, her appetite miraculously returned. No matter what her personal feelings were about house-elves, she couldn't deny that the Lestrange family possessed some amazing cooks. She could get used to their delicious food if she had to. Startled by the dining room door opening unexpectedly a few minutes after Rodolphus left, she almost dropped her fork in the process of guiding it towards her mouth.

" _Where_ is my husband?"

Gemma Lestrange stood in the doorway glaring across the room at Hermione like she was nothing more than a disgusting rat or a pesky fly she wanted to smash with a newspaper. Hermione wasn't in the mood for dealing with the odious woman. She'd been able to avoid her since she first arrived at the Dower House. Naïvely, she hoped she would be able to continue. The two women would never see eye to eye about anything. For reasons that the younger witch could not even begin to fathom, Mrs. Lestrange actually cared for her horrible husband. Unlike so many of the witches forced into marrying a Death Eater after the war, Gemma had done so gladly.

"Rabastan hasn't been home in two days. Where is he?"

"And you assumed that I know or care where he is?"

The witch scoffed at Hermione's flippant response. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to wake Hermione up to the point that she could suffer the woman. She hoped that she could encourage her to leave with just the strength of her words. Cursing the wife of her host's brother might be considered impolite. Rabastan might even feel an obligation to exact justice for the insult against his wife. Truthfully, the whole ordeal sounded tiresome.

"The three of you used to spend a lot of time here together in this house doing god only knows what. It's disgusting. Have you no shame?"

Hermione was annoyed. _Any_ time a person she had no respect for tried to shame her for the actions she'd taken and the decisions she'd made, she wanted to eradicate them from existence. Judgmental harpies married to her fellow Death Eaters were all too common critics of her life choices. Some of them, like Gemma, felt they stood on a morally superior pedestal to someone like her who would willingly roll about in the muck with their men. Hermione found those women to be sad and pathetic. Maybe if they'd been a little more open and willing to expand their sexual horizons their husbands wouldn't have gone looking elsewhere. Besides, Gemma was no better than she was. How many _years_ had she been meeting Antonin in hotel rooms on Tuesday afternoons after her long lunch with her mother and sister?

"Not especially, no. How about you, Gemma? Did you ever feel shame when you were fucking _my_ husband?"

The woman looked ready to claw Hermione's eyes out. No doubt the reminder of her own indiscretions reminded her that she was just as fallible a human being as the witch she loathed. Gemma made a dramatic push of the door until it slammed into the wall. The sound of the doorknob smashing into the plaster was hard to miss. Instead of closing behind her, the ornate slab of wood remained rooted in the wall. Mrs. Lestrange stepped into the dining room, fury splashed across her features.

"How _dare_ you…"

"Remind you that you're not some prim and proper little obedient housewife stuck in your husband's manor while he's out having his own affairs? Grow up, Gemma. I'd have more respect for you if you just admitted that you liked fucking Antonin. At least then I'd know you were capable of telling the truth."

"You little _whore_."

Hermione didn't have the patience to deal with the woman any longer. Catfights had never been something she enjoyed. They were petty and nasty. She had even less respect for those who started them. Weren't they all too old to act like fourth years fighting over the same boy?

"Leave, Gemma. Just get out."

"I have more right to be here than you ever will. This house will be mine one day."

"Not if I kill you first."

Though she said it to be shocking and to hopefully terrify the woman enough to leave, she also meant it. Gemma had no idea how close to the edge of her mortality she was dancing. One wrong word and Rabastan be damned, she would take his horrible wife out. Killing the woman wouldn't even bother Hermione's battered conscience. Maybe some of the murders she'd committed still gave her pause. Hers never would. The world would be a brighter place with the snarky bitch dead. Gemma gasped.

"You're a monster."

"Then why are you taunting me so? Leave me alone. Your husband isn't here. I haven't the first clue whose bed he's wandered into but I promise you that it's not mine."

Somehow she was able to regain some of her lost courage. No longer seeming to be afraid of Hermione in the slightest, Gemma glared hard enough that it looked painful. Perhaps the woman hadn't been properly educated that such facial expressions would only bring on wrinkles faster. Rabastan would definitely no longer be interested in staying close to his wife's bed if she started to look like an old hag.

"He doesn't really want you. You realize that, don't you?"

"I don't care if Rabastan wants me or not."

"I'm not talking about Rabastan. I mean Rodolphus. He doesn't really want _you_. He could make due with any other body if he wanted, but he's invested so much time with you that he thinks you'll be perfect."

Hermione didn't understand anything that the woman was saying. It all sounded like complete nonsense.

"What are you going on about?"

The sound of Gemma's laughter made Hermione's wand hand itch. Maybe if she just _injured_ the horrible woman her husband wouldn't get too upset.

"You mean I know something you don't? How interesting."

She was the sort of person to enjoy lording it over those who didn't know as much as she did. Completely pathetic, of course. How was it possible that a grown woman could be that spiteful? Hermione was tempted to kill her by that point just to get her to stop talking. A pain began building in her head thanks to the tension she felt being in the woman's presence. Unfortunately, Gemma seemed in no hurry to leave. Either she was clueless to how close Hermione was to snapping or she just didn't care.

"Rodolphus will always be in love with Bellatrix. That will never change."

"Gemma? _Leave_."

The sound of Rodolphus' furious voice terrified his sister-in-law. Both women had been so focused on the other that they hadn't even noticed his stealthy approach to his dining room. Likely he'd gotten to London and remembered something he'd forgotten and come back just in time to hear the end of their conversation. He'd always been the sort to listen at keyholes if given the opportunity. Intelligent enough to know that she did have something to fear from an irate Rodolphus, Gemma rushed out of the dining room and then the Dower House completely without saying another word.

" _Never_ listen to a word that bitch says, Hermione. She lies."

All she could do was nod her head in agreement. Convinced that she would do as he ordered, Rodolphus returned to his study. He was back out of the front door just a few minutes later. Despite his assertion that nothing Gemma said could be trusted, Hermione was still curious. Before they were interrupted, was Gemma about to tell her what she knew about Rodolphus' plans for her? Was that why he'd been so eager to kick her out and then warn Hermione not to listen?


	328. November 23rd

**Author's Note _: Scholastic79 - No, Hermione did it to herself after she killed Andromeda three years earlier because she didn't want to have any more children. Nothing to do with him. She never wanted to be a mother. And for anyone else who might be curious, her desire to not have children isn't because of some spell or mind manipulation. Some women simply do not want to have children. Doesn't mean there's anything wrong with them. Hermione briefly considered keeping her daughter before the staircase incident because she thought it would help make her marriage better, not because SHE wanted it, but because she knew her husband would._**

* * *

November 23rd

It was impossible for Hermione to think about anything other than her bizarre interaction with Gemma. After Rodolphus left the house she was alone for the rest of the day and night. Her host had more important business to attend to in London than staying behind to make sure his guest didn't get bored. She wanted to know what sort of business he had, but knew he likely wouldn't tell her the truth if she asked. Very few bothered those days.

Gemma's words played on a loop in her mind over and over again. She struggled to make any sort of sense out of them. The remark she made about Rodolphus being able to use any body he wished struck her as particularly strange. Use a body for what? Sex? Mind control? She didn't understand. All of the options were sinister and terrifying. Perhaps she'd simply read too many salacious novels over the course of her lifetime. Life as a Death Eater taught her that people could be cruel, but there was a limit to their abilities. Magic existing didn't suddenly mean anything and everything was possible.

Rodolphus didn't return until she was already tucked into bed. Hearing his footsteps pause outside her closed door put her on edge. Was he ready to try again after his failure a few nights earlier? She didn't relax until she heard his footsteps move away from her door. The sound of his bedroom door door opening and then closing was a hopeful indicator that he planned to leave her alone for the night. Unfortunately that tiny bit of security didn't mean she was able to fall immediately asleep. Likely she would have trouble resting in that horrible house for as long as she was there.

By the time Hermione woke up last the next morning, she'd come up with the only plausible explanation for Gemma's ramblings. The woman had too much time on her hands. Only one of her four children still remained at home for her to fuss over and it was painfully evident that her husband didn't have much use for her. That was likely why she'd been hounding Rabastan months earlier to have another baby. She was bored. Lacking any sense of purpose could leave a person open to listening to any sort of insane conspiracy theories. Or even worse, making up more of her own. The most likely scenario was she'd overheard bits and pieces of conversations that she'd tried to make some sort of logical sense over. Boredom could get a person in a lot of trouble if they weren't careful.

Hermione knew she might very well be wrong, but she made the decision to ignore Gemma. Enough was going on that she didn't need to go looking for problems. Gemma hated the very ground she walked on. It was entirely possible that she just wanted to upset her, drive her crazy with a false story. Hermione had to keep on with her plan of uncovering the truth from Rodolphus himself.

"You seem awfully far away, my dear. Is everything all right?"

Rodolphus' voice broke Hermione out of her thoughts. They were both seated at the dining table enjoying a delicious lunch. Or rather, he was enjoying the meal. She was mostly just pushing her food around from one side of her plate to the other. It was a terrible habit she'd managed to teach her son. When he didn't care for the food he was provided, Oliver would curl up his lip and push his food around too.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about my son. I'm a little worried about him."

It was a believable lie because it was entirely based in fact. Every single second of the day she worried about her son. She hoped that he was all right in the castle. If he tried to send her an owl, she worried that either he wouldn't know where to send it or Rodolphus might intercept it before she received it. At the mention of Oliver, Rodolphus grew noticeably chilly. He had never been a fan of any children at all, only giving the minimum amount of attention to his nieces and nephews required to be less than an ogre. The fact that he had never been able to have children didn't bring him the least bit of sorrow. Oliver was not a subject the wizard cared to be reminded of.

"You've never been concerned so much about him in the past."

"Yes, that's true, but a lot has changed."

It seemed like the perfect opening to bring up the topic of the charms he cast on her mind. At some point, she would need to confront him about his treachery. What he did to her was unconscionable, unforgivable. How could he even begin to justify his actions? She refused to allow him to try to convince her that she'd gone mad and imagined he did something he didn't. Gaslighting wouldn't work again.

Rodolphus rose to his feet abruptly, cutting off any chance she had to further their conversation down that path. Without any excuse or explanation at all, he stormed out of his own house _again_. Living in such close proximity to him and seeing him every day meant she'd been able to see how altered he'd become. Usually he was able to compose himself better, to project an image of a powerful man who had it all under control. Hermione could see that he wasn't a well man. The cracks in his façade were only growing bigger.

No longer the least bit hungry and not having to pretend otherwise for a concerned audience, she abandoned her partially eaten lunch. Grabbing her cloak off a hook on the wall next to the front door, she bundled up for a walk in the cold. Physical exertion would hopefully help her to clam down and clear her mind of its stresses. Spending another day cooped up inside the Dower House alone with her thoughts sounded like torture.

The grounds of the Lestrange Estate were nothing less than impressive. Sprawling and sculpted, even in the coldest parts of the year there was still beauty to behold. Rodolphus claimed that his father loved his gardens more than anything else in the world, including his own sons. By all accounts he sounded like a bitter, lonely, _awful_ man. But at least he'd built an excellent garden to be proud of.

She'd learned days earlier when she was tired of being inside that the gardens made for a pleasant, long walk. Being alone with her thoughts while she moved helped her to sort what was important from what was just noise. Whether her mind was getting sharper or her mental deterioration continued wasn't easy to determine. One moment she would feel just like her old self and then the next she was back to forgetting why she was doing what she was doing. Deep down she was afraid to discover the truth.

Rodolphus was up to something awful when it came to her. That was all that she was certain of. Until she uncovered the reasons why he manipulated her mind, she didn't think she would ever be able to rest easy again. There would always be that lingering fear that something would trigger a change she had no control over. She'd learned enough about mind control to know that it wasn't a crazy science fiction that should just be ignored. If Rodolphus somehow implanted a spell inside her brain that could activate _something_ , she would never feel like her nightmare was over.

Her stroll through the gardens was actually quite lovely until she turned a corner near the intricate hedge maze to come face to face with Gemma. Neither woman was pleased with the unexpected encounter. They each loathed the very sight of each other. It was quite pathetic really. There might have been an opportunity for them to allies, but that would never happen.

"Am I not free to even get a breath of fresh air without fear of running into _you_?"

Hermione wasn't going to let the odious woman think that she had an advantage over her in the slightest. A bright, sarcastic smile was her only response. Gemma scowled, the fine lines on her face showing prominently again. Had she aged even in just the short time since she slammed her head against the wall and threatened her children if any harm came to Oliver? The stress of their current existence wasn't doing anyone any favors. Soon they would all be haggard, unrecognizable messes.

"What did you mean yesterday? When you said that Rodolphus didn't really want me?"

Amused once more that she knew something Hermione didn't, some of Gemma's anger melted away. She even took a step towards the other witch, ready to gloat even more about what she knew. Hermione didn't care what she did as long as she was able to walk away with a better understanding of that bizarre exchange. As much as she tried to convince herself that all she said was foolish nonsense, she couldn't afford to just write her off just yet. If she didn't like how she answered her next few questions, she wouldn't speak to the bitch again.

"It must be killing you to not know something, isn't it? What did Professor Snape used to call you? A little Know-It-All?"

"Yes, Gemma. Very amusing. _Ha-ha_. Just tell me."

"Rodolphus wants to bring his wife back from the dead."

Whatever she was expecting Gemma to say, it wasn't that. Hermione wasn't sure that she heard it correctly the first time and asked her to repeat herself. Gemma did so gleefully, enjoying her moment. How could this possibly affect Hermione in any way? There was a branch of magic that ninety-nine percent of the magical population wanted to forget even existed. Necromancy was nothing to fool around with by the casual or even experienced practitioner of magic. Though most who dared only focused on the part of the magic that simply allowed them to communicate with the dead, there had been others in history that had gone further. It was illegal to practice in every country in the world for very valid reasons. What could Gemma possibly mean?

"He's been studying how to do it for years. Probably since she died. Rabastan says that he thinks he's finally figured out how to do it."

She was fascinated by the idea if terrified at the same time. Old magicks had to be used. It was incredibly dangerous to tap into power that was so ancient and dark. Once she stumbled on a book that had been confiscated in a raid by the Ministry of one of the Dark Lord's suspected enemies. Truthfully, it was just a doddering old fool who had an impressive collection of texts and artifacts that didn't appreciate the Ministry of Magic sticking its nose into his private affairs. The old man had been thrown in a cell to await a trial that never happened. He'd died of an apparent heart attack only days later. Many of the old ones died before their trials. Hermione had the chance to look at some of the evidence that had been gathered. One of the books was darker than anything she'd ever read. If she'd flipped through it and found out how to make a horcrux, she wouldn't have been surprised. The few descriptions she read about the process of bringing the dead back to life filled her with dread and haunted her dreams for months.

"How?"

"Well…"

Gemma's eyes widened just as a green stream of energy slammed into her chest. Eerily reminiscent of the day she was with Hannah when she was murdered, Hermione was half-convinced at first that she'd lost her mind and was hallucinating. Only when Gemma's lifeless body crashed to the frozen ground did she understand it was real. She spun around to see the culprit. Rodolphus' face was angrier than she'd seen it in a very long time. He spat on his sister-in-law's corpse.

"Meddlesome bitch! She never did know how to keep her mouth shut."


	329. November 24th

November 24th

Imagining simply being back in Rodolphus' presence terrified Hermione beyond description. Would she ever be able to calm down after the horrible incident in the garden? She wasn't so sure. Rodolphus offered absolutely no explanation for why he felt the need to murder his sister-in-law. Though Hermione knew that he'd never cared much for Gemma, thinking her to be obnoxious and shrill, he'd never been openly antagonistic to her either. She was merely an annoyance that he could swat away like a fly.

Recalling the events from the previous day, she was still in complete shock. Moments after he'd spit on the corpse, the wizard banished Gemma's remains to a hiding place in the hedge maze. There were more pressing matters to attend to than worrying about disposing of the woman's body. Thanks to the season of the year they were in, no one was likely to stumble upon it any time soon. Perhaps one of the house-elves, but as the Head of the family, they would approach Rodolphus first with the tragic news. He'd be able to order them to shut up.

Despite his frequent infidelities and his claims that he couldn't stand being in the presence of his wife, Rabastan was actually quite fond of Gemma. He would be the last person to admit to it, of course, but it was the truth. Their marriage had been arranged shortly after the end of the war. It was imperative that the Lestrange family live on. Initially Rabastan had been excited and pleased by his marriage because his young wife was beautiful and eager to please. Rodolphus was glad that his brother married into a good Slytherin family. Though not members of the Sacred Twenty Eight, the Farleys were still respectable. The honeymoon didn't last long. Gemma was hardly pregnant with Julia when the fact became all too clear that they had nothing in common.

Rodolphus didn't want his brother to know that his wife was dead. Not afraid to admit that he was the one responsible for murdering her, he just didn't want to deal with the inevitable headache that followed. Murder within the family was a wretched business. He also knew that Rabastan would be devastated to find out she was murdered. He would take her death hard. It was even possible that he might get violent.

Before Rodolphus could stomp away and leave Hermione alone with the shock of what she'd just witnessed, she'd summoned up enough courage to grab his arm. He had been irritated and eager to leave. She knew that she would have to speak quickly.

"What did Gemma mean about you wanting to bring your wife back from the dead, Roddy?"

Some of his anger melted off of his face. He was steadily gaining control of his emotions again. When he spoke, he was serious, yet kind. Hermione hardly recognized the man as being the same one from just a few minutes earlier.

"It's no secret that I loved my wife very much. I've missed her every single day even after twenty years of her being gone. If there was a way to bring Bellatrix back, I would've found it already. Gemma had no idea what she was talking about."

He offered no further explanation for Gemma's claims or his actions before rushing off. For the rest of that day and the next she stayed inside the Dower House waiting for his return and attempting to understand the whole horrible event.

With Rodolphus absent for well over a day, the longest stretch of time he'd left her alone since she arrived, Hermione had the chance to think back over recent conversations she'd had with him that baffled or confused her without interruption. Several times Rodolphus made a comment that she didn't understand. Like all of the times he claimed that they used to lay in bed and talk about what the world would be like when the Dark Lord was dead. She _knew_ that she'd never spoken such scandalous words. It was as bad as blasphemy in her eyes during the time she'd deluded herself into being a loyal Death Eater. And if she'd heard Rodolphus dare to suggest that their master even _could_ die, she would be much more likely to report him for treasonous speech than to go along with it. There had been very little grey area in her life during those years.

Did Rodolphus think _she_ was Bellatrix at times? Or did he just forget sometimes and misremember conversations? Based on what Hermione knew about Bellatrix, she had a hard time believing that she would speak so openly about a world without Lord Voldemort. She had been in a sick, demented sort of love with their mutual master. But, she had to remind herself that the public persona one had didn't always match who they were in private. She knew that firsthand. Even in the most difficult and unhappy years of her marriage, both she and Antonin felt safe enough to come home and remove the mask they had to wear. Perhaps Bellatrix was more like her than she realized.

Rodolphus still had not returned home by Saturday night. After having another meal alone, Hermione sat in the lounge staring at the words in an open book, but not actually making any sense of them. So far her plan to learn about Rodolphus' intentions left her with even more questions than answers. Was she just wasting her time? Would she be better off leaving? It bothered her to imagine just giving up, but she wasn't sure what to do next. Rodolphus hardly seemed like he was just going to tell her whatever she wanted to know. If she wasn't careful, too many questions might get her corpse banished to the hedge maze right next to Gemma's.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the opening of the front door. Expecting to see Rodolphus finally returning home, she was nervous to see Rabastan enter instead. Had he found his wife's body and come to demand answers? Hermione would seem like the most likely suspect considering her recent activities and her years-long hatred of the dead woman. She gripped her wand in her hand, ready to curse the new widower in the face, if necessary.

"Good evening, Hermione. Is my brother home?"

Far from being in a dangerous rage intent on inflicting vengeance, Rabastan was calm, possibly even a little drunk. She calmed slightly. It didn't appear that he knew about his wife's fate just yet. Like so many unhealthy marriages amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters, it was likely that the Lestranges could go days without seeing the other and not be terribly bothered. She knew that was often the case in her own fucked up marriage.

"Sorry, Rabastan. He's not."

His smile proved he wasn't the least bit disappointed to find Hermione on her own. As he crossed the room to take a seat next to her on the sofa, Hermione didn't lessen her grip on her wand. They hadn't been alone since the day the Dark Lord died and they both collapsed on the floor of their office in indescribable pain. She was nervous to be caught alone with him again and even a little scared. He could be very unpredictable. Despite years of having an inappropriate friendship with the man, she knew she couldn't afford to get too complacent around him. Part of her wanted to run from his presence, but she didn't want to give him any power over her. Even if it was just the power to annoy.

"We used to be good friends, did we not, pet?"

The tips of his fingers on one hand ran down the length of her arm. She wanted to hit him or worse for taking such liberties. Did she give him permission to touch her again? No, and she never would again. Just remembering that awful day in their office when she tried to manipulate him with sex like she used to in the past made her sick. Those days in her past were dead and gone.

"Tell me why you're really here. And don't tell me it's because you've missed him so much. You and I both know that's not the case."

"Then why don't you tell me why _you_ think I'm really here?"

His smile might have been effective at charming the knickers off of countless other witches, but it no longer had the same effect on her. It just reminded her of what a dangerous animal he really was. Rabastan gently tapped the side of her head with a single finger.

"To find out what he did in there and _why_."

She _hated_ that he was correct. Part of what made them both successful in their chosen careers as interrogators for the Ministry of the Magic was the fact that they were highly perceptive. It was an inherent trait that was hard to learn. Either one was effective or they weren't. Rabastan knew how to tell if someone was lying better than anyone Hermione had ever known. Even she wasn't as good as he was in that area. It was frequently a source of contention that crept up between them. He usually found it amusing that she would get frustrated with how easy certain aspects of their job came to him. She had her own natural talents, of course, but any time she felt less than another she longed to best them. Her streak of competitiveness had gotten her into a lot of trouble more than once. Likely it would continue.

"My brother and I have few secrets. I could tell you some if you want."

His offer made her forget some of her fear. Sometimes _he_ was the one that was painfully transparent. Scoffing at his offer, she stared him in the eye.

"And what would I have to do in return?"

"You could start off by getting on your knees in front of me again. I have so missed the feel of my cock being inside your mouth."

He outlined her bottom lip with his thumb. She knocked his hand away from her mouth. Leaning in closer so that their faces were only centimeters apart, Hermione scoffed again and whispered.

"Not going to happen."

"Pity. You're ever so much better than these young witches I keep finding. Experience counts for a great deal and you certainly possess a lot of that."

She refused to let him bait her into a violent or even just slightly testy response. He was hardly the first person to imply that she was a whore and he certainly wouldn't be the last to outright say it to her face. Leaning back to protect her face from any sort of quick move on his part, she just laughed, refusing to let him see how annoyed she really felt.

"But I suppose encouraging practice will only make them better."

Rabastan stood to his feet, signaling that he was about to end their conversation. It took most of her self-control to keep from making it obvious that she was relieved. With one final knowing look at the witch, the wizard smirked.

"Rosalind Nott has certainly improved, but she needs a bit more practice. I think I will call on her tonight in that big, lonely manor of hers."

He knew exactly which of her buttons to push. Somehow he was aware of how much she inexplicably cared for the girl. Maybe she'd not hidden it well when they questioned her that day in their office or something she said when he announced that he'd gotten her pregnant tipped him off. As Hermione started to get angry, he smiled, loving the effect he had.

"Unless you give me a reason to stay, I fear I will have to seek out her lovely young mouth instead."

Hermione was glad that Rosalind was hidden in Augustus' protection. If she knew that the poor girl was in danger of being _seduced_ by the disgusting man, she might've felt an obligation to keep him out of the girl's bed. The thought of touching Rabastan again for any reason filled her with dread. Instead, content with the knowledge that he wouldn't find her when he called on the Nott Manor, she smiled.

"Have a good evening, Rabastan."

He was out of the Dower House seconds later.


	330. November 25th

_**Author's Note : So I'm honestly not sure why some readers think that Hermione didn't actually look at the letters she found in Rodolphus' desk drawer. How else would she have known that they were love letters written by Bellatrix when she was in Hogwarts if she didn't look at them? They're not important. Their only purpose was to prove that Rodolphus is still in love with his dead wife. No big secrets inside which is why Hermione knew they weren't important. Besides, she already established the fact that Rodolphus wasn't dumb enough to just leave his secret plans written down for her to stumble upon. But yeah, she DID look at them. That's how she knew there was nothing inside them. I'm sorry, but I thought that was obvious. Guess not. :\**_

 _ **And please remember that if you have questions I can't actually respond to them if you don't log in or enable private messaging. Thanks!**_

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November 25th

Another night passed for Hermione alone in the Dower House. If she'd not been afraid of what Rodolphus would do when he returned, she might have been upset by his absence. She couldn't help but remember that she was practically alone in the world. With no one else inside the house, she was at the mercy of her enemies. Though she'd learned years earlier how to fight and defend herself, she knew that she would feel better being somewhere she didn't have to wake up entirely alone. Even when she was in the Three Broomsticks she had the peace of mind knowing that there were others nearby to hear her if she screamed.

Many would likely think her completely insane for remaining in his house when she knew what he was capable of. Maybe they were right, but she couldn't just walk away without having some sort of answer for what he'd done to her. Even the confusing snippets of facts that Gemma gave her before she was murdered didn't make much sense. There was always the possibility that Gemma was indeed a liar and Rodolphus was simply tired of her being there. If she ran away, she would be back where she started. And it wasn't as if she couldn't take care of herself. She hadn't been a Death Eater for twenty years just because the Dark Lord liked to keep her as a pet. She had to _earn_ her place in the Inner Circle, _earn_ her Dark Mark. Nothing was ever just handed to someone in their society. She wasn't some weakling who couldn't defend herself.

Trying to sleep without having Rodolphus across the corridor was difficult. If he was there, she knew that no one would be foolish enough to try to harm her. He'd made it clear to everyone who supported him in some manner that she was to be left alone and unharmed. Unfortunately, she wouldn't put it past Rabastan to sneak into her bedroom while she tried to sleep if he knew that his big brother wouldn't be there to stop him. She knew she could fight him off if it came down to it, but she didn't want to be put in the position. Thanks to her discomfort, every single sound in the middle of the night woke her up out of her light sleep.

She wasn't sure how long she should remain in Rodolphus' house without him there. If he wasn't planning on returning, there was no reason to stay. Already she feared that news of her new place of residence had gotten back to her husband. She could only imagine what Antonin thought. The last time they'd been alone he didn't seem to believe her when she said there was nothing going on between her and Rodolphus. Once he found out that she moved into his house, Antonin was sure to believe that he'd been right in his suspicions. It infuriated her that he didn't trust her even when she knew that she hadn't given him much reason to over the years. There had been _years_ that she _had_ been in an inappropriate sexual relationship with Rodolphus.

The more she considered the state of her marriage, the more depressed she became. Both of them were keeping secrets from the other. Both of them carried on adulterous relationships with others in recent months. Yes, she knew that Antonin could be given a pass _sort_ of because he'd been drugged with Amortentia, but he'd also gone to Ginny willingly. If he hadn't been in her house to begin with, there wouldn't have been a chance to be drugged. She'd been with Draco. At least Antonin confessed to his relationship with Ginny when she confronted him. That was more than she'd been willing to do when it came to the tracker. If there was hope that they could repair their marriage in the future, it was dying day by day. Either they would have to start over like complete strangers and try to forget their pasts or they'd be unable to do it.

Deciding that sitting in the lounge just waiting for either Rodolphus to return or for her next move to jump out at her and make sense was a waste of her time, Hermione headed for the staircase. She wanted to make sure that everything she owned was inside her beaded bag in case she chose to leave. When she lowered her foot on the third or fourth step, she heard the front door open. She chose to go no further upstairs when she saw the master of the house return. Evidently exhausted, he still looked pleased with himself. He stifled a yawn as he removed his heavy cloak from his shoulders. Wherever he'd passed his time since he murdered his sister-in-law, it didn't appear to involve sleeping.

"Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning."

He was much more cheerful than he had been when he left. She was hesitant to ask him _why_ because she was sure that she wouldn't like the answer. Descending the rest of the stairs to meet him in the entrance hall, she noticed deep scratches on his cheek. Her face must have given away her confusion because almost at once, Rodolphus turned to look at himself in a mirror that hung on the wall. Loud laughter exploded out of the man as he lifted his wand to heal the wound.

"Our little Ginny can be quite the wildcat."

"Ginny _attacked_ you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, my dear. I'm sure the scratches she gave me on my back are much worse."

Hermione could feel her jaw drop in shock. Surely he couldn't mean what he was implying? Realizing he'd scandalized the woman, Rodolphus laughed loudly again. He was enjoying himself and her discomfort entirely too much. Was this all a show put on for her benefit? When she could find her tongue again, she asked what must have been an obvious question.

"You and Ginny?"

"She's less reluctant to tell me what I want to hear. There's no confusion with her. She _knows_ she belongs to me."

Disgust that she'd rarely felt so strong crept up Hermione's entire body, threatening to suffocate her with its potency. The man was a monster. Even if she didn't know it before they had the bizarre discussion they were having, she knew it without question. How could a cretin with no morals or concern for his fellow man still be allowed to roam the Earth with relatively little fear? She had to calm herself before she did or said something that she knew she would come to regret. Rodolphus was not a man to trifle with.

"You've been threatening to kill her daughter unless she does exactly what you tell her to do. Of course she's _belongs_ to you. Any mother worth a damn would be willing to do whatever it took to keep her child safe."

"Is that what I have to do with you to remind you that you still belong to me?"

All pity and disgust for Ginny's current plight flew out of her head with the clear warning about her own son. There were no lows that Rodolphus wouldn't hesitate to stoop to if it produced the results he desired. He had never had any strong feelings for her son except for annoyance and possibly disdain. Children were best, in his eyes, pushed away to be cared for by the house-elves until they were adults. Any time Oliver made the innocent mistake of entering a room that he was in, Rodolphus' lip would curl up. No, she knew _exactly_ how far the evil man would go. With a bright smile that would've served to enhance his handsome features when she wasn't afraid of him, Rodolphus loomed over Hermione, removing most of the personal space between their bodies. She feared to take a breath.

"It wouldn't take much for me to get to your son, even in the castle. Temeritus is an old friend of mine. We were young recruits together years before you were born."

She knew he spoke the truth. Even though Headmaster Mulciber had been doing a damn fine job as the leader of Hogwarts for the better part of the last two decades, he had a price. He also had his own perverted, twisted sense of Death Eater loyalty. The children might have been his priority to educate and keep safe, but he wouldn't have lasted long in the Dark Lord's faithful followers if he'd not learned how to turn his head every now and again. Rodolphus reached out to twist one of her curls around his finger. She ignored the pain, focused entirely on what he was going to say next.

"He would do _anything_ I asked, especially if I gave him the chance to take you to bed again. He's never been able to shut up about you. You took your training as a whore quite seriously it seems. He'd turn a blind eye to his duties as a Headmaster for the chance to taste you again."

Wrenching her hair out of his grip with a jerk of her head, Hermione ignored the sharp pain of the ripping of her curls. She wouldn't allow the man to intimidate her so. Maybe in the past she wasn't bothered too much about what happened to her son, but those days were exactly where they belonged. If he wanted to see how fierce she could be in the protection of her child, he would get the chance.

" _Nobody_ owns me, Rodolphus. Especially not you."

"I would urge you to be very careful how you speak to me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Then you are a fool and little Oliver could end up very, _very_ hurt."

Not bothering to even stop to pull her cloak down off the hook, Hermione rushed out the front door. In that moment she didn't care if she never learned the secret of what Rodolphus had been doing to her mind. There were things that were more important. If she had to forgo any knowledge of his damned plans and the fucking spells he implanted in her head just to keep Oliver safe, she would do so with no hesitation. And she wouldn't be afraid to kill Rodolphus if it came down to it. Maybe she might've been afraid of him in the past, but no longer.

Outside of the gates she ignored the cold air to think about the holiday cottage where she'd last seen her husband. If there was another person alive who needed to understand the threats that Rodolphus was making against their son, it was Antonin. He would know what to do. He usually did.

She banged on the door when she arrived. If he'd had a late night doing the gods only knew what, she wanted to make sure that her husband knew she was there. The door opened abruptly.

" _What_ do you want?"

The Muggle that glared at her wasn't pleased to be so rudely disturbed. Based on his state of dress, she'd caught him either still in bed or just getting out. Feeling suddenly quite embarrassed that she'd been so irrational for even just a few minutes, Hermione made her apologies and ran from the immediate area before the muggle could get it in his head to call the authorities. She really didn't want to have to break any international laws that morning. Hadn't it been stressful enough?

When she was far enough away that she thought she would be safe for a few minutes to catch her breath, she thought about Antonin, furious that she'd given him back his watch in her dramatic moment. Why didn't she keep it for a moment just like that one? He could be anywhere. It wouldn't be safe for her to go searching either. It was impossible to tell who was on his side and who still answered to Rodolphus.

The longer she lingered near the holiday cottages, the calmer she became. One reminder that was particularly helpful was the fact that she knew that she didn't marry an idiot. Antonin was one of the smartest people she'd ever known. He would've already considered the possibility that Hogwarts was infiltrated. His number one priority had always been Oliver and it always would be. Oliver was safe. He would've made certain of it. Even a disgusting offer from Rodolphus to Temeritus wouldn't be enough to harm him.

She knew she had to go back to the Dower House. Her mission wasn't finished. Her heart no longer raced in fear for her son. Though she was still afraid for herself more than she wanted to admit, that was something she knew how to combat. She'd had almost forty years of taking care of herself and pushing past her fears of her own mortality. If she didn't return to Rodolphus' house, she would become an enemy. There would be no hope for her to ever uncover the truth and she would be in more danger than she already was.

All in all, she couldn't have been missing for more than fifteen minutes when she began the trek up the staircase towards her bedroom. The door to Rodolphus' room was open. His pleased smile was meant to be a greeting, but she ignored it. She wasn't ready to face him again. Hiding in her room and plotting her next moves was her plan for the rest of that horrible day.


	331. November 26th

November 26th

Hermione knew that no matter how much she wanted to just pretend like the previous day didn't happen, she couldn't. Rodolphus would be too suspicious if she just emerged from her bedroom and tried to act like they were back to normal too soon. He'd threatened the safety of her only child. That wasn't something that could just be easily forgiven. As much as she might have wanted to push through her mission to uncover the truth of his treachery from him, she knew she had to be patient.

In order to try to make it seem believable, she kept herself secluded in her bedroom for almost two solid days. A house-elf delivered meals three times a day that she picked at, but other than those few moments of interaction with another living being, she was alone. Truthfully, she didn't mind being by herself. Any amount of time in Rodolphus' presence seemed to make her head spin. She was unpredictable in her emotions too. One second she would be afraid and the next she was ready to kill him. Giving her a chance to center and calm herself would make all of the difference in the coming confrontation.

Deciding that she would make an appearance at dinner, she waited until she knew the meal would already be served. Arriving late would mean she wouldn't have to be there with him for nearly as long. Small steps would get her there in the end. She had to remember to be patient.

Unfortunately to her great disappointment, Rodolphus was not dining alone that evening. When Hermione entered the dining room she was displeased to find his younger brother sitting in the chair across from hers. Both wizards were already drinking wine and laughing. As soon as she stepped inside the room, they stopped to stare. She considered briefly running back up the stairs and hiding a little bit longer. A meal with one of the brothers was treacherous enough. With both? She would've almost rather died.

"Good evening, Hermione. Please come join us."

Rodolphus gestured to her usual chair with a bright smile that might have felt warm splashed across the face of any other man. Rabastan too seemed pleased that she was there. The way his eyes lingered on her body as she took her seat was impossible to ignore. It brought to mind Gemma's words from days earlier about nights in the past when the three of them secluded themselves inside the Dower House for an evening together. Those nights had been a great deal of fun though hardly appropriate. She hadn't lied to her husband when she told him that she'd never been with both Lestrange brothers at the same time. She just simply never mentioned the fact that Rabastan liked to watch. Rodolphus had always been too possessive to allow her to even touch his little brother in his presence, but he didn't mind him being in the room with them.

Rabastan started to fill up her empty wine glass from the bottle he'd been enjoying with his brother. Clearly they'd started long before she arrived because the bottle was completely empty. She tried to hide her nerves. The more they drank, the more difficult the night was likely to get. What if Rodolphus tried to prove to her that she belonged to him again? His brother's presence might only encourage him to try. He wouldn't like to be thought of as being less than a man with witnesses.

"Allow me, brother. Looks like we should've paced ourselves before Hermione arrived. What must she think of us?"

She focused on watching Rodolphus open a new bottle of wine to keep from blurting out exactly what she was thinking. Neither man would really want to know. When he filled her glass with a liberal amount of wine, Hermione didn't waste any time drinking deep gulps. If she had to endure both men, the least she could do was face it a little tipsy. Moments later her plate filled up with food. She focused on filling her stomach and trying to ignore the brothers' conversation.

"He didn't seem that surprised honestly, Roddy. I think he must have been expecting a visit from one of us eventually."

"Did he seem _amenable_?"

"Does he ever?"

Their loud and abrupt laughter sounded strange to Hermione's ears. She swallowed the last of her wine. Within moments of setting her glass down, Rabastan was already there ready to refill it. She might have been grateful for his consideration if she wasn't also suspicious of it. Why was he even there that night? Didn't he have his own home to go to just a short walk away? It was evident that he wasn't aware that anything terrible had happened to his wife yet. Somehow she doubted he would be able to sit at his brother's table so calmly if he knew that she'd been murdered by his hand.

The room gradually grew warmer and warmer. Hermione tugged at the collar of her jumper, tempted to shed it entirely. Only knowing that neither man would be able to ignore her suddenly disrobing made her rethink her idea. She was feeling more relaxed with each passing moment. None of her fears from the day before seemed to have bled into that day. When her thoughts drifted to her son, she could recognize her complete _lack_ of fear. In fact, all she felt was numbness. A slight tingling in her hands and feet told her that there was something very wrong. The heat rising up her throat told her what she suspected. She'd been drugged.

Not bothering to offer any sort of explanation whatsoever, Hermione jumped up from the table. She ignored the concerned voices of the brothers as she ran to the lavatory on the ground floor. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she pointed her wand at her stomach and muttered a spell she'd only used a few times before in her life, usually when she'd indulged too much. Vomit came rushing out of her mouth in an instant. She was only just able to make it to the toilet in time to keep from making a mess. It was imperative that she get as much out of her system as possible. Though not as strong as it usually felt thanks to her quick thinking, she could feel the effects of her favorite potion. It felt amazing. Angry beyond reason that they would slip a potion into her wine, she focused on continuing to empty her stomach as best as she could. When nothing else was left, she collapsed to the floor in a heap. Though conscious, she hardly had enough strength to open her eyes.

The door was thrown open by one of the wizards. She wasn't sure which. A warm hand pushed the hair away from her face, checking for any signs of permanent damage. When it was clear that she wasn't dead or passed out, Rodolphus sighed in relief. From just a few steps away, Hermione heard Rabastan's concerned voice.

"Did I add too much to the bottle? She's never been sick like that before."

"She also hasn't had a potion in over a year, you imbecile. You could've killed her."

Rodolphus' strong arms gently lifted Hermione's body from the floor. Instead of carrying her up to her bedroom as she expected him to, he took her straight into the lounge and laid her down on the sofa. Her entire body felt weightless and numb. It was easy to remember why she enjoyed her potion so much. She hoped that she was able to throw up enough of the potion to keep from forgetting whatever was about to happen next. She thought she did. The effects of the potion weren't as strong as they'd been when she was seated at the table.

"If your carelessness had killed her…"

"Yes, well, it didn't. How was I supposed to know that would happen? She used to down vials like they were nothing more powerful than water."

They continued to speak around her like she wasn't even there. It was difficult to stay focused enough to pay attention to what they were saying, but she was determined. One of them might slip up and actually explain what it was she had been afraid of for so long.

"Where would my plans be if you'd killed her?"

"You said yourself that you could use any body."

"But I want _this_ body."

Rabastan scoffed at his brother's response. Hermione wished she could understand what they were saying exactly. She heard the words, but they didn't make sense.

"Do you not see the irony in that?"

"Don't speak about what you don't understand."

The sofa cushion next to Hermione dipped down. Rodolphus gently forced her to open her eyes. Terrified of what was going to happen next, she didn't even consider refusing. All at once she felt him inside her mind. Nowhere near as gentle as Mr. Akingbade had been when he would slip in to view her memories and check for charms, it physically _hurt_ when Rodolphus forced his way in. How had she not noticed him doing the same in the past? Had she really been that lost in her potions?

She couldn't tell how long Rodolphus was inside her mind. Too damn long. Every second that passed she could feel her head grow more painful. She was afraid to find out what he could see in there. Was he aware that she was really only in his house to find out the truth? But, she reminded herself, even Rabastan knew that and he wasn't capable of examining her brain up close. When he finally pulled out of her mind, Hermione felt nothing but searing pain. She cried out and closed her eyes.

"Damn! They're gone."

"How is that possible?"

In his anger Rodolphus couldn't sit still. He rose from the sofa and began to kick at his furniture and stomp around. Hermione could hardly focus on anything other than the pain in her head. She wouldn't be able to stay awake long if it continued. Sheer willpower was all that kept her conscious. It was important that she heard every word, no matter how seemingly insignificant.

"Someone must have found them and removed them."

The irate wizard continue to pace across the lounge, running his hands through his hair. Usually he was able to keep a calm and collected façade. The unraveling of the man was even more pronounced than Hermione thought it was days earlier when she first realized how close to the edge of his own sanity he was. She often thought that it took one crazy person to recognize another. If what had been done to her brain, by her potions use and other outside factors, was a standard to go by, she should always be able to see those about to lose their grip on sanity.

"I'm going to have to start from the beginning."

"But that took years last time."

"I _know_ it took years, Rabby! Don't you think I'm aware of that?"

He forced his way into her mind again, even less gentle than the first time. Hermione didn't think she would be able to withstand much more pain. Feeling the wizard moving around in there was a violation that she couldn't bear. All at once, his movements became more tender, more _careful_. He'd found something that he liked based on the soft chuckles she could hear. When he removed himself the second time from her mind, it was much less painful. Still her head continued to pound.

"Looks like they left one behind. There's one they couldn't remove. Better than nothing, I suppose. I'll just simply have to try again soon. _Very_ soon."


	332. November 27th

November 27th

Hermione's head continued to pound when she opened her eyes again. Still laying on the sofa in the lounge, the room was plunged into complete darkness. It was still the middle of the night. No light was beginning to show over the horizon when she looked up at the large windows covering one entire wall of the room. There was no sign of either of the Lestrange brothers. Likely they'd ended their night and gone to their respective beds leaving her unconscious form where she lay.

Carefully sitting up, she was pleased to discover that all of her clothing was still intact. Neither of the men had ever shown any desire to force themselves upon her, but it was still a relief to know that hadn't changed. Besides, Rabastan wasn't allowed to touch her when Rodolphus was nearby and Rodolphus had to hear her tell him that she belonged to him before he was able to perform. There was a psychiatrist's couch out there somewhere that was just calling out for that man. He had some clear issues. They both did. _Everyone_ cursed enough to be touched in some way by the Dark Lord's power was fucked in some way.

She was also relieved to discover that she could remember what happened before her body had to rest from all of the pain it was experiencing. Too many times in the past when she'd overindulged in her potions she hadn't been able to remember what happened while she was high. Thanks to vomiting up most of what she imbibed, she hadn't forgotten. She remembered the conversations that the brothers had while she was present. She certainly remembered what it felt like to have Rodolphus back inside her mind. Was he gentler with her when he placed the charms in the past? He must have or there was no way she wouldn't have recalled the excruciating pain.

One statement Rodolphus made would likely never be forgotten. He'd been relieved, even excited, to discover that there was still one left in her mind. What did he mean? Was there a spell still there that Babajide Akingbade had been unable to remove? The memory charms expert swore that he'd gotten them all. Did he simply miss it or was he yet another man in her life that was lying?

She had to find her husband and demand he tell her the truth once and for all. If he knew that Mr. Akingbade wasn't able to remove the last spell, she had every right to know. Without thought or care that Rodolphus would want to know where she was going if he discovered her leaving, Hermione headed straight for the front door. No sounds from up the stairs seemed to indicate that he was even awake. Trying to run to the gates was virtually impossible thanks to the throbbing pain still in her mind, but she tried to move as quickly as she could. Though she didn't know where Antonin was exactly, she knew of someone who could find him.

"You realize it's four in the morning, Princess?"

A bleary-eyed Thorfinn answered his front door clad only in a pair of pajama trousers. His wand was tightly gripped in his hand, but he didn't seem in any rush to use it on her. Confusion and perhaps a minute amount of concern was written across his face. She felt at least somewhat mollified that at least it wasn't the usual outright hatred he displayed. Some of what he did while she was staying at the Three Broomsticks was for show, some of it was real.

"I need to talk to Antonin. It's an emergency. _Please_."

Sighing and clearly wishing that he was still back in his own bed, Thorfinn gently pulled her inside. Hermione was pleased to see that the house was back to the same tidy order that Hannah employed while she was alive. Their home looked almost like Hannah would be walking in from the next room any moment. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. She pushed down the sorrow and guilt that always accompanied remembering her friend. If she hadn't inflicted herself upon the Hufflepuff maybe she would still be alive. He didn't waste another moment retrieving his silver compact mirror to call for Antonin.

"Sorry to wake you, mate, but your wife is in my house. Says she needs to see you immediately."

" _Is she all right_?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable under the blatant examination of her appearance by Thorfinn. She could only imagine how ragged she must have looked. Not only had she come to his house straight after waking up from passing out, she'd had a rough night before she fell asleep. Turning to look at a repaired mirror hanging on the wall, she could see the dark circles under her eyes and the way her skin looked unnaturally pale.

"I really don't know. You should come over."

While they waited for her husband to arrive, Thorfinn suggested making her a cup of tea. She stood in the kitchen watching him fill up the kettle to boil. The door leading out into the back garden opened just as he was pouring the steaming liquid into a cup. Antonin looked just as tired as she felt. What sorts of activities had he been engaged in to be so exhausted? She tried to ignore the obnoxious voice in the back of her mind that immediately went to uncharitable thoughts about Ginny. It wasn't fair to the woman. She'd only seduced her husband to keep their child safe. Could she really fault her for that?

Antonin crossed the length of the kitchen to stand in front of his wife in no time. His hands reached out to gently grasp the outside of her upper arms while his eyes took in every single centimeter of her body for any sign of injury or pain. The tense manner in which their last meeting ended didn't matter in that moment. With every ounce of tenderness he possessed, her husband brushed some of her hair away from her eyes.

"I can tell you're frightened. What happened?"

Thorfinn was kind enough to leave the married couple alone in his kitchen. Muttering something about it being way too damn early to be out of bed, he shuffled down the corridor to his bedroom. Hermione was glad to have the time alone with Antonin. It was going to be hard enough to talk to him about what she learned that night without having an audience.

"I know there's a spell that Mr. Akingbade wasn't able to remove."

His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes and sighed. If she had any question about whether or not Antonin knew about the spell still being there, it was answered in that moment. He did. Something akin to relief passed over his entire countenance. Perhaps he was _finally_ about to reveal one of the secrets she knew he had been keeping from her. As much as it should have pleased her, she was nervous. What was so awful that he felt like he couldn't tell her the truth?

"Yes, he was able to remove every spell, but one."

"Why?"

"He said that he'd never seen anything like it before. When he tried to remove it, he was afraid that he might do permanent damage to your mind. He wanted to do more research to see if he could figure out what it was."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

She was heartened only slightly to see the look of shame that began to take the place of some of the relief on his face. Antonin _knew_ how awful it was to be lied to. He _knew_ what sort of hell Rodolphus put her through with his charms and memory spells. Why was he so reluctant to be honest?

"It was my decision. If you're angry with anyone, be angry with me."

"That won't be a problem, but tell me, _why_?"

"I didn't want you to be afraid. We have _no_ idea what that spell is or what it could make you do. I was scared that if you knew it existed, it was _all_ you could think about. It would drive you…"

He stopped himself before he said the word that she knew he wanted to say. The subject of her mental health had always been a sensitive one, especially in recent years as she felt her sanity slipping through her fingers. No single human being was supposed to be able to go through the hellacious existence she had without fear of losing at least some part of their mental faculties. Still, she didn't like to be reminded that she was teetering on the edge of insanity.

"'Crazy'? Is that what you wanted to say?"

"Hermione…"

"No, Antonin, let's be honest. Haven't we been lying to each other for long enough?"

There wasn't a single word that she didn't mean. She was tired down to her very bones of the lies and the secrets. In the effort to try to protect the other, all they were really doing was pushing them further and further away. Secrets were poison.

"Then, yes, all right? Yes, I was afraid to tell you because I didn't want you to drive yourself crazy. It could be nothing!"

"But if it was nothing, then why wouldn't Mr. Akingbade be able to remove it?"

They both knew that there was no reason to continue to speculate about the intricacies of the spells that Rodolphus used to torment her so. It was encouraging to know that the memory charms expert who'd helped remove all of the other spells was still trying to discover what was remaining in her head. Hermione didn't want to argue with Antonin anymore. She was exhausted and wished for nothing more than to crawl into their old bed to sleep for days. Their home and everything in it was just another part of her life that Rodolphus ruined. She would never forgive him for anything he did to her or her family.

"I've been living in Rodolphus' house."

Antonin sighed.

"I know."

"But I've been sleeping in the spare room. We haven't… nothing has happened."

She couldn't tell him about the night that something _almost_ did happen between them. Not only would she have to admit the disgusting, depraved things she used to do with him in the past, it would only make him even more worried than he already was.

"Tonight… or last night, I don't even know, honestly. Rabastan slipped some potions in my wine."

His eyes widened in fear.

"I could tell that I'd been drugged so I made myself throw up, hoping that it would make it less powerful."

All of the details of the night came tumbling out. She spared him nothing. As soon as she started talking, she found it difficult to stop. Soon he knew just about everything that had happened since she moved in to the Dower House: Gemma's murder, the strange things she said to Hermione before she was killed, everything that Rabastan said, and much more. Antonin listened patiently as she unburdened herself. It felt good to feel like she wasn't alone, even if the feeling would be fleeting.

"But none of these makes any sense. He's insane. He can't actually do what Gemma claims he wants to do, can he?"

"I really don't know. And he's not wrong. Gemma _does_ lie. It's pathological, I think. Sometimes she lies... _lied_ for reasons that didn't make any sense. I think she just liked the attention."

When she'd told him everything, she felt even more emotionally drained. Tears were rolling out of her eyes that she kept brushing away. Her husband just stared at her as he attempted to process everything that she'd told him. Just like she was, he was confused. Antonin pulled her body into his arms. For several long minutes he held his wife, comforting her simply with his presence.

"I don't want to, Antonin, but I think I have to go back."

It was dangerous, of course, but she was left with few options. Spies weren't exactly able to live in complete safety and security. That was a fact she was very well aware of before she stepped a single foot inside his house. She couldn't afford to be a coward just because the situation had gotten a little scary. For the sake of having some kind of future that wasn't spent constantly looking over her shoulder, something had to be done. She hadn't learned the truth yet about Rodolphus' plans or what was still inside her mind. Until she knew more, she knew that she couldn't stop searching. Even Antonin understood her reasons. With an assurance to him that she believed she was actually quite safe at the Dower House for the time being because Rodolphus clearly believed she had some value, she knew it was time to go back.

"Please be careful. I'm afraid for you every second."

As if to further prove his point, Antonin followed up his words with a kiss she wouldn't soon forget. It was difficult to part ways. Hermione tried to talk herself out of it at least half a dozen times before she finally made the first step outside. It occurred to her only later when she was climbing into the bed in her borrowed bedroom across the corridor from Rodolphus' that despite believing secrets were poison, she hadn't even considered telling Antonin the ones she was still keeping.


	333. November 28th

_**Author's Note: FYI - It is NOT a blocked memory that was left in Hermione's **__**mind. There seems to be some confusion on that. All of her memories have been unblocked. It's a spell, not a blocked memory. No one knows what the spell is for yet, but no, it's not a blocked memory. Sorry for the confusion, but I thought that was clear.**_

* * *

November 28th

Recovering from the horrible night that Rodolphus had her drugged and violated her mind was harder than Hermione expected it to be. Once she was no longer running completely on adrenaline after she returned to the Dower House from Thorfinn's house, she collapsed in her bed. She wasn't ever entirely sure how she'd managed to find the energy she needed to get off the sofa in the first place, let alone Apparate to Hogsmeade and back. Sometimes her stubbornness could be an asset.

As she lay in her bed resting and trying to get the pain in her head to disappear completely, she kept thinking about Antonin. Thinking about him _and_ missing him to her surprise. When she'd been afraid in recent days, her first instinct was to seek him out. That had to mean something significant. She tried not to consider the implications. It would just drive her mad. Besides, except for the time she had her mind manipulated to the point that she thought her husband was an abusive monster, she always felt safer when he was around. Even in the early days of their teacher-student relationship, long before she ever even considered him as potentially being more than just her mentor. For twenty years, especially during the hard times, he'd been a source of comfort and stability. She was afraid that maybe she was making more out of her feelings than she should. It was hardly the time. There were other more important issues to be concerned about.

Like when Rodolphus would try to assault her mind again. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that he would give up after one failing, especially not after he declared that he would try again soon. If he was aware that she left in the middle of the night to go somewhere away from the estate, he didn't confront her about it. Maybe he would in time. Only one time did he enter her bedroom the afternoon after she'd returned to check on her. She pretended to be asleep and he left after just a couple of minutes.

She refused to eat or drink anything that was brought into her room. While she didn't believe the house-elves enslaved by the Lestrange family would ever hurt her on their own, she feared the orders they were given. They could be putting potions in her food and in her drink. Perhaps not enough to make it noticeable, but just enough that she would gradually feel the effects when it was too late. She was grateful that her beaded bag still contained an adequate supply of food.

By mid-afternoon a full day after she returned, Hermione was startled out of a half-sleep by the door to her bedroom opening. Her guest didn't seem to even care that they were making a great deal of noise. Though her head was feeling much better thanks to the rest and a couple of healing potions she had stashed in her bag, she was still not at full capacity. Expecting to see Rodolphus enter, she was shocked when she opened her eyes to see it was Draco instead. He seemed _angry_. Curious to know what was happening, Hermione sat up in bed.

"You shouldn't be in here, Draco. If your uncle finds you…"

"Rodolphus is in London. He'll be tied up for hours. Some bother at the Ministry."

Somewhat more relaxed by his explanation, she at least wasn't worried that there was about to be a wizard's duel in her bedroom. Rodolphus made it clear when she was living in the Resistance's village that he didn't want her around Draco. At the time she just assumed it was because she was a bad influence who was likely to get him into trouble. It wasn't until much later that she realized it had more to do with his possessiveness and desire that _no one_ touch her instead.

Draco sat on the edge of her bed. Once he had a good look at her face, he seemed to soften somewhat. She wondered why he was there. He hadn't even attempted to contact her since the day she asked him about his working relationship with Antonin.

"How are you feeling? Are you sick?"

"No, I'm all right."

He rolled his eyes, evidently annoyed by her untruthful answer. Was she that noticeably unwell? She hadn't even bothered to look at herself in the mirror, afraid of what she might find looking back at her. There was more than one reason why she promised Kingsley she wouldn't take potions again. Getting off of them wasn't an easy process. She was glad that at least she only had a small dose after she forced herself to be sick. Any more and she might've been much worse off.

"No one is still in bed in the afternoon if they feel well, Hermione. What's wrong?"

His clear agitation put her on edge. She wasn't interested in confiding to him about anything. What was his reason for being there? It was still possible that he was there under orders from Rodolphus to try to discover just where she'd gone. When she didn't immediately answer his question, Draco grew even more impatient. He wasn't looking his best either. Lack of sleep was apparent. What was really going on with him? She almost didn't want to find out.

"I heard you were looking for Antonin in the middle of the night. Why?"

"How do you know about that?"

She felt sick to her stomach. Was he still tracking her? It would make sense, of course. She wished she knew who to trust. Draco might have claimed he was working for her husband, but that didn't make him an ally. He was also working for his uncle and probably still for the Resistance. Quite possibly he didn't even know where his true loyalties lay himself.

Draco held up his silver mirror with a smile that pushed her just a little further over the edge. The smile that was on his lips wasn't one that made her feel safe.

"Not sure your _husband_ realizes how easy it is to charm these so one mirror can hear _all_ of the conversations."

He was pleased with himself. So many questions and worries swirled around in Hermione's mind at his announcement. What had he heard from the others that had similar mirrors? She still didn't even know how many existed or who held them. Draco might've been able to give all sorts of information to the wrong people if that was the case. And, if he could listen in, who else had figured out the same spell? She needed to find Antonin or Thorfinn to warn them that the mirrors weren't secure. All it would take was one person hearing the wrong statement and they would all be in severe trouble.

"That was a private conversation, Draco."

"You look awful."

She scoffed, unable to believe what she was hearing. Why was he even there? She wished he would go away. The last few times she'd been in his presence, including the day she'd been so emotional about Ron's death that she allowed him to seduce her just for the opportunity to forget her pain for a short time, she'd noticed there was something strange about the wizard. He wasn't being as stealthy and cooperative as he once was. There was a time when she thought she might actually be able to trust him. It seemed that that time was long since passed.

"Thanks. Is that what you came here to do? Insult me? Because you can just leave."

Perhaps realizing how rude his previous statement sounded, Draco sighed. His shoulders slumped and he looked as if a strong wind would knock him over. What sort of activities was he still involved in that kept him from getting a decent night's sleep? She couldn't imagine that he was still tracking enemies.

"No, I'm sorry. I was just worried about you." He reached out to touch her curls. What was a comforting gesture when some did it made her nervous when he tried. "I wanted to find you right then when I knew you were looking for _him_ in the middle of the night. It killed me to wait long enough for Rodolphus to leave for me to come speak to you. I've been imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios."

He was passionate in his response. She would give him that, but Hermione wasn't so sure that she could trust him. He seemed to be unraveling. They _all_ seemed to be unraveling. The death of the Dark Lord and the destruction of the regime they'd been living under for twenty years had taken its toll on everyone. It would take some time before they were all back to normal, if that was even possible. Deciding that it would be much easier on her if she just pretended to believe him, she offered him a small smile. Draco relaxed even more.

"Did you find out something upsetting that you needed to tell Antonin?"

The probability that Draco was in her room asking her that question just so he could pass along what he learned to Rodolphus was quite high. She was nervous to answer, nervous that saying the wrong thing would put Rodolphus on the defensive. In order to learn what she needed to learn, she had to keep him believing that she trusted him. Or at the very least that she didn't _distrust_ him. Refusing to answer would be suspicious. She might have to start at the very beginning with earning her host's trust. But, she also would be in trouble if she admitted the truth. She'd been afraid that night because of what the Lestrange brothers did to her. If it got back to either one of them that she was more aware of what happened that night than they knew, she would be in grave danger. Rodolphus might decide that it would be better to just use another body, whatever that meant. A believable lie would have to do.

"I was worried about my son. The other night I had a horrible dream about him and when I woke up in the middle of the night, I couldn't go back to sleep. Rodolphus said… he warned me a few days ago that he could get to my son in the castle if he needed to. I wanted to find Antonin just so I could know that Ollie was all right."

"And did it help?"

"Hardly. Antonin wasn't very happy that I'd bothered Thorfinn over such a 'trivial matter'. He also didn't appreciate being asked to travel so far in the middle of the night just to make me feel better. I doubt he would do it again if I asked."

It wasn't the truth. She had little doubt that if she _ever_ asked for Antonin, he would be there as soon as he was physically able. Maybe it was cruel to hold on to that realization with a bit of smugness, but she did. If she needed Antonin, he would be there. Except, she worried that all of that would change when the secret of his daughter eventually came out. Would he be able to forgive her? Would he understand why she'd been scared to tell him? She could tell him about all of the hundreds of times she made up her mind to confess and then was able to convince herself that it was too dangerous. Would that soften the blow of her deception?

"So it was just about being afraid that your son was in danger?"

"' _Just about_ '? I can assure you, Draco, that the safety and security of one's child isn't inconsequential."

Her righteous indignation added a little something to her story, she thought. If the story of why she left in the middle of the night got back to Rodolphus, which she had no doubt that it would, at least she'd told a plausible lie. Rodolphus was already aware that she was worried about Oliver. It would make sense.

Draco was much calmer at the end of their visit than he was at the beginning. He didn't linger long after she told her lie. There was no need to. He'd completed his mission and his uncle would be glad to hear the results.


	334. November 29th

**_Author's Note : Thamy - Yes! That's a little fun I like to have when writing stories. They're always very different, but I like to have some of the same small details in them. Good catch on both of them! ;) Several others have pointed out my little The Minister's Secret references too that are sprinkled throughout the story. It's fun to see when readers catch on to them._**

 ** _Also, I didn't get the chapter notice for last night's chapter. I hope no one else had the same problem! If you did, I'm so sorry if you thought I skipped a day._**

* * *

November 29th

The day after Draco's bizarre and nerve-wracking visit Hermione felt encouraged enough by how she felt to leave the safety of her bedroom. House-elves continued to bring her food, but Rodolphus hadn't come back to check on her after the first time he slipped into her room as she pretended to be asleep. She knew that she was wasting valuable time hiding in her room. The next few steps she made had to be daring, calculated, _smart_. There was no longer any room for error. One mistake could very well end in her death.

Rodolphus was all smiles when she stepped into the dining room for breakfast. She almost lost her nerve. Every time they were in the same room together she was afraid. How was it possible that one man could exert so much control over her? She hadn't felt anything similar since she was enthralled by the Dark Lord. Taking her usual seat at his left side, Hermione offered him a small smile.

"I'm very sorry for being rude the last few days, Roddy, but I haven't been feeling very well. I can't imagine what it could possibly be."

It was imperative that she continue to act as if nothing strange happened. If it was clear that she vividly remembered being drugged that night and her mind brutally assaulted, she feared that Rodolphus would only grow more aggressive in his actions. Both wizards assumed that she would suffer memory loss after such a high dosage of the potion. She couldn't give them a reason to fear otherwise.

"Perhaps it was a case of the flu. I've heard speculation that it's supposed to be particularly bad this year."

"You're probably right."

For a man she knew was quite intelligent, Rodolphus could be painfully transparent at times. Did he _really_ believe he was hiding his activities so well from her? She began to pick at her food. With no appetite and a legitimate fear that he could be drugging her, there wasn't much reason to eat. Unbothered by her lack of interest in the meal, Rodolphus carried on. Meager rations in Azkaban taught him to be appreciative of food, even a bit _over_ -appreciative. It was the same with everyone who ever had a cell there. Some former prisoners, like her husband and Rodolphus, had the benefit of excellent genes to keep from growing too pudgy.

"How long have you and Ginny..?"

The question escaped her before she could stop it, but she wasn't sorry she asked. Didn't she have a right to know? Rodolphus smiled and let out a soft chuckle. Evidently he was pleased with himself for seeming to inspire jealousy in the witch seated next to him. As much as it annoyed her to do so, Hermione knew she should cultivate that feeling in him. Cocky, arrogant men grew too confident in their own magnificence and tended to boast. She could learn a lot from him in that state. It was also why seduction was such a powerful tool to gather information. The sorts of things a person, especially a man, would tell her in an effort to impress her enough to climb into bed with him was remarkable. _Pathetic_ , but remarkable.

"Does it bother you to know that Ginny and I have a _friendly_ relationship?"

"I'm just wondering if you're forcing her to have sex with you like you're forcing her to be a spy."

He threw his fork down on his plate hard enough that it bounced back up, spilling eggs across the linen tablecloth. His cheeks were flushed and he appeared on the verge of an explosion. Too late Hermione thought she should've been a little less forthright with her question. A tiny amount of fear that was always present when she was in the man's presence grew stronger. Would he lash out and hurt her? It wouldn't be the first time he'd done so in his anger.

"Do I seem like the sort of wizard who would have to resort to nasty tricks like that to get a witch in my bed?"

Clearly she'd touched on a sensitive nerve. There were plenty of disgusting monsters amongst the Death Eaters who lived for attacking helpless women and forcing them to commit depraved acts that made even Hermione uncomfortable, and she had a pretty open view about sex. Of course, as too many people weren't aware, rape had nothing at all to do with sex and everything to do with power. The slime who enjoyed those acts were allowed to thrive during the chaotic, violent early years of the regime, but most of them were either killed in the pursuit of their depravities or ordered by the Dark Lord to cease and become respectable members of his new society. Despite sexual violence being an all-too-common occurrence in societies like theirs, many men who believed themselves to be morally superior or who possessed a strong sense of honor abhorred such acts. There was a code amongst the Death Eaters. Those who committed such vile acts were relegated to the bottom of the heap and scorned. By asking Rodolphus if he had to force Ginny, Hermione insulted him gravely. He likely wouldn't get over it any time soon, if ever.

"I merely meant that you and Ginny don't make any bit of sense. How would the two of you even happen?"

He calmed down only slightly. Once he picked his fork back up, a grin spread across his face.

"You wouldn't be _jealous_ of what I do with Ginevra when we are _naked_ , would you?"

Just the thought of the two of them together filled her with revulsion. How much of their relationship, for lack of a better term, was coerced? Did Ginny feel an obligation to submit to his lascivious cravings just to keep her daughter safe? It was all depraved and made her sick to her stomach. As much as she might not like Ginny, what had been done to her was wrong.

"Don't fret over your old friend's virtue, my dear. She's been in many a Death Eater's bed. Not nearly as many as you have, of course, but who has?"

Angry that he would dare to insult her like that, Hermione pushed her full plate of food as hard as she could in his direction. Unable to move out of the way, her full English covered the front of the wizard's clothes. There had always been passion between the two of them, some not reserved entirely for the bedroom and not all of it good. Rodolphus jumped up to his feet, reached across the space between their chairs, and grabbed her throat in a tight grip. Not hard enough that she couldn't breathe, it was just enough to keep her in place and terrified. With another unsettling smile, he leaned in so they were only centimeters apart.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, my dear. Have you always been jealous of Ginny? Is that why you lied to Aberforth Dumbledore about her being the one that told you he knew I was an animagus when we both know _I_ was the one who lied to you?"

She didn't know what to say. How could he possibly know what she'd said to Aberforth in a _private_ conversation? She knew there was no one around the Shrieking Shack who could hear them. Maybe it had been wrong to lie to Aberforth and then to Charlie; she didn't care. They needed to know that she couldn't be trusted. Sure, she could've easily told them that it was actually Rodolphus who claimed that Aberforth was aware of his presence in the village. If she did, however, they might have continued to go on trusting Ginny when she was dangerous. The crumbling Resistance had a rat amongst them that they needed to know about. At the time she didn't know that Ginny only did what she was doing because Rodolphus was forcing her, but what was done was done. There wasn't any way that she could take it back. Ginny had been exposed.

"I like to fuck Ginny because she knows her place. It's a lesson you seem to have forgotten."

His grip tightened just enough to be more uncomfortable, but still not choking. As she sat there worried that he was going to hurt her more, Rodolphus moved his mouth to just outside her ear. The feel of his warm breath on her skin made her feel sick. How was it possible that she used to desire his touch? Those days would never repeat themselves as long as she was alive.

"I'm going to take great pleasure in reteaching you where you belong. If you're kind to me, you might even enjoy it. Remember how I used to make you scream and beg for more? Maybe I should just throw you down on top of this table and fuck you until you never forget that you belong to _me_."

Pressing his lips against the sensitive skin just under her ear, he licked at the flesh with the tip of his tongue. Hermione had to suppress a shudder. Would he actually do that? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she knew without question that he would. There was very little that the man wouldn't do. His mouth moved further down her neck, nipping and licking at the skin. She willed herself to remain calm. One wrong move and his hand could crush her delicate throat in moments with very little effort.

Whatever he was planning next would remain a mystery to Hermione thanks to the ringing of the doorbell. Annoyed that he was being interrupted, Rodolphus' ire shifted from her to whatever poor soul awaited him outside his front door. He released his grip on her neck and exited the dining room like nothing strange or unusual just happened. She struggled to catch her breath and get her fear under control before he returned. Rodolphus was the sort of predator to smell weakness. Maybe it was part of his enhanced senses thanks to his animagus form.

Rodolphus' voice mixed with another deep masculine voice that she didn't immediately recognize. Curious to see who would dare to drop by at such an early hour, Hermione started to get up from her chair, but immediately froze when the master of the Dower House reentered the room. She wasn't able to get a good view of the unknown visitor until they were both inside the room.

"Please come inside and join us. Would you like me to order another plate from my house-elves?"

Hermione could feel her eyes widen when Rodolphus moved away to reveal the visitor as Alexandre Dolohov. It had been years since she last laid eyes on her brother-in-law. With dark brown hair and the same brown eyes as his eldest brother, there was speculation that Alexandre was the only one of Antonin's three brothers that shared both a mother and a father with him. The brothers even favored each other in their facial features and the general shape of their bodies. Dolohov genes had proven to be quite dominant. Antonin suspected that Alexandre was born as a result of a last-ditch effort between his parents to make their marriage work, but he never could tell for certain. Clearly, it hadn't been as successful as they might have hoped considering Aubin's appearance just a few years later. Maybe he was the result of an affair with his father's brother. No one but Elspeth really knew.

When their eyes met across the dining room, Alexandre sneered. Never in all of the years that she'd known him had she ever seen her brother-in-law react so openly hostile. They'd _never_ had a single harsh word to say to the other. While she certainly didn't know him very well, he'd never been cruel. Even seemed to like her in the brief moments she hadn't been a complete terror at family gatherings. Antonin believed his brother to be a gentle soul, too good for the harsh reality of the world he lived in. He once claimed that Alexandre didn't have a single mean bone in his body. What had happened to make him change so drastically?

"It wasn't my intention to interrupt your breakfast, but it was very important that I speak to you, Mr. Lestrange."

"Rodolphus, please. There's no need to be so formal, especially as you've got family in the room."

" _She_ is no family of mine. She may have been my brother's mistake, but I wouldn't mind never seeing her again."

Hermione was confused. She didn't understand where the hostility was coming from the usually gentle man. Did he find out about her role in killing his little brother? Alexandre seemed to be the only person alive who actually cared for the arsehole.

"Now now, Alexandre, I can't have you speaking to my guest that way."

After one final glare in Hermione's direction, he turned his full attention back to Rodolphus.

"I've been searching for my younger brother. He hasn't been seen in weeks. I understand you were one of the people he came back to the country to speak to."

"Yes, I did speak to him about possibly taking your mother's family's seat on the Wizengamot, but I fear I haven't seen him since."

Alexandre turned back around to Hermione.

"And _you_?"

"Sorry, Alex, I haven't seen him since the night he tried to kill me."

Sensing that it could get potentially ugly in the room if he continued to allow the estranged family members to be in the other's presence, Rodolphus moved towards the door.

"I will have some capable people make inquiries about your brother's potential whereabouts. While I have you here, I'd be glad to speak to you about the Wizengamot."

Alexandre motioned for Rodolphus to lead the way. Once Rodolphus' back was turned, Hermione almost gasped when she saw her brother-in-law's entire countenance soften. His smile and wink made her feel instantly at ease. She almost missed the falling piece of parchment on the rug and his eyes dropping to it before he followed Rodolphus. The entire exchange took no more than a couple of seconds.

She waited until she heard the sound of the study door closing behind the men to retrieve the fallen bit of parchment. Her hands trembled as she unrolled it. Written in her husband's handwriting, she felt some of the first peace she'd felt in weeks wash over her entire being.

 _Passed along what you told me the other night to B.A. He's looking into it. Seemed encouraged. Thinks he might know what R is up to. Will let you know more as soon as I do. Please be careful. I love you. -A_

It pained her to have to set her husband's message on fire immediately after reading, but at least she no longer feared she was completely alone.


	335. November 30th

November 30th

Following their tense, but blessedly interrupted breakfast the day before, Hermione and Rodolphus kept their distance from each other. She could tell that he was still angry with her for what she'd said to him in their heated discussion. Not a single word she uttered did she regret. She meant every single one of them. Her concerns for just how Rodolphus ended up in any sort of sexual relationship with Ginny were still valid. Perhaps when tempers weren't quite so high, she would ask her questions again in a more _diplomatic_ manner.

After his long private meeting with her brother-in-law Alexandre, Rodolphus made himself scarce. She didn't see him return for any meals for the remainder of the day. When he wasn't even present for his usual breakfast at eight, she assumed he'd never returned home the night before. Nothing would ever induce her to willingly open his bedroom door to find out if he was even there. He might take it as some sort of encouragement, some hint that she desired to join him in bed. Even the thought of returning there filled her with dread.

It was after lunch before the front door opened again to admit Rodolphus. He looked exhausted. Though her first instinct was to ask him if he'd been able to get any actual sleep when he was with Ginny, she stopped herself out of concern that their row from the day before would only resume. It was likely to get even worse and she doubted her brother-in-law would have such impeccable timing two days in a row. She watched him silently from a chair by the fireplace in the lounge collapse on the sofa.

His eyes never left hers even as neither of them spoke. Hermione was determined that she wouldn't say the first word. All of those years she had it jumbled up in her mind that her relationship with Antonin was the abusive one in her life. It wasn't. Rodolphus could be very subtle when it suited his purposes to be so, but he never shied away from making his anger clear or proving his control of her was absolute. She looked forward to the day she could get rid of the last spell in her mind and kill the bastard. Maybe then she could finally get on with her life.

"Thanks to your lie about Ginny telling you that Aberforth knew I was an animagus, no one in the Resistance trusts her anymore. I've been able to learn nothing new from her."

"That's a pity. I do hope you'll accept my apology."

Hermione didn't understand her need to be snarky in response to his statement. It just sort of happened. At least Rodolphus was in a pleasant enough mood that he didn't feel the urge to launch himself across the room at her throat again. Ginny must've put in extra effort to make him satisfied the night before. She didn't really want to think about their sex life, but at least with Ginny keeping him entertained in the bedroom, her own services were less likely to be needed.

"You really are jealous of her, aren't you? Is it some sort of underlying insecurity rooted at Hogwarts? Because I've _never_ seen you this way around any other woman. Not even Andromeda Tonks."

She really didn't want to get into her history with Ginny. Not with Rodolphus. It was bad enough that twenty years after they were both out of school she still harbored some of the same resentments and insecurities she did as a teenager. She didn't want him to analyze them too.

"How did you first get Ginny to do what you wanted? Was it your idea that she seduce my husband and get pregnant or was that just a happy accident you used to your advantage?"

"A happy accident, but one I couldn't plan any better myself. It worked out perfectly. No one is easier to manipulate and control than a mother. Or rather, I should say a mother who actually _cares_ what happens to their child. That hasn't always been an experience you understood."

Mentioning Oliver even in an indirect way put a foul taste in Hermione's mouth. She didn't want Rodolphus to even _think_ about her son. And she couldn't deny that the reminder of what a shit mum she was always stung. If she had the opportunity in the future, she would try her hardest to be better. Oliver deserved more. It was a shame for him that he'd been cursed with her for a mother. Maybe if he'd been a terror and a nasty kid she might've felt better about the circumstances. Knowing what a sweet, loving young man he was growing into made it all so much worse.

"I would prefer it if we did not discuss my son."

Every word came out through her clenched teeth. She didn't want him to be able to control her with threats against her child. As much as she trusted the fact that Antonin would do _anything_ for his son, she knew that Rodolphus wasn't an enemy they could afford to underestimate. Until he was dead, he was going to be a problem.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. It was _never_ been my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I just meant that there were many years where you didn't want any reminders that Oliver existed."

He was baiting her, hoping she would make the wrong move due to her emotions. Two could play at that game if she really wanted to go down a path she couldn't return from. All it would take was the mere mention of Bellatrix to set him off. As tempting as it was, Hermione knew she had to remain in control by making Rodolphus continue to believe that he was. Manipulating men was her specialty. She'd been perfecting her craft for years. Men craved power, even if it was just the illusion, just as much as they craved sex. Sometimes more.

"How did you know Ginny was pregnant with my husband's bastard?"

Rodolphus laughed when it was clear she wanted to move along the topic of conversation. No longer appearing to be as exhausted as he was when he first returned home, he seemed ready to tell her whatever she wished to know. It was a fleeting generosity she knew she had to take advantage of while she could. Before she was ready it would likely be over.

"It wasn't difficult to deduce. I knew about the night Antonin cornered her in the Muggle warehouse in London."

"How?"

"I was there, my dear. Saw it all happen. At first I thought I should come to my comrade's aid and help him fight against Ginny."

Hermione scoffed. There was no way she would believe that was true. If Rodolphus saw an opportunity for her husband to possibly get himself killed, he wouldn't have done anything to keep it from happening. He would've been more likely to assist Ginny than Antonin.

"They were fairly evenly matched. She's an impressive fighter, but she made the teeniest mistake and Antonin disarmed her and pushed her against a wall."

A sickening thought crossed her mind.

"Did you _imperio_ Antonin or cast some sort of lust spell on them?"

"Of course I didn't. Amusing thought really, but there was no need. Just when I thought Antonin was going to finish off the witch, they were kissing and ripping at each other's clothes like a couple of randy teenagers. Oh, but I'm sure you don't want to hear the details."

Of course she didn't, but she couldn't deny that she was curious to know how it all happened. Besides, Rodolphus would tell her whatever _he_ wanted her to know. She resolved to show no outward emotion no matter what filth came out of his mouth. It wasn't as if she could really be angry with Antonin for his indiscretions. At that time in their marriage she was doing exactly the same. Probably even worse.

"As you can imagine I was positively scandalized. Who knew that the Resistance's very own Ginny Weasley was so willing to let a Death Eater fuck her in the middle of a dirty, smelly warehouse? And not just _any_ Death Eater, of course, but our Dark Lord's righthand, his most trusted general? If only her little Resistance mates knew what sort of darkness and danger she craved between her thighs."

Hermione knew Ginny's history, though certainly not all of it. Being possessed by the greatest Dark wizard that had ever been born didn't leave the witch unscathed. Ginny sought out danger even when they were still in school. Not nearly as much as her older brother and his two closest friends did, of course, but she was hardly some innocent virgin afraid of the Dark. She'd been consumed by evil when she was young. Was it really any surprise that she would keep looking for it wherever she could find it? Truthfully, it always amazed Hermione that Ginny didn't become a Death Eater. She seemed like a much more likely candidate than even Hermione herself.

"Ginny is very _vocal_ when she is enjoying herself. Sort of like you are, but with her, I don't get the impression she's just doing it for show."

She narrowed her eyes, annoyed that he would say something so crass. Even if he did have a point, it was still unnecessary to mention. Experience taught her that her sexual partners were usually quite willing to believe that they were able to elicit enthusiastic responses with their touch. Maybe that's why Temeritus still fantasized about the night she was drunk enough to let him touch her. It must have been one hell of a performance.

"I remember watching your husband thrusting inside of her with such passion and desperation and thinking that he must've not been getting what he needed from his little wife at home. It made me laugh. Or maybe he just liked the feel of Ginny's cunt better than yours. I confess that it's been so long since I last felt yours that I'm afraid I couldn't be an accurate judge. Perhaps I should ask my nephew his opinion."

A flash of anger that he would bring up the reminder that she'd been with Draco seized her before she could calm herself down enough not to be bothered by his continued disgusting remarks. Hermione knew it was foolish to feel what might have been misconstrued as jealousy. Mostly though, she was angry that Draco had lied to her about his relationship with Ginny. Of course she never believed for a second that there wasn't more to them than just friendship. They'd been too familiar that first night in the tent. And then how she just showed up at his flat _after_ he claimed she'd never been there before? Was there anything he'd told her over the previous eleven months that held an ounce of truth?

"I also must confess that I rather enjoyed watching them. It _excited_ me and I thought that if she was so willing to fuck Antonin, why not me? It took me over a month, almost two, to catch her on her own. She is not an easy one to find. I knew that I couldn't approach her as a human because she would be frightened and possibly try to kill me. But who doesn't love big, fluffy, friendly dogs? When she was scratching me behind my ears, I could smell something _off_ about her, something I hadn't smelled on her before. That's when I knew she was pregnant with Antonin's bastard. From the moment I transformed back into a man, she was mine. I _owned_ her. But, of course, I couldn't bear the thought of actually fucking her while she was in that horrible, foul condition. Had to wait several months, unfortunately, to discover what it was that Antonin liked so much about it."

"You're disgusting."

"No, I'm merely honest. More honest than most men."

"Does it not bother you that Ginny only lets you touch her because she's afraid of what will happen to her daughter if she doesn't?"

There was always the possibility that Rodolphus would be offended by the insinuation that he'd taken Ginny's will and consent away from her like he did the day before. He was very prickly about his personal honor. _Never_ would he wish to be associated with the likes of monsters who had to force themselves on their conquests. Instead of growing angry, he simply laughed again. She was growing weary of the sound.

"Ginny _craves_ danger. It excites her. I've _never_ had to _encourage_ her in any way. She's usually the one seeking me out."

Hermione didn't want to hear anymore. His chuckles echoed in her ears as she made her way up the stairs to her own room.


	336. December 1st

December 1st

It unnerved Hermione how Rodolphus watched her from across the room whenever she had the misfortune to be in the same one he was. She'd never been able to read the wizard for as long as she'd known him. When she was more inclined to _enjoy_ being in his company and to actually seek him out, she often found herself annoyed that he wasn't easier to understand. Part of her job as an interrogator required a certain set of skills that she couldn't just leave at the office at the end of the day. Everywhere she went, no matter if it was professional or personal, she tried to read the people around her to better understand them, to figure out when they were lying. More than a few times Antonin had to steer her from guests at social occasions because she was making them uncomfortable with her inquiries. She was just being friendly exactly as he implored her to be before they entered whatever awful soirée their presence was requested! But with Rodolphus, she knew that he could keep the content of his thoughts to himself indefinitely.

Their conversations about Ginny in the previous two days had left her feeling sick to her stomach. More than just hating how bizarre it felt to actually feel sorry for and _pity_ the woman she'd never felt entirely adequate next to, she feared that what he was planning with Ginny would have ramifications that were far-reaching. He'd already made her kill her own brother in some sort of bizarre, sick punishment for daring to go against his wishes when it came to Hermione. What would happen next?

She began to loathe the times they spent in the dining room together. Raised in a properly formal home, Rodolphus insisted that no meal ever be eaten standing up in the kitchen over the sink. Antonin had similar feelings when everyone was home for dinner. Breakfast was _usually_ shared at the table, but it was every man for himself for lunch unless her husband was feeling particularly domestic or he had something pressing on his mind that he needed to distract himself from with menial tasks. Not Rodolphus. Sickness was the only acceptable excuse for missing a meal and even then, he wasn't always lenient. Considering he'd squeezed her throat after he insulted her days earlier, Hermione would've rather starved.

But, she knew all too well that she wouldn't be able to gain the wizard's trust and hopefully, by extension, more knowledge about what he'd done to her brain and why if she continued to avoid him. She was heartened by Alexandre's sneakily delivered missive from Antonin that Babajide Akingbade was looking into the issue further. Everything that she'd learned from the three Lestranges only served to confuse her mind even more. She hoped that Antonin was serious that the memory charms expert was encouraged by the additional information. Maybe there was hope that one day she might _actually_ be memory charm-free. It still rankled her nerves that Mr. Akingbade lied to her and her husband went along with it, even if she could understand why they didn't want to tell her. She _had_ been fairly delicate mentally and emotionally during that time period. Fear of the unknown might very well have pushed her over the edge. She only hoped that that wouldn't be the case.

"You're hardly eating, my dear. Do you not care for your lunch?"

"No, it's lovely. I'm just not very hungry."

Rodolphus continued to stare at her over his own plate. She didn't understand why he was so fascinated by her, but judging by the way she saw his eyes dip below her collar, she could imagine. He'd been patient with her following their one attempt in the bedroom that did not end how he wished. She still couldn't believe she was able to reject his demands so easily. She would _not_ tell him that she belonged to him ever again. That was a decision she made in the heat of the moment that she would stick by no matter what. Of course it was all too apparent that it would only be a matter of time before he tried to get her in his bed again. The predatory gaze of his eyes was all the proof anyone needed. Or, perhaps even worse than trying to renew their former amorous activities, he might slip her another potion. Whatever the potential risk was, she had to be ready to meet it head-on.

The opening of the front door on its own a few minutes later provided a welcome distraction. Only one person ever dared to enter Rodolphus' house without knocking. Knowing that he should expect his little brother to enter the dining room in just a few seconds, Rodolphus wiped his mouth with his napkin and sighed. His temper had been very short with his brother lately. Hermione could see the tension. Rabastan seemed to be the only oblivious one.

"How nice of you to join us, Rabby, _without_ an invitation. Should I order the house-elves to bring you a plate?"

"No, no, thank you. I couldn't eat a bite."

It was clear that something was weighing heavily on Rabastan's mind. Hermione didn't think that he'd discovered his wife had been murdered. Even he would've been more animated in his speech and actions if he'd stumbled upon her body in the hedge maze. While she didn't believe that Gemma was still laying out in the freezing gardens, she couldn't be certain. She wasn't going to go look for herself.

"I haven't seen Gemma in _days_. At first I thought that she'd just gone to her mother's like she always does when we have a row, but she's usually back by now. I flooed that horrible woman and she said that Gemma hasn't been there in over a month."

There was more petulance in his tone than anger or fear. It was really quite pathetic. Rodolphus seemed on the verge of losing his patience due to his brother's whinging. Or maybe he just didn't want to be reminded of the day he murdered his sister-in-law in cold blood.

"I'm sure she will turn up in a few days when she's done being angry with you for whatever foolish thing you've said or done. Why don't you seek out one of your other witches to get your mind off of her?"

Rabastan's pout was too noticeable to ignore. Rolling his eyes, Rodolphus asked him what his problem was. The younger of the two brothers appeared to sink into himself, afraid to tell his brother the truth. It took a closed fist slamming down on top of the table and a raised voice from Rodolphus to encourage him to answer.

"I can't find Rosalind Nott. I'm afraid that I've lost her."

"What do you mean you've lost her?"

"I went to the manor the other night to visit her, but she was no longer there. Millicent moved back in with her daughters. She said that she and her brother threw Rosalind out of the house because she'd violated the terms of her marriage contract to Theodore. They didn't know, or care, where the girl has gone."

Rodolphus threw his napkin down angrily and rose to his feet. Despite being a fearsome Death Eater himself with countless kills under his own belt, the little brother in Rabastan still feared his elder brother. The slightest cower in his shoulders amused Hermione even as she worried what was going to happen next.

"I gave you _one_ task, Rabby. _One_ task that I thought you could handle because all it involved was you thinking with your cock. Do you have any idea what you've ruined?"

Hoping that if she didn't move at all that Rodolphus might forget she was in the room and spill secrets, Hermione didn't even dare to breathe. When Rodolphus was angry, it was a terrifying sight. She was thankful to not be on the wrong end of it, but knew that one wrong move and it could change.

"Get your cloak, you imbecile. You're coming with me and we're going to find that girl and try to fix what you've ruined."

Though she didn't get to hear anything further on the whole Rosalind issue, Hermione was glad to have the house to herself only a few moments later. Both brothers rushed from the house to do only the gods knew what. She didn't even bother to bite back her grin. They wouldn't find Rosalind no matter what they did. While it was never a good idea to get too cocky and arrogant, she knew that taking the young witch to Augustus was the best decision she'd made in awhile. He would keep her safe, but more importantly, _no one_ would ever suspect she was there.

Some of her appetite began to come back with her improving mood. Satisfied that none of her food had been drugged, she started to actually eat some of it. Her thoughts travelled to poor Rosalind as was to be expected. As glad as she was that Rabastan slipped that potion in Theodore's wine to make him temporarily impotent, it did cause more complications than he anticipated. She wondered if Rodolphus was aware of the drastic step his brother took while Theodore was still alive.

A thought came to her that she'd never considered before. Berating herself internally for not even considering the option even as she laughed, she knew what she needed to do next. She lingered inside the Dower House for a few more minutes just to make sure she didn't catch either of the brothers on her way out of the estate gates. There was a potion she needed to buy in Diagon Alley.

Saturdays were always a busy shopping day for the London wizarding district, especially in December. Unbelievably, Christmas was less than a month away. Where did all of the time go? She couldn't believe the year was almost over. Thinking about how different every aspect of her life was from the early hours of the New Year when she was first approached by Draco Malfoy was unnerving. It was almost like she'd been living someone else's life for so many years and she was just waking up.

The potion she wanted wasn't exactly illegal, but it was somewhat suspicious. Used primarily for curing dragon pox, the side-effects were well-known. She knew that she needed to pick one of the apothecaries on a side street and not on Diagon Alley itself. Less chance of other customers seeing her or her purchases. Remembering one that she liked just a short walk away down a lesser travelled road near Gringotts, she made her way there as nonchalantly as possible to keep from attracting attention. Thanks to the cold weather, she was able to keep most of her face and all of her hair covered up with a hat and scarf. Once inside the small shop, she headed straight for the aisle in the back she knew she would find the right potion. As she was pulling a vial down off the shelf, she heard someone nearby let out of a low whistle.

"That's a nasty potion, love. What poor soul are you going to give that to?"

She smiled at the sound of Augustus' quiet whisper.

"Rodolphus."

"Ahh, then perhaps you should get a second vial."

His familiar wink and warm smile put her instantly at ease. Both of them checked the immediate area for potential eavesdroppers. Convinced they were alone except for the shopkeeper half-asleep at the till on the other side of the shop, Augustus kissed her cheek. He explained that he was there getting all of the necessary potions that a pregnant witch required.

"I have to go to multiple shops so no one gets suspicious. What does a widower need prenatal potions for? Thankfully, many of the potions she needs can be easily substituted by some that aren't quite so obvious they're for pregnancy. Oh, if you want your potion to be extra nasty, add three drops of fresh lemon juice to the vial and shake it up."

"What will that do?"

"Make him think that everything's working as it should be up until the moment his trousers come down and air hits his todger."

As bizarre as it was to be having the conversation she was with Augustus, she appreciated his assistance. He was much more skilled in potions than she was. She assumed that he did a lot of research with potions in his position as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, but of course, he could never confirm nor deny her suspicions.

"How is Rosalind?"

Augustus' entire face lit up at the sound of the witch's name.

"She's doing very well. She has been an absolute delight to have. My house hasn't been so clean in years and…" He patted his belly. "I'm going to have to buy new clothes if I don't stop eating so much."

The smile slipped from his face and he grew serious. Hermione worried what he was going to say next. Had she made a mistake bringing the frightened girl to him?

"Young witches like her aren't ever encouraged to learn more than just how to take care of their husband. It's honestly a miracle she was allowed to stay in Hogwarts long enough to take her NEWTs." He paused, considering his next words before saying them. She grew nervous, unsure if he was about to tell her that he was reconsidering having her in his home. Even telling her that she was a joy didn't dispel her fears. "When Rabastan and his brother are dead, I want to formally offer Rosalind and her child my protection."

"Are you saying that you want to _marry_ her?"

Anger like she hadn't seen from him in years appeared suddenly in his reddened face. Hermione felt nervous to be around him. Did she insult him by asking the innocent question?

"I think there have been _quite_ enough men old enough to be her grandfather trying to climb inside her bed, don't you?"

Immediately, she felt chastised. Augustus needed a few moments to calm down after his impassioned statement. Clearly, she'd completely misunderstood the entire situation. It had never been her intention to insult him.

"I meant _adoption_. She and I are both alone in this world, and with the baby coming, we could have our own little family. The last thing I want is for that poor child to think she has to get married to any disgusting wizard who will have her just to have someone to provide for her. No, she will marry again _only_ when she is madly in love with some fool who doesn't deserve her. Preferably when she's at least thirty. Forty would be better."

She couldn't help but laugh. He was already sounding like an overprotective father. Most of Augustus' life hadn't been happy thanks to some poor decisions he made when he was younger. Hermione knew that his biggest regret was the loss of his family. She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"You're a good man, Augie."

"No, I'm not, but I feel like I _could_ be. This could be my chance to start over. Who knows? Maybe in a few years I'll meet some fascinating widow and fall madly in love again myself."

"I knew I made the right decision taking her to you. Thank you."

"No, thank _you_."

When she returned to the Dower House a short time later, she did so with more confidence that she'd been able to make at least a few good choices in her life. She added the drops of lemon juice to the potion vial and waited for her chance.


	337. December 2nd

_**Author's Note**_ ** _: So clearly this chapter got away from me a bit and the word count is much higher than my promised 1000-2000 words. Of course lately I've been over 2000 words every chapter. While not every chapter will be longer from here on out, some of them may grow a little bit longer as the story continues. But please don't ask me to make them this long each day. It's hard enough to complete this challenge without feeling like I'm disappointing you all with too-short chapters. :\_**

 ** _***Also, I've added a very important Poll Question on my profile. Please take the time to answer it. I'd really love your feedback! I'm feeling a little overwhelmed with options. Lol!_**

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December 2nd

The opportunity for Hermione to slip the adulterated dragon pox potion into Rodolphus' food or drink didn't present itself immediately. Following her trip to Diagon Alley, she returned to the Dower House to wait patiently for his return. It was yet another night that he didn't come home until she was already in bed. She heard the footsteps down the corridor stop just outside the door to her bedroom again before they crossed into his room. If she needed further proof that it would only be a matter of time before Rodolphus tried to seduce her again, she had it each time he lingered outside her bedroom door.

When she woke up the next morning and headed downstairs to breakfast, she was surprised to find the chair at the head of the table empty. Rodolphus never arrived for the meal. Nor did he show up for lunch either. It was difficult to suppress her curiosity long enough to keep her from barging into his bedroom to see if he was even there. She couldn't afford to be anywhere near that room until she was certain nothing could actually happen between them.

Patience was a virtue that the previous almost twelve months had given her plenty of opportunity to improve. Her day was spent in the lounge trying to pay attention to the words in several different books she kept picking up and putting down. The weight of the vial of potion in her pocket was impossible to ignore. And just to be certain that she was able to make a quick escape if her plan didn't go as she hoped it would, her beaded bag was once again packed and tucked inside her pocket. She couldn't afford to get comfortable again. It was imperative that she be ready to run at a moment's notice.

Deciding to take a long, hot bath before dinner in an effort to try to calm her nerves down, Hermione took advantage of the well-appointed bathroom connected to her bedroom. The Lestranges were a family that thrived on luxury, required it to function really. Never had she seen either of the brothers or any member of their family dressed in anything but the finest that the best, and consequently most _expensive_ , designers had to offer. Likewise, their homes were as comfortable and luxurious as it was possible to be. Any time she'd asked Rodolphus cheekily where his family made their money, he would change the subject with a grin. She'd seen the contents of his vault when she was just a teenager. It was no wonder they were able to afford the very best.

She didn't expect to find anyone waiting for her in the dining room when it was time to eat dinner. Arriving precisely at eight o'clock, Hermione assumed that she would have to pass another meal in silence by herself. Not that she had a problem with that scenario. Being alone was infinitely better than being in a room with Rodolphus. But, she needed him around to complete her plans. Or at least she needed to find out if she was wasting her time or not. If there was simply no way that she would ever get the answers she desired, she needed to know quickly so she could make her escape from his clutches before it was too late.

"Good evening, Hermione."

The sound of Rodolphus' voice when she entered the dining room startled her out of her thoughts. Seated at the head of the table acting as if he'd been there all along, her host offered her a warm smile. Determined that she would give him no cause for suspicion, she smiled back. Conversation was stilted all throughout the elaborate meal. More than a few times Rodolphus had to hide a yawn behind his linen napkin. She wondered what he'd been doing since the day before that left him so tired. After all, she'd _heard_ him outside her bedroom before he went into his. Surely that meant he'd been able to get some sleep.

"Hello, Rodolphus. I wasn't aware that you were home."

His smile continued to unnerve her. It was amazing that she used to think he was handsome. Perhaps if she didn't know about all of the disgusting spells he'd placed on her mind or all of the other nasty lies he'd told her she might have still been able to see what it was about him that generally made the witches in any given room take notice. The Lestranges were as nasty a family as they were a beautiful one. She even had to begrudgingly admit that his late wife had been beautiful, though she would never be able to think about that horrible bitch without thinking about the day she held Hermione down on the floor in Malfoy Manor to slice her skin with her knives. Nor would she forget her first bout of the Cruciatus Curse. One never forgot their first time after all.

"Yes, I'm afraid I had a very late night last night followed by a horribly early morning."

"Is everything all right? Were you able to find the Nott girl?"

Rodolphus sipped at his wine, failing to hide the smirk behind his glass. She was scared to know what he was thinking even as she was desperate to see what was happening in that mind of his. It was a shame she'd never had the patience nor the skill to master Legilimency. Occlumency was a bit easier for her when she applied herself, but there was something that she just didn't have a knack for when it came to being able to look in someone else's mind. Of course, the wizard likely knew all of the tricks to keep her out of his mind even if she did know how to do it.

"Rabastan mentioned that you had something of an interest in the girl. Might I ask what that is exactly?"

He was very good at judging when people around him were lying. In order to satisfy his curiosity and not pique his suspicions, she knew she needed to be very careful how she answered the question. If she showed too much interest in Rosalind, Rodolphus might take it upon himself to start checking all of the potential hiding places she might have found for the pregnant witch. Maybe he'd even end up on Augustus' doorstep for a look around. She would have to tell him at least _some_ of the truth.

"She reminds me of myself at that age. I was disgusted that her parents made her marry a cruel man old enough to be her great-grandfather. I won't deny that I took pleasure in making her a widow. Theodore was a horrible man who deserved to die."

"You never forgave him for saying that you should be the entertainment?"

"I never told you that. I never told _anyone_ that."

Rodolphus cleared his throat, no longer amused by the tone of their conversation. His features grew hard as Hermione worried what he was going to say next. It was impossible to predict anything when it came to him.

"No, you didn't, but Theodore did. On _many_ occasions. Even had the audacity to ask me what it felt like to fuck a Mudblood. Wanted to know if it felt like fucking a pig or a goat. Horrible man. I'm glad you killed him."

"And what did you tell him when he asked you?"

She didn't believe she was capable of being offended by comparisons to animals ever again. Over the course of twenty years entrenched with the most powerful and most dangerous Death Eaters, she'd heard everything possible. Antonin attempted to shield her from most of the worst insults about her blood status, but he wasn't able to be everywhere at all times. She had to learn not to let the ignorance of cretins upset her. Rodolphus, however, appeared more offended than she did at her question.

"I told him that he should've asked his father that question when he was alive because his mother was closer to a pig than you were."

Hermione snorted. The corner of Rodolphus' mouth curled up into the promise of a grin.

"And I imagine Theodore didn't take the insult to his mother very well?"

"No, he did not. See this scar right under my ear? Would've been worse if there weren't others around to break up the fight. Nasty old man. He should've been drowned at birth."

"That is something that you and I can agree on."

She held up her wine glass in a mock toast to the wizard. Some of the tension that had grown up between them in recent days started to lessen ever so slightly. Rodolphus appeared to be more relaxed as the meal continued. Their conversation wasn't of any consequence, but it was enough to give the impression that they were slowly getting back to where they used to be. She needed him to keep feeling that way. Only then would he be comfortable enough to start telling her secrets.

"I should probably get to bed a little early tonight."

"Oh, I was hoping we could continue our conversation in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine."

Her first thought as the words came rushing out of her mouth was that she was laying it all on too thick. He wasn't an idiot. If she tried too hard, he would notice. But, to her great relief, Rodolphus rose to his feet and announced he would pick out the perfect bottle. For being such a perceptive man, he was also one that enjoyed the prospect of an evening alone with a woman and a bottle of wine.

While she waited in the lounge for Rodolphus to return with the wine he desired, Hermione took several deep breaths to calm her nerves. She touched her pocket to reassure herself that the vial of dragon pox potion was still in there. If she wasn't able to figure out a way to slip that into the wizard's glass without him knowing, their evening would get even more awkward. She took a seat in the middle of the sofa to wait. A wave of her wand stoked the fire.

"I'm sorry that took me so long. My damn house-elves 'reorganized' my wine collection. Couldn't find a bloody thing."

Hermione jumped up to her feet to take the bottle out of his hands.

"Let me. Sit. You've had a long day."

He was all too eager to allow her to open the wine. His exhaustion was evident. Part of her expected that he would be too tired to even try anything so the potion wouldn't even be necessary. But, she knew him to be a determined man. She carried the bottle over to a small table where he kept wine glasses. Though never very far from the wizard, she could tell that once he relaxed on the sofa, his eyes were closed. It was a real mark of trust that he would let her out of his sights while she poured him a drink. Of course, he was also an exceedingly arrogant man who didn't believe anyone was smarter than he was. Likely he wouldn't believe that she would try anything. She was careful not to add so much potion to his glass that he would be able to taste it. Only a little was needed to work. And just to be sure he would drink it, she added some to her glass as well. The effects on witches weren't nearly as severe. She _might_ have to worry about her tongue turning red for a day or two, nothing worse.

"Thank you, Hermione."

When she was seated next to him on the sofa, he clinked his wine glass with hers before taking a deep drink. Though one who ordinarily liked to show off his knowledge of wine tasting and its intricacies, in that moment he just wanted to drink the wine. Hermione sipped at hers, watching his expression in the corner of her eye. A grimace appeared on his face. Rodolphus sniffed at his glass and took another drink.

"That's vile. The wizard who sold this to me said that it had _hints_ of citrus. That's horrible."

She worried at first that he was going to get angry, but after he took a third drink and started to laugh, she felt reassured.

"What do you think, Hermione?"

"It's _awful_."

They both laughed. With a cheeky remark that he would never take advice about wine from a man his brother suggested, Rodolphus finished the rest of his glass. His face contorted into an expression that only made Hermione laugh harder. Briefly, she was reminded of the days many years earlier when they used to spend a lot of time laughing together. It almost made her sad. Rodolphus took her glass out of her hand and set it down on a side table next to his.

"I'm rather disappointed. I'd been looking forward to trying that wine. And with such pleasant company? It should've been more enjoyable than that."

"We could try another one?"

The gentle press of his lips against hers was his answer. Though temporarily startled by the movement, she knew it was bound to happen. In order to ensure that he actually took the potion, she had to maneuver a situation that could get intimate quite quickly. Only the hope that the potion would do as it was meant to kept her from pushing the wizard away and running. She needed him to feel like she wanted to be there, that she wasn't disgusted by his touch. How many times in the past did she have to put on a performance with another wizard when she would've rather been anywhere else? More times than she wanted to remember.

Rodolphus wasn't in a rush to escalate their actions. Not like the night she helped him to his bed when he was drunk. He was more interested in taking his time, in savoring the experience. Once she used to enjoy his touches, used to desire him more than any other wizard, including her own husband. It was impossible for her to not be frightened when they were in such close contact. Being brave didn't mean that one was never afraid. No, being brave meant one did what was necessary even _when_ they were afraid. She would've been a fool not to remember how easily Rodolphus could hurt her if he so desired.

His hands were confident and wandering, but never painful or insistent. He was actually much more considerate of her comfort than he'd been in a long time. There were times that he would push aside the possessive, controlling persona when they were alone to gently make love to her body. Rarely, though. And she always felt like he was imagining that she was someone else. She could've sworn once that he whispered the name of his late wife into her skin.

When he slipped to his knees on the floor in front of the sofa, Hermione didn't know what to think. This was a different man than he'd been the night he was drunk. Carefully pushing the long skirt of her witch's robes up over her legs, he stopped every few inches to tenderly press his lips against the exposed skin. Certainly there had been other instances in the past when his face ended up between her thighs, but rarely had he been so calm, so gentle. Rodolphus' fingers slid under her knickers, tugging them slowly down her legs. Most encounters with the fearsome wizard resulted in ripped knickers that couldn't always be repaired. She was unsure what to make of the change.

With the garment removed entirely from her body, his hands slid under her bare thighs, tenderly pulling them apart. It was nothing like the fierce, demanding way he'd done the night he'd thrown her to the floor naked and demanded she leave. Every touch of his fingers, every flick of his tongue, every brush of his lips was gentle, _tender_. So unlike how he usually touched her, she was able to close her eyes and imagine that there was someone else pulling the deep moans out of her body. She never expected the night to end up where it did. Never did she think that he would make every cell in her body tremble.

While her body recovered from the unexpected paroxysms of pleasure, Rodolphus carefully removed the rest of her clothes. Naked and exposed once more, she didn't miss the feral heat in his eyes. He reached for her discarded glass of wine, chugged the rest of it down, and almost gagged.

"I forgot how bloody awful that tasted."

She couldn't help but laugh at his expression. Further encouraged that he had even more of the nasty potion in his body, she was able to relax. If it worked as it should, she wouldn't have to endure anything more. Not that she really had to _endure_ much if she was honest. Confident that her plan was going as it should, she even allowed herself to kiss him back with the passion she once felt for the wizard.

"I want you in my bed every night from now on. That's where you should've always been to begin with. It's where you belong."

Rodolphus stood to remove his own clothes. She watched every movement he made, curious to know if it was all going to work as it should. The moment his trousers fell to the floor and his pants followed, there was a sudden change to his face. His eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed. Hermione bit her lip, knowing that that was _never_ a time to make a wizard feel like she was laughing at him. He turned his naked body away so she couldn't see what was happening. Every awkward second that passed he grew more embarrassed. It was clear that the potion did exactly what it was supposed to do.

Worried that he might take his anger and frustration out on her, Hermione remained as quiet and still as possible. Furious at the change in circumstances, Rodolphus gathered up all of his discarded clothes, covered the front of his exposed body, and ran from the room. She didn't see him for the rest of the night.


	338. December 3rd

December 3rd

Nor did Hermione see Rodolphus for the rest of the next day. She didn't know where he'd gone, only that he appeared to be avoiding her. Breakfast and lunch were solitary affairs. So was dinner. Though it had been a pleasant respite from being in the same room with the wizard, she couldn't help but be nervous. What did it mean that he'd disappeared? Was it because he was simply embarrassed by his inability to perform the night before or was it something much worse? She couldn't recall an occurrence at any point in their history when he'd been unable to rise to the occasion. Other men his age might have had problems, but he prided himself on being better than most men, especially mere Muggles.

After a quiet dinner, she returned to the lounge with yet another book hoping that it would help her keep her mind distracted. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a book written that could help. Even with all of the free time she'd had since moving into the Dower House that she could've used to catch up on her neglected reading, she couldn't seem to focus on anything. What used to be an escape for her no longer worked. Reality was too pressing, sadly. It had been a while since she'd last been able to lose herself in reading.

The sound of footsteps entering the lounge broke her out of her thoughts. Expecting to see Rodolphus finally return, she was surprised to find Rabastan cross the room towards her instead. She hadn't even heard the front door open; another sign that she was growing careless. There was a time that she was aware of any and every sound in her immediate area. Complacency would get her killed.

"Is my brother home?"

Rabastan was exhausted. Even his voice lacked its usual strength and confidence. Something had him worried. She could only imagine and wasn't sure that she really wanted to know the truth. Ignorance might not always be bliss, but it certainly was easier at times.

"No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen him since last night. I'm not sure where he is."

He continued his walk across the room to sit on the sofa next to her. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable being alone in his presence, Hermione tried to think of a suitable reason to excuse herself from the room. Before she could utter a single word, Rabastan laid his head in her lap and sighed. She froze, unsure what to do. Having the disgusting man that close to her again made her long to slice his throat open. Somehow she didn't think Rodolphus would appreciate her murdering his little brother in his home even if he could sometimes get on his nerves.

"I can't find my wife and I'm starting to get worried."

The slur of his words proved that he'd been drinking. Handling a sober Rabastan was a difficult enough task. If he'd had too much to drink, Hermione knew that she might not have a choice. The thought occurred to her that if he was in a vulnerable state, she might be able to manipulate him into telling her more about the plans his brother had. She pushed aside her disgust for the man to place a soft hand on top of his head. Rabastan sighed when she began running her fingers gently through his hair.

"I'm sure Gemma will turn up."

"She's probably locked herself up in some hotel room with one of the men she thinks I don't know anything about. Where's _your_ husband? Maybe they're together."

"I don't know nor care where Antonin is right now. If he's alone with your wife right now, I don't want to know."

Rabastan's deep, whinging sighs were getting on Hermione's nerves. Did he actually think he was somehow charming when he behaved that way? _Yes_ , she decided with a roll of her eyes. He was pathetic, but there were plenty of witches out there dumb enough to fall for his antics if he simply winked those pretty eyes of his at them.

"I've been so upset that I haven't been able to find the energy to even be with another witch. It's embarrassing."

She rolled her eyes again, wondering what sort of evil she'd committed in a past life to make it her destiny to be stuck in the same world with horrible men like him.

"I'm sure there's been no permanent damage. You'll be back to yourself soon."

Maybe he heard something she didn't mean in her words. She wasn't sure. As soon as her statement came out of her mouth, Rabastan lifted his head out of her lap. Temporarily relieved to have him not touching her, she soon grew nervous by the intensity in his gaze. His eyes flicked down to her lips, leaving no question what he was thinking. Hermione froze, hoping that if she didn't move she wouldn't inadvertently encourage him. Rabastan licked his lips as he moved his head closer to hers. Apparently he didn't even need her encouragement to make his move.

A flash of light shone in Hermione's face just as Rabastan's mouth closed the distance between hers. She felt the lightest brush against her lips before she froze again. Unlike moments earlier, she was quite literally frozen in place. She tried to move her limbs, but nothing happened. Not even her eyes could move. Confused at first, it only took a moment before an irate Rodolphus pulled his brother off of the sofa by his collar.

She'd been placed in a full body bind by the master of the house. Where he'd come from at the absolute worst moment, she couldn't be sure. It was entirely possible that he'd never actually left the house and had been witnessing the entire conversation. His certainly wouldn't be the first wizarding house she'd been in with secret rooms and hiding places used to spy on the inhabitants. Rodolphus' first punch landed straight on Rabastan's jaw. She could only see part of the scuffle that happened in her frozen sight, but she could hear everything. Afraid of what was going to happen next and her inability to protect herself, Hermione internally berated herself for allowing Rabastan to distract her even for a moment. She _knew_ the danger she was perpetually in and couldn't afford to forget it for a second. Of course, she also knew that no one was perfect and expecting perfection out of herself was just asking for failure. They were all flawed human beings. Nothing, no matter the amount of magic and power they could amass, would ever change that fact.

"You are _not_ to touch her ever again."

"It's not like she's _actually_ going to be your…"

Whatever Rabastan was about to say was interrupted by another blow to his face.

"You _don't_ get to touch her ever again. Have I made myself clear?"

Rabastan mumbled a response that must have satisfied his older brother. Ignoring his brother, Rodolphus moved across the room to sit next to Hermione on the sofa. She knew just by the tone of his voice and the way he was looking at her that nothing good was going to happen next. He forced her frozen mouth open far enough that he was able to empty a vial of potion onto her tongue. The moment he removed the full body bind, the wizard held Hermione's mouth shut, forcing her to swallow the potion. She almost choked.

"My idiot brother almost killed you the last time. Don't worry. I got the doses right."

It didn't take long before she began to feel the effects of her favorite potion. Even as she knew that it was bad and she should be fighting against it, feeling the numbness was as close to Heaven as she expected she would ever get. Almost like she was floating above everyone in the room, her cares and fears began to feel inconsequential. A brief moment of clarity made her remember that she needed to fight, needed to get rid of the potion. She tried to grab her wand out of her pocket to force herself to vomit, but she wasn't even able to get her hand in her pocket before Rodolphus held her arms tightly to her side. He wasn't going to let her do anything to ruin his plan.

A war raged within Hermione. She wanted to forget everything that was bad and nasty and hurtful to just enjoy the sensation of the numbness that she missed. At the same time, she could hear that nagging voice in the back of her mind that sounded so much like the obnoxious fourth year she once was nagging everyone who would sit still long enough to listen about the plight of the house-elves. That voice reminded her that she had to stay strong, that she couldn't give in to the potion's effects. No matter what happened next, she _had_ to remember. She couldn't give up.

The potion was stronger than anything she'd had in a long time. Her body was prepared to fight off the effects. Only sheer will kept her from giving in to the desire to close her eyes and just _feel_. Rodolphus didn't waste any time crawling back inside her mind. She could feel him every second he was inside her most private of organs. It occurred to her too late that if he'd been able to look around in her mind in recent days, he was already well aware of the fact that she was there simply to find out more of what his plans were. No wonder he'd been so tight-lipped and careful with what he said. She should've remembered that, but she'd been living on a faint hope that maybe he'd been too preoccupied with seeking out the memory charms that he didn't bother to take a closer look at her motivations. Evidently, she was no longer up to the task of playing the game. She wanted out.

Rodolphus wasn't gentle. Much like he used to treat her body when he wanted her to be well aware of the fact that he held complete control over her, he moved through her brain in the same manner. Even through the pain, Hermione knew that she couldn't allow herself to forget anything. The urge to float away was losing to the shrill nagging reminding her to be strong. Because he was inside her mind, she could also feel his frustration. Without warning or any preparation, Rodolphus ripped his consciousness out of hers. The searing pain overpowered even the numbness. Hermione cried out, fearing that she would soon pass out from the pain.

" _Damn_!"

"What's wrong, Roddy?"

"There's a block in her mind. _Damn_! No one except for the person who put in there can remove it. I can't continue with that block. I can't put the charms I used before back in there while it's still there."

He stood to his feet and stomped over to a small table where a bottle of fire whiskey sat. Hermione forced herself to pay attention to what happened next. It could very well mean her life. Maybe even the lives of the ones she loved.

"Who would put a block in her brain?"

"My guess would be Babajide Akingbade. Is that right, Hermione?"

Her eyes widened at the question, but she didn't even have the strength to answer. Not that Rodolphus really expected her to.

"I thought that was him who attacked me in your garden that night, but I didn't think it could be. _Damn_!"

"Who is that?"

"Former Supreme Mugwump, brother. Read something more than just those disgusting magazines I know you have hidden in your office and you might learn something now and again. He's a professor at Uagadou and an internationally known memory charms expert."

He kicked at the table that held the fire whiskey sending it tumbling to the floor. Sounds of glass breaking filled the room.

"He's the one who removed the spells. That's the only explanation. I can't move forward without him."

Rodolphus' temper was legendary. Though it usually took him a very long time to reach the end of his fuse, when it happened, everyone around him was in danger. Furious that he'd been thwarted from whatever devious, disgusting plan he had for Hermione's mind, he took his anger out on his furniture. Rabastan made his excuses to run from the Dower House, but Hermione was frozen in fear. What would happen next? She knew she couldn't stay. Grateful that she had the presence of mind to make sure that her beaded bag was in her pocket at all times again, she forced past the pain that was threatening to overtake her entire body. Every movement she made felt slow and exaggerated thanks to the strong potions coursing through her bloodstream. If she didn't move quickly, she knew that she would be trapped.

Through sheer force of will once more that night, she was able to wrap her hand around the end of her wand. Rodolphus was too consumed in his own anger and desire to smash everything he could reach to pay attention to the witch on the sofa. Besides, he likely thought she was too drugged to even be aware what was happening. With his back turned on his houseguest, he didn't see the stunner that she was able to produce. He fell to the floor on his face in a heap.

Seconds mattered. Hermione had to pull herself off of the sofa, ignoring the desire to just float. Rodolphus wouldn't be down for long. She wasn't even sure how strong she was able to make the stunner in her condition. Likely it wouldn't be strong enough. If she was going to escape, she had to do so as soon as possible.

Movement was difficult between the potion and the pain that still consumed her head. Rodolphus no longer cared about being gentle when he violated her mind. She had to use all of her strength to make it out of the Dower House and across the grounds to the gates. If she stopped for even a second, she feared that she would be captured. Next time she wouldn't be a guest in a spare room. She'd probably be locked up in the basement or worse.

The entire time she forced her battered body to run, she thought of where she could go next. She had to find someone she trusted without question and unfortunately, there were so few of those left in the world. Just outside the gates, she made her decision. Thinking about the one place she believed she would be safe for the next several hours, she Disapparated away from the Lestrange Estate, hoping to never return there as long as she lived.

She misjudged the distance when she landed and ended up crashing into the front door. As she was using the last of her strength to lift her hand to knock, the door was ripped open. Hermione tumbled into strong arms that didn't allow her to fall.


	339. December 4th

December 4th

Though she could feel the heat of the fireplace just a few steps away, Hermione couldn't stop shivering. She wrapped the heavy blanket covering her tightly around her body hoping that it would help, but it didn't. Every part of her seemed to hurt. Nothing compared to her head. A throbbing, consuming pain still lingered. How much time had gone by since she ran from the Dower House? She couldn't be sure.

Already her body was lamenting the loss of the potion it craved. In the past when she was unfortunate enough to feel the effects of withdrawal, she would simply find another vial to take the edge off. It became habit. There was a very valid reason she kept vials hidden around her Hogsmeade home and why she had an entire secret drawer in her desk at the Ministry full. She couldn't bear to be without the potion for very long. Extended use made her body and her will weak. When she thought back to the past, to the awful, horrible things she'd done just to get her next fix, she was humiliated. She _never_ wanted to fall into such a deep pit again. No matter what it took, she wouldn't allow herself to be beaten by an inanimate foe. Not again.

Memories of those weeks she spent living in Kingsley's flat just after running away from Hogsmeade crept up into her mind. Part of her didn't believe she would ever walk away from his flat. She was convinced that she was going to die in a puddle of her own vomit. It was nothing that she didn't deserve. She'd wasted her life and allowed herself to become an addict. No one forced the potions down her throat. No one, that is, until Rodolphus the night she ran away. Before, she didn't need much encouragement to swallow a vial or several. She desired and _craved_ the nothingness she felt when it was present in her body. Would it be as bad as it was when she was almost died under Kingsley's care? She wasn't sure that she had enough strength to go through that experience again.

Movement in another part of the room caught her attention. For the briefest of moments when she first regained consciousness, she'd forgotten where she was. In the midst of her pain and her fear when she ran away from Rodolphus' home, she could only think of one person that had never betrayed her, one person that had never made her worry that he wasn't fully on her side. Pulling the blanket down from her face just a little, she was able to see Fenrir Greyback stand up from his favorite armchair.

The terrifying werewolf made a gentle nurse. With a bright smile, he crossed the room to sit on the edge of the sofa. When she landed at his front door, he hadn't hesitated in carrying her inside out of the elements. No matter what happened next, she knew that he would remain on her side. It was sad really. All it took was treating the werewolf like he was an actual human being to make him eager to pledge his loyalty. How different would history have been if others had treated him with the same kindness and respect? Fenrir gently pushed some of her hair away from her sweaty forehead.

"You gave me quite a scare."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A day. It's nighttime again."

Seeing that she was still shivering Fenrir didn't waste another second covering her with another heavy blanket. He tucked in the fabric around her body to trap her body heat. She was glad she wasn't alone. For a long time she'd been feeling like she was all by herself, that no one was actually on her side. Whether or not that was true didn't matter. It's how she felt. Looking up in her old friend's smiling face and feeling the comfort of one of his softest jumpers on her body, Hermione was certain she made the right choice in Apparating to his little secluded cottage.

"What happened, Hermione? I've rarely smelled so much fear on _anyone_."

There was no doubt in her mind that she could trust her secrets to Fenrir. Maybe others who didn't know him or didn't know the truth of their years-long friendship might think she was daft or overly trusting, but she knew and that was all that mattered. The story of everything that had happened to her began to tumble off her tongue. She spared him no details. Everything from the spells that Rodolphus put in her mind, how she found out about them, and what he'd tried to do the previous night came out. Fenrir, to his credit, remained perfectly still and quiet even as she could see him growing steadily more angry. When she told him about forcing the potion down her throat she didn't want to drink and then brutally violating her mind again, his nostrils flared and he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

"We can't, Fenrir. Not until we find out what he did to me."

"Is it just your overwhelming and incessant curiosity keeping you from ending him? Because I know you could do it in a heartbeat if you truly desired."

She appreciated his attempt to tease her in such a tense moment. Both of them needed the break. Rolling her eyes and chuckling, she was once again glad that she decided to forget the werewolf's past as a monster and treat him like a man. Even beyond the intense encounters they shared in exciting places like his bed or the Shrieking Shack, there was more to him than just the mindless monster he'd been accused of being for so long. The gentle feel of his hand continuing to brush her hair off of her sweaty face helped them both calm down after the terrible story she'd just shared.

"No, it's more than that. Though, of course, _yes_ , I want to know what he did to me and why. What if the spell that Mr. Akingbade left inside my brain will activate at his death? It could be some sort of failsafe. Like, if Rodolphus was killed before he was able to complete his plan, maybe the charm that's in there will flip on and then _I'll_ be the one that is left to carry it out. I could be dangerous and unpredictable."

"Or the spell could die with Lestrange. Which, honestly, is the more likely scenario."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Fenrir only laughed. Sometimes she hated how blunt he could be.

"I think you've read too many of those frightening novels you like. It's given you all sorts of fantastical ideas."

She rolled her eyes again, but couldn't keep from laughing at his observation. Those who thought Fenrir Greyback was nothing more than a mindless monster obsessed with nothing but blood and violence clearly didn't know the first thing about him. It was their loss, she'd decided years earlier.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you since February."

"I've been here and there, but I've never exactly been welcome amongst your lot now, have I?"

"And your pack?"

Fenrir sighed, clearly not wishing to continue their conversation. She wasn't going to be so easily deterred. Almost an entire year had gone by since she'd last seen him. She wanted to know everything. For too long she'd been completely focused on her own life. It felt good to worry about someone else for a change. Knowing that she wouldn't give up on her questions any time soon without getting an adequate answer, he sighed again.

"We've mostly been trying to stay out of everyone's way. There's a family that has a lot of land up in the Highlands that's secluded and private. Those who don't have a safe place have been living up there."

"Is it safe to have that many werewolves in one place?"

"It's not safe to be a werewolf _anywhere_ these days. Some of the laws and regulations that died under the Dark Lord are being brought back out. I won't lie. We're all pretty nervous and scared about the future. It doesn't look good for us."

She wished she could offer him some sort of hope that that wasn't the truth, but she couldn't. If Rodolphus was really the one behind the power that was overtaking the remnants of the regime, then the werewolves in Fenrir's pack were absolutely in danger. How many times had she listened to Rodolphus talk about how inferior and disgusting werewolves were to wizarding kind? He thought they were nothing more than animals that should be erased from existence simply because they had the misfortune of once being bit by a cursed creature. She'd learned early on to keep her own thoughts to herself when he would start in on one of his rants about removing filth from their world.

"Are you planning to fight?"

"If we have to, but mostly, we just want to be left alone. I don't think that's too much to ask."

"No, but Rodolphus is…"

"A proper Pureblood arsehole who thinks that the rest of the world exists just to make _his_ life more comfortable? I've known dozens of wizards like him. Even bitten a few."

It would be a lie to say that Hermione wasn't uncomfortable when Fenrir mentioned his victims. She knew that there was generally more to the story than was reported when it came to werewolf attacks, but she couldn't deny that sometimes the brutality of the attacks was intentional and not done as a result of natural instincts. Never had she been brave enough to ask Fenrir for the details of his attack on Remus Lupin when he was an innocent child. She didn't think she could bear to listen to them. Neither of them had clean hands. It was best that they not dwell on the past.

"I'm not afraid of one man, but I do worry about what will happen if he fills the new Wizengamot with more people like him. It'll quickly get _uncomfortable_ for my people."

She didn't want to talk anymore about the future. It was too hard to think about when all her mind could focus on was the pain it was currently in. And the fear she had that Rodolphus would never be done with her. Fenrir was a perceptive man. Maybe it had something to do with his primal instincts. She was never quite sure. Sensing she was uncomfortable, he steered the conversation into another direction.

"Why did you come here last night?"

"Because I needed to find someone I could trust. I don't have many of those people in my life anymore."

"What about your husband? Can you no longer trust him?"

Of course it was a subject that was bound to come up at some point. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that it wouldn't. Her answer, however, wasn't so obvious. Yes, in many ways she still trusted her husband and always would, but in others, she knew it was dangerous to put too much faith in one man. He kept secrets from her just as she kept secrets from him. If they weren't able to be completely open and honest with each other, what did that _really_ say about them?

"No, I can still trust him. I just don't know where he is and it's… it's _complicated_."

Fenrir chuckled.

"Your marriage has always been _complicated_."

"Yes, it has."

Her shivering subsided. Between the heat from the fireplace and the extra blankets Fenrir tucked around her, she no longer worried that she was going to chip her chattering teeth. An exhaustion fell over her again that she couldn't deny. Once she was aware that she was safe, she could allow herself to calm down. Some of the pain was gone, but she still felt a little dizzy.

"Close your eyes and rest. I'll be here. I won't leave you alone for a second."


	340. December 5th

December 5th

The gentle press of lips against Hermione's forehead woke her up out of a sound sleep. With her eyes still closed she felt the heat of the fire and the heavy blanket with which her host covered her shivering body. Rarely had she felt so safe and secure. No matter what happened in her life she knew she could always count on Fenrir to keep her protected, especially in the vulnerable position she found herself in.

Expecting to see Fenrir staring back at her when she finally opened her eyes, Hermione was surprised to see Antonin seated on the edge of the sofa that had become her temporary bed. Was she dreaming? Maybe she was worse off than she thought she was and a hallucination of her husband was proof. When their eyes met, Antonin smiled. Relief was evident on his features. Still not trusting what she was seeing to be real, Hermione pulled her arm out from under her blankets. She lifted her fingers to brush against his cheek. Antonin covered her hand with his, kissed the inside of her palm, and held her hand against his face. He was real.

"You look worried. What's wrong?"

She was ready for the worst. When her husband smiled broadly enough that she could see his dimples even underneath his facial hair, Hermione calmed slightly. Though it didn't seem like a moment to _her_ for such antics, at least nothing was so dire that he couldn't find at least a little humor.

"It's not every day that you're tracked down by a werewolf. Especially not one who was so concerned for you. I'll admit it was a bit _unexpected_. Of course it worried me."

"Fenrir tracked you down? But he said he wouldn't leave me alone."

As much as she trusted Fenrir, she was bothered that after making her a promise that he wouldn't leave her, he obviously left her alone long enough to find her husband. Considering that he was in hiding, it couldn't have been easy. He was probably gone for hours. What if Rodolphus or Rabastan came looking for her there while she was unconscious? Her friendship with the werewolf wasn't a secret. She would've been vulnerable. Why would he lie to her? Sensing she was working herself up into a state of agitation, Antonin kissed her palm again.

"He didn't leave you alone. Last I counted, there were at least four of his pack members surrounding the cottage. Who knows how many are further away out there that I couldn't see? You were well protected while he hunted for me."

It felt strange to be laying down with Antonin hovering over her again. Wishing to be on his same level, she used all of the limited strength she had, with his help, of course, to sit up. Almost immediately she regretted making the move. The world didn't spin quite as much when she was on her back. Hermione closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before opening them again.

"Did Fenrir tell you what happened to me?"

"Not much. Just that you were sick and unconscious in his cottage. He's never been a man of much words. At least not where I was concerned. He wouldn't have sought me out if it wasn't an emergency. I didn't wait for an explanation. Would you like to tell me?"

She wasn't sure that she had the energy to go through the story again, but knew that she had to. He deserved to know what had been happening to his wife when they were apart. All of their disagreements didn't seem to matter much when she was afraid for her life. Even just having him so close with his hands grasping hers helped her feel less afraid. The world was closing in on her, and she didn't know how to make it stop. A change was coming. If it was for the best or if it was the end, she didn't know.

"Rodolphus forced me to drink another potion. I couldn't throw it up this time. That's why I'm so sick. I didn't want to drink it. I swear, Antonin."

He kissed her lips to cease her rambling. Nothing had ever worked so effectively. When she stopped, he moved his head back to smile. His hand brushed her curls away from her face like he always did when he needed reassurance that she was whole and all right.

"I know, Hermione. I know you didn't want to."

"He tried to put more spells in my mind, but he couldn't. He found a block inside my mind that he couldn't get past."

Antonin's shoulders slumped with his heavy sigh of relief. Some of the fear that had been etched across his features began to dissipate slightly. Though not completely unafraid, he appeared to be settling somewhat. No one in their world had the luxury of living without fear totally. Not yet. Maybe one day that would change. Hermione wasn't sure that she would even be alive to witness it.

"I was nervous when Mr. Akingbade wanted to put that in. I thought you'd already had enough in your mind, but I'm glad he did. He knew that Rodolphus would try to rebuild that network in your mind again if he could. We thought, especially after the attack on our house, that he would try to kidnap you one day. As his prisoner, he would have access to do what he wished to your mind. I'm glad he convinced me it was the right thing to do."

One of the secrets he'd been keeping from her was finally revealed. While she didn't doubt that there were others, she could see the relief of no longer having to hold on to it lift off his shoulders. Would he be a completely different man if he told her everything? Would _she_ be completely different if she stopped keeping the secrets that were ripping her guts to shreds?

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about it, but we agreed that it would be best if you didn't know. I didn't want to worry you that Rodolphus might try to hurt you again."

She was the one to kiss him that time. Just a simple brush against his lips, she cupped his cheek with her palm and forced his eyes to stare into hers.

"I've always known he would try again, Antonin. Thank you for trying to shield me from that fear, but there wasn't any need. Rodolphus isn't going to stop. I've known that all along."

"There's more, Hermione. It's been killing me to not be honest with you."

Was he finally about to reveal everything that he'd been keeping back? And if he did tell her the secrets that he'd been keeping, would she have to do the same in return? It would only be fair. She wasn't sure that she was ready to confess to her inappropriate relationship with Draco, especially not after learning that he'd been working with Antonin since the beginning of the year. Nor did she think she would ever be ready to admit that she knew he had a daughter he seemingly knew nothing about.

"I'm sure it's felt like I haven't been telling you everything for months now."

"You haven't been telling me _anything_ , Antonin."

He sighed, unable to deny the truth when it was spoken.

"Mr. Akingbade didn't know what the spell was that he couldn't remove."

"Has he figured it out?"

"No, I'm sorry, love. Not yet. But it's nothing that he'd seen before. We didn't know what it would do. I was afraid that…"

Unable to continue, Antonin stopped and sighed. After twenty years of knowing her husband better than she knew anyone else, sometimes even including herself, she could sense that he was reluctant to continue. What was he so afraid of telling her that she might not be able to handle? Her mind had already gone over every possibility in the days since she learned that there was still a spell remaining. None of them were good.

"What were you afraid of? You can tell me."

"I was afraid that all it would take was Rodolphus activating the spell in your mind and he would be able to know everything that I told you. It's been killing me to keep the truth from you, to not tell you what I've been up to, but I didn't think I could. If Rodolphus was able to figure out who was actually on our side and not his, it could be dangerous. There are some really good people on our side, Hermione. Many more than you're aware of and I…"

"You can't tell me about it because you're afraid I'll ruin your plans at best or get them all killed at worst."

Yet again he wasn't able to deny her when she spoke the truth. It made a sick sort of sense. She wished that she'd considered the possibility when she was thinking about all of the others. Somehow she hadn't thought that she could inadvertently betray all of the people who were quietly fighting against Rodolphus' rise to power or whatever it was that he was trying to do. She knew she should've. He'd already proven that he could get into her mind when he wanted.

"It's been killing me to not be able to tell you what's happening, but we still just don't know what the bastard's done to you."

"So you weren't trying to push me away because you didn't trust me or didn't want me anymore?"

She hated how weak she felt asking her husband whether he still wanted her or not. It hardly seemed like the sort of thing a strong, independent woman would do, but she didn't care. For weeks she'd been under the impression that her husband had given up on her, had written her off as a lost cause. Their relationship was unhealthy. Both of them were painfully aware of that. Maybe they would both be better off just cutting ties and moving on with their lives. What the future held was still a mystery. For all she knew, she'd be dead before the end of the year anyway, so what would it really matter what he thought of her?

" _No_ , Hermione. Not at all. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to just throw you over my shoulder and run away from this horrible country. If I didn't feel an obligation to clean up some of the mess I helped create all of those years with the Dark Lord, I'd do it. You and Ollie and I would run away without looking back."

"I hate that we haven't been able to trust each other."

"So have I. I'm still hoping that one day soon there will be no more need for secrets between us."

"I look forward to that too."

To keep her mind off of the biggest secret that she still carried, Hermione kissed her husband again. Everything would change between them once he knew about Maisie. She didn't know if there would even be a place for her any longer. Especially not if he found out she'd been aware of his daughter's existence. It was maddening to keep quiet. The truth was on the tip of tongue, just ready to be blurted out. Recognizing that she was still unwell, Antonin didn't let her kiss linger beyond a few moments before he broke it off.

"You should rest more. You're not looking good."

"Thanks, Antonin. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself."

He snorted and rolled his eyes at her attempt to tease. She knew what he meant and was just glad there wasn't a mirror nearby she could accidentally get a look at herself in.

"Are you going to take me away from here?"

"Why would I do that? You're safe and in no condition to move."

"Because it's Fenrir's house. You _hate_ him, remember?"

Likely there would never come a day where the two men would be able to socialize freely with the other. Neither of them had much use for the other. It wasn't going to change any time soon either.

"We have a common enemy and a common desire to keep you safe. Greyback already swore to me that he'll protect you for as long as you need him. Right now, this is the best place for you."

Antonin stood up from the sofa's edge. Leaning down to kiss his wife one final time, he implored her to take advantage of the time to rest and recover. Hermione laid back down to watch the two men interact on the other side of the main room of the cottage. Before he stepped out of the front door, her husband extended his hand to Fenrir. It was no small gesture. Fenrir shook Antonin's hand and led him to the door.

She thought back to what they had just said moments earlier about getting to a place where they could stop keeping secrets. Hopefully, her time in Fenrir's cottage would give her the opportunity to figure out some way to tell her husband everything she'd been keeping secret. Maybe there was even a chance he'd learn how to forgive her one day.


	341. December 6th

December 6th

Death would've made a welcome change for Hermione. She decided that she hadn't given the whole dying prospect a fair chance. Surely nothing could be worse than how she felt? Her body cried out for more potions and she was almost to a point where she was willing to give in to its incessant demands. What did her promises to not touch another vial willingly mean anyway?

It had been embarrassing to have to be nursed by Fenrir. Exceedingly patient, he'd been with her through every step of her body violently turning against itself. When she vomited everything he tenderly spooned down her throat, he cleaned up the mess with no complaints and tried again to find something her stomach wouldn't reject. It mortified her that he had to help her in the bathroom, but he was gentle and kind. She would never forget how carefully he laid her body in his bathtub full of hot, soapy water that he hoped would help with her renewed shivering and the aches present in all of her muscles. And when she couldn't seem to get warm again, he'd covered her body with every blanket he owned and built up the fire so high that even without clothing covering the top half of his body, he was so hot that sweat poured off of his skin. Never did he complain or tell her he was sick of caring for her.

Somehow she managed to fall asleep during that ordeal. She wasn't entirely sure how. Even with exhaustion like she'd only felt a couple of other times in her life, she couldn't seem to fall asleep. Either it was the tremors in her body keeping her awake or the horrible nightmares that plagued her each time she closed her eyes. It was a miserable existence, one that she wasn't sure she would be able to endure much more of.

The sound of soft voices woke her up out of a blessedly long nap. Though it couldn't have lasted very long, she felt _some_ relief. Maybe she'd managed a couple of hours without waking. It was a tiny victory. She didn't recognize the two low voices at first. They seemed to bleed into each other.

"Nothing I do seems to help. I think she's getting worse."

"Yes, she'll get worse before she gets better."

Hermione's eyes focused enough to recognize Kingsley Shacklebolt standing on the other side of the room huddled in a quiet conversation with Fenrir. Confused at first, she thought she might've been having another hallucination. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have been the first through her entire ordeal of resetting her body without the addictive potion it craved and demanded. Perhaps she was still asleep and it was all just a dream she could see vividly. There seemed to be no other explanation for why the former auror would be anywhere near Fenrir Greyback's cottage.

"You look exhausted. I'll sit up with her for awhile. Get some sleep."

Fenrir started to argue with the other wizard's offer, but Kingsley would have none of it. He repeated his offer to watch over the patient while he got some rest.

"She will be safe while you close your eyes for a few hours. Do you think you'll be able to protect her if you're not at your best if there's a _real_ threat?"

Swayed by his argument, Fenrir grumbled to himself, but headed to the door that led to his private bedroom. With each step that Kingsley made towards the fireplace Hermione was laying next to, she began to believe more and more that it was all real. But _was_ she actually safe with the wizard who made no secrets of the fact that he only fought for himself? She'd gotten the impression the last time they were alone that she couldn't rely on him for anything, that he wasn't the sort of ally she needed. It bothered her to remember her fear that he was betraying her husband. Or at the very least, he wasn't aiding him faithfully.

It was no small effort to keep her eyes open and focused for so long. Kingsley made his way to Fenrir's favorite armchair. One of the dozens of books that Fenrir had neatly stacked in various locations around his small cottage was plucked from the top of a pile as he lowered himself into the chair. Before he could even open the first page, his eyes met Hermione's. A bright smile lit up his face. For the briefest of moments, Hermione was reminded of the number of evenings the two of them spent engaged in all manner of conversation over a cup of tea in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve. Some of her fears about his true nature and purpose dissipated for just a few heartbeats. Over almost as soon as it began, she hardened herself again to prevent his pretty words from persuading her to get over her earlier distrust.

"You should be sleeping."

"Why are you here? You know this is Fenrir Greyback's house, don't you?"

Remus Lupin was one of Kingsley's best friends. They had many years together working with the Order of the Phoenix. Between the wars, they kept in touch. When Remus had very few allies in the world due to his condition, Kingsley remained close. She knew it couldn't have been easy for him to put aside his personal feelings about the werewolf that was responsible for biting one of his best friends as a child. The wizard offered her a smile that seemed a bit forced.

"I know exactly what monster owns this house, but for your sake and possibly for the sake of a peaceful future, I've chosen to push my personal feelings aside for the present."

"'A peaceful future'?"

He waved off her question, but she didn't forget it. Likely it was something else that they couldn't talk about in front of her just in case she was somehow programmed to repeat everything she knew to Rodolphus. Or he might be able to read it in her mind if he was able to violate her again. While it was frustrating, she finally could understand everyone's reluctance to tell her _anything_. Later, when everything was calmed down a bit, she would ask him to clarify what he meant about a peaceful future. She could always ask Fenrir if she really wanted to know. He had a hard time denying her anything.

"Now, I thought you promised me that you would never find yourself in this same position?"

Hermione felt ashamed even though it wasn't her fault that she drank another potion. Kingsley had seen her at her absolute worst. Everything that Fenrir had done for her since she showed up on his doorstep had also been done by Kingsley and for much longer. It seemed like such a weakness to blame her current condition on another person. When she'd been using potions on a regular basis, it had always been her decision to start using them. Rabastan might have dangled them in front of her face, but _she_ was the one who chose to pour them down her throat. She was also the one that made the decision to keep seeking them out.

The story of what happened in Rodolphus' house that horrible night came rushing out of her at a dizzying speed. For whatever reason, despite feeling like she had less respect for Kingsley than she had in the past, it was important to her that he understand she didn't swallow the potion willingly. She didn't want to appear weak or incapable of keeping her promises. The wizard simply listened to her tell the whole story of Rodolphus freezing her and pouring the potion in her mouth. When she was finished, she felt both relieved and nervous about what he would say in response.

"I'm glad to know you didn't choose to take the potion, but if you did, it would be all right. Relapse is a normal part of recovery, Hermione. It's a process."

"You sound like a Muggle twelve step program."

His bright smile proved that he wasn't offended by her observation. Though it wasn't rudely meant, she realized only after it was out of her mouth how it could've been received.

"How do you think I met my Mary?"

It was his turn to tell a story about his own past. Hermione was surprised that he was willing to be so open and honest with her about his vulnerabilities. These were facts that could be used against him if in the wrong hands. By Kingsley telling her something so personal, he was offering his own proof in a way that he could be trusted. Most of her concerns and worries about him weren't likely to go away just because of one story time, but she appreciated the gesture.

"After the war ended, I didn't handle the defeat as well as perhaps I should've. I knew that if I stayed in the wizarding world I would have two options and neither one of them sounded good to me. Either I would be killed on sight or I would have the option to renounce my personal beliefs and follow Lord Voldemort."

She hadn't heard anyone dare to say the name of the Dark Lord in a very long time. Part of her expected the walls to crash around them as they were attacked and arrested by the most loyal of his Death Eaters. The taboo had been on his name for as long as he was alive. For all she knew, it was still a forbidden word to say, but Kingsley had no fear. He'd once been forced to go on the run for not being afraid to say his name. There were still infrequent flashes of the wizard he used to be.

"I drank a bit more than I should've in some sort of foolish effort to forget how dismal my life had become. But, even that wasn't satisfying. Didn't take me long to meet the wrong sorts of Muggles who knew exactly what I needed to numb myself and forget."

The unconscious way he rubbed at his arms shed a little bit of light into just what sort of addiction the wizard had. Hermione remembered hearing all the warnings about staying away from drugs from her parents. Because they didn't know how dangerous the world was in which she lived, they lived in fear of teenage pregnancy and recreational drug use being her worst sins. It almost made her laugh to imagine their reactions to learning the truth. Perhaps they would've preferred her to end up dead in a gutter with a needle in her arm than where she was. She'd not become a very good person. They would be ashamed if they knew it all. She got the impression that they already were ashamed and they didn't know the half of it.

"Almost died a dozen times between overdoses or crossing the wrong Muggle's path or even once from a tainted… no matter. It's not a glamorous life, I'm afraid. Finally scared myself enough that I decided to stop. Knew a bloke who told me about these meetings. Tried one. Didn't like it, but there was a pretty girl in there. Quiet, but offered me a friendly smile. I only went back a second time because of her."

He was selective in what he told her next, but Hermione understood. Some parts of their personal lives were private. It took him over two months before he finally spoke to the woman who eventually became his wife. Both of them were hurting in their own ways and able to find comfort with the other. While certainly not always the healthiest of relationships, it was clear that they loved each other fiercely.

"Mary sounds lovely."

"She really was. Too good for the likes of me, but we don't exactly get to choose who we love, do we?"

Kingsley wasn't the first person to offer her the same bit of wisdom. Wanting to move on from such a personal and emotional subject, Hermione asked the former auror why he was there in sitting watch over her in a notorious werewolf's private home. He smiled.

"You have a lot of people who care about you. I'm one of them." He stood up and crossed the small distance between them to hand her a vial of a sickening looking green potion that she knew would be horrendous going down. "Now, that's enough talking. I want you to drink this potion and some water and go back to sleep. I'll sit up and make sure you're all right."

She did as she was bid. Almost immediately she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Her body still needed its rest. Right before her eyes closed for good that evening, she took a final look at Kingsley seated in the armchair flipping through the pages of one of Fenrir's books. It was comforting to have him nearby even though she was one hundred percent certain that he was keeping something important from her.


	342. December 7th

December 7th

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she felt less like she wanted to hurl her entire body off of a cliff. Some semblance of normalcy had returned. It was incredible how awful a person could feel physically without actually succumbing to their pain. She didn't want to ever have to go through anything so awful again in her entire life. Rodolphus was cruel to force-feed her the potions that she'd worked so hard to get off of on her own. If she had to go through a similar experience in the future, she wasn't sure that she would make it. There was all the more reason to ensure that she stayed as far away from that horrible wizard as possible. Up until the very moment that she planned to kill him, of course.

Fenrir was pleased to see her awake. There was no sign that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been anywhere near the cottage. For the briefest of moments, she believed that she'd imagined his entire visit. What made more sense after all? That Kingsley would willingly enter the home of the monster that condemned his best friend to a lifetime of misery as a child or that she'd simply hallucinated his presence in the midst of her withdrawal? It wasn't until she said his name and Fenrir seemed reluctant to speak about him that she believed he'd actually been there.

"Kingsley said that he was willing to put aside the past for the hope of a peaceful future. What did he mean by that?"

"Are you hungry? I could cook you some eggs and toast."

" _No,_ Fenrir. Tell me. What did he mean?"

The werewolf would've rather been just about anywhere else in the world at that moment than seated in his armchair. His home was not even a safe refuge when the persistent woman he'd gladly taken in was curious. She could tell that he was trying to figure out how he could tell her as little as possible to sate her curiosity. It was infuriating to know that she couldn't be trusted with secrets.

"Shacklebolt has some ideas about the future that are a little more palatable than what Lestrange has."

"How very _diplomatic_ of you to say, Fenrir. Maybe you should be in politics. You're using a lot of words without actually saying anything. That's a skill that's in high demand in that line of work."

"He warned me that irritability was likely to be a symptom you experienced for the next several days. I'm looking forward to them."

His dramatic roll of his eyes _almost_ made her laugh. For being such a terrifying monster at times, Fenrir had a delightful sense of humor that she'd appreciated many times over the years when the world they lived in grew stressful and frightening. Beyond what he could do to her body when they were both naked, he had other attributes that worked well at distracting her mind and calming her fears. She was resolved that she wouldn't let him get away without telling her _something._ Realizing that he was fighting a foe that he wouldn't likely beat, Fenrir sighed.

"I've heard the rumors and so have many others of my kind. If Lestrange has his way, he's going to get rid of the so-called 'werewolf problem' by any means necessary."

"He wants to have all of you executed?"

"You're not seriously surprised by that, are you? He's not the only one in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle who didn't think that people like me had the right to keep living. Give him enough power and we'll start being hunted again."

"And Kingsley is offering an alternative?"

"He doesn't want werewolves to be killed. Not when they're just like everyone else for most of the month. He and others like him will certainly put restrictions up about new werewolf bites, but at least we get to continue to live in relative peace."

She wasn't surprised to hear that werewolves were in danger. Rodolphus used to make disparaging remarks about Fenrir whenever possible. It disgusted him that she allowed the monster to touch her, but he could also understand the value of alliances.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you anything because we still don't know if the spell Lestrange put in your pretty little head will…"

"No, I know. I understand. For all anyone knows, I could tell Rodolphus everything or worse."

It was annoying knowing that everyone had to hold their tongue around her, especially considering the fact that she could understand their reluctance to speak. Antonin avoided her for so long because he didn't know how to tell her the truth. How sad was it that it was easier for him to just pretend like he didn't care about her than to be honest? Surely a marriage counselor would have a great deal to say about that fact.

"Are you still angry with _him_?"

There was no need for Fenrir to say Antonin's name. They both were aware of the wizard he was referring to. Fenrir was perceptive enough to know how frustrated Hermione still was with the man she married.

"He could've just _told_ me his fears that I couldn't keep the truth from Rodolphus instead of lying to me."

"Your husband loves you. He was afraid that telling you about the spell and the fear that you might be under Lestrange's control would scare you."

"I'm not a child. He shouldn't treat me like one."

"He's scared out of his mind, love. I can smell it. Can't blame him either. If my Eliza was still alive and had to go through _half_ of what you've been through, I'd be scared too. Or everyone around me would be dead. Probably both."

His smile coaxed a small one out of Hermione in response. For being the star of so many people's nightmares, he had a calming way about him that made her feel safe. She knew that they weren't operating under normal circumstances. Her marriage with Antonin had never been particularly healthy even in the best of times. Of course, she reminded herself, they'd never actually _been_ in the best of times. Maybe it would be best for everyone involved if she didn't make it out of their current struggles alive. At least then Antonin could move on.

"I think I would like some eggs."

"Excellent. You'll feel better with a full stomach."

Fenrir crossed the room towards the small kitchen. She knew him well enough to know that he was at his best and his most comfortable when he had something to occupy his mind. Sitting around and waiting was agony for him. She could understand even though much of her life in recent years, especially the previous months, had been nothing but sitting around and waiting for whatever was going to come next.

"I might try to take a quick shower."

Her host was in favor of anything that might get her up and moving around. Though she still felt a bit wobbly on her feet, Hermione was encouraged that most of the pain that had been coursing through her body since she arrived on his doorstep was disappearing. Maybe soon she would even feel like herself again. Only a few steps away from the door that led to Fenrir's bedroom and bathroom, a loud explosion knocked her to the floor.

It had been naïve to assume that she was going to always be safe in the cottage. Even with a formidable protector like Fenrir, they weren't isolated from the rest of the world. There were a number of enemies that knew where the werewolf could be found. After she asked him about the members of his pack that he'd had stationed around his cottage when he went out to hunt down Antonin, Fenrir admitted to sending them all home again. Most of them weren't battle-tested. They were good for watching, but not much for fighting in their human forms. It showed a great deal of concern and care that he wanted them to leave in case there was more trouble.

Maybe if a couple of them had stayed Rabastan wouldn't have been able to make it inside the cottage. A single spell blew the front door off of its hinges. Hermione didn't have time to react before the brother of the man she feared the most was only steps away with his wand pointed at them both. Fenrir moved his body to stand in front of hers as she struggled to stand back up. The force of the spell caught her off-guard. It was embarrassing to be seen as so weak and fragile. No doubt Rabastan was inwardly crowing at the sight.

"I don't recall inviting you inside, Lestrange."

"Trust me when I say I have no desire to be anywhere near your hovel, Greyback."

"What do you want, Rabastan?"

Hermione's voice sounded much braver than she actually felt. It wasn't a terrible shock that he was able to find where she'd been hiding. After all, she'd hidden there before and he knew it. She knew that it was past time that she made her excuses to find somewhere else to hide even if she had no desire to leave. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt _safe_ with Fenrir and didn't know where she could go next.

"You killed my wife."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Who else would do it?"

She didn't have the energy to deal with the wizard's hysterics. Rolling her eyes, she prepared herself for the moment she would blurt out the truth he wouldn't want to hear about his brother. As much as the two brothers struggled to get along at times, Rabastan hero-worshiped Rodolphus. To hear that his brother was the one who murdered his wife in cold blood wouldn't be an easy potion to swallow.

"Your brother killed Gemma."

"Liar! I found her body last night. Just tossed into the hedge maze like she was nothing more than a bit of rubbish. She'd been there for a long time. I could tell because… because she wasn't exactly _whole_ anymore."

Imagining the state of Gemma's corpse after being out in the elements for as long as she had been turned Hermione's stomach. She thought that Rodolphus would've taken better care of the disposal of his murder victim than that. Didn't he promise her that he would take care of Gemma before his brother found her? It was possible that that was just another lie in a long line of them. Rodolphus probably had every intention of blaming Gemma's murder on Hermione from the very beginning. While she would admit to partial responsibility because she did ask the wretched woman questions that Rodolphus didn't want her to know, she wasn't actually the one who muttered the curse.

"Why would you kill my wife, Hermione? What did she ever do to you?"

The very real tears rolling out of Rabastan's eyes were a complete shock to the other two witnesses to the event. Certainly in all of the years that Hermione had known him, in increasingly intimate situations no less, she'd never once seen him be so openly emotional. One might even be under the impression that he _loved_ his late wife. That in itself was a shocking enough revelation that she wasn't sure she would be able to process it for some time to come.

"I _didn't_ kill her. Rodolphus did. She was trying to tell me what he had planned for me and he caught her."

No matter how many times she repeated herself Hermione wasn't going to get though to the man. He was too emotional and intent on revenge. Throughout the entire exchange she could see the muscles in Fenrir's neck and arms tense. The day wouldn't end without bloodshed. Whose would it be?

"I'm going to kill you. I don't give a damn what Roddy says!"

There was simply no way that Fenrir was ever going to allow that to come to pass inside his home. His pride was enough that he would rip anybody who came through the front door intent on doing any of his guests harm into pieces with his bare hands. Rabastan was too far gone in his grief to consider that truth. Or, perhaps more likely, there was a small part of him that _wanted_ it all to end. She'd noticed the unraveling of the man over the previous several months. It had only gotten worse in the days that he couldn't find his wife. Perhaps Gemma was more of a stabilizing factor for the man than anyone realized, Rabastan included.

Curses didn't affect werewolves like they did regular men. Nothing that Rabastan threw at Fenrir in his emotional state met their mark as they were intended. All it took was a couple of steps in Rabastan's direction for the werewolf to overpower the wizard without the use of magic. Fenrir kept his weapons with him at all times. He _was_ the weapon. A scratch across his face slowed the wizard down enough that Fenrir was able to rip his throat out with his bare hands. It was a ghastly way to go, but considering the sorts of deaths Rabastan had been granting for much of his life, it was only fair. As he laid on the floor of Fenrir's cottage bleeding out and gasping for breath, Hermione _almost_ felt sorry for him.

Mostly, though, she was worried about where she would go next. And when she got there, how long would she be safe? She was ready for it all to be over, one way or another.


	343. December 8th

December 8th

Following Rabastan's rather dramatic death, Fenrir was able to convince Hermione to stay in his cottage one more night. Truthfully, she was grateful that she didn't have to rush out of there to find another hiding place because she didn't know where she could go. Having to rely on others to keep her safe was becoming a tedious chore. She didn't like it at all. In the past she was more than capable of taking care of herself. It was why she became a Death Eater after all. She'd grown so tired of being weak and afraid that becoming one of the Dark Lord's followers offered her the chance to not have to live in constant fear. It had been a heady feeling, one that she was beginning to miss.

Fenrir cleared all evidence that Rabastan had ever been inside his cottage as quickly as he could. While he cleaned up the mess left by the rather bloody murder, Hermione took a long, hot bath in the next room thinking over her limited options. She wasn't at full strength. If she was attacked again by Rodolphus, she didn't think that she would have much hope of being able to fight him off. The fact that she was able to stun him at all the night he drugged her was a miracle. If he hadn't made the mistake of turning his back on her and underestimating her as a threat while he threw his temper tantrum, she wouldn't have been successful.

By the morning after the incident neither of the cottage's inhabitants wanted to speak of, Hermione had made up her mind. Her idea was likely a little insane, but the options she had were limited. She needed to go somewhere that no one would think to look for her at. Unfortunately, thanks to Draco's damned tracking spell and the fact that he still carried the gold pendant Antonin gave her, she wasn't truly safe anywhere. Rabastan might have stumbled upon Fenrir's cottage as her hiding place entirely on his own, but she couldn't help but think that Draco had something to do with it. The wizard's motivations never made much sense to her and nothing changed.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Fenrir. I'm proud to have you as a friend."

The werewolf enveloped her in a tight hug before he allowed her to walk out the front door of his home. She meant every word that she said. Without him, she didn't know what would've happened to her or where she would've gone. Allies weren't exactly growing on trees. They were becoming harder and harder to find. He made certain that her beaded bag was full of food. Sometimes he could be more like a mother hen than a scary werewolf. So few people got to see the side of him that she did. It was a shame. He might have been able to make more friends if others in their society hadn't been so cruel and dismissive. For all she knew, he could've been a much happier and less violent man if he hadn't been so hated and feared.

She knew she was taking a big risk returning to Ginny's house in the woods. Though technically owned by the Lestrange family in some manner, it had been the witch's home since she was pregnant with her daughter. Based on the connection to her husband's former mistress and the murder that she'd committed in it only weeks before, Hermione hoped that no one would think to look for her there. At least not immediately. She could use another day of rest before she sought out another hiding place.

Because she knew that Rodolphus removed all security enchantments and wards around the small house to prevent Antonin from knowing he'd been there, Hermione didn't waste a moment once she arrived to put up the most rudimentary and basic protections. All she needed was enough of a warning that she could make her escape. Sealing the house to any but her would take too much energy and time. She would have to make do with little and hope for the best.

After she'd been inside the house less than an hour she felt the unnerving sensation that she wasn't alone. Rising from the sofa she'd been lounging on in the main room, Hermione clutched her wand tightly, ready for whatever attack might be headed her way. Her first thought was it was simply Ginny returning home. Maybe she had her own security wards set up that Hermione couldn't feel. Something cloaked that informed her when she had an unwelcome visitor. How else did she know Hermione was there the day she found the vials of Amortentia hidden in her chest of drawers?

She shouldn't have been surprised that Draco was the one who walked through the front door, but she was. He'd been keeping to himself since the day he approached her inside the guest room in the Dower House. Their entire interaction that day had been bizarre and uncomfortable. When he strolled in through the front door with a bright smile on his face like he owned the place, Hermione didn't know what to expect.

"It didn't take you long to follow me here. Are you continuing to give your uncle reports of my whereabouts every day?"

Draco didn't seem in the mood to answer her questions. Hardly even acknowledging her existence beyond the first smile when he entered, he took a look around the house. Based on his scowl, he didn't care much for what he saw.

"I'm not sure that Antonin would approve of your whereabouts. _This_ is where you're hiding now, Hermione? Don't you worry that Ginny Weasley will decide to come back home?"

"Considering this is the place that I murdered Wood? No, I don't think she'll be back."

"Dreadful place, but I suppose as a Weasley, she's never known any better."

There was a real temptation for Hermione to curse the wizard in the face. Only her curiosity about his true purpose stilled her wand. Why did he have to continue to make cracks about the Weasleys so many years after they left school? Parts of him would always be nothing more than a hateful bully.

"Why are you here, Draco? What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check on you. See if you were settling in all right."

"I highly doubt that's the truth."

Knowing that he wasn't likely to leave any time soon, Hermione settled back down on the sofa. Standing up for too long was making her dizzy. Yet again she cursed Rodolphus. How many more days would she have to look forward to her body turning against itself? She looked forward to killing him. Believing that she was somehow making an invitation for him to stay, Draco sat down next to her. The urge to curse him grew strong. Having him in the same room always made her feel unnerved and unsettled. Why did she allow the wizard to have such power over her?

"I'm confused by your loyalties, Draco. Just whose side are you on exactly?"

The smile on his face slipped. He grew very serious. She could tell just by looking at the openness of his face that he wasn't about to tell her a lie. One of the skills she acquired working for as long as she did as an interrogator was to be able to tell easily when someone was about to be dishonest. He had none of the markers of a forthcoming lie. Of course, he could also just be that skilled in lying. She couldn't afford to take anything that he said at face value.

"All I've ever wanted was to bring honor back to my family. Make it so we're no longer some sick joke. It's not been easy. I've had to make a lot of alliances with a large number of people to make it so far."

"Does that mean you've been betraying my husband when you've claimed you were working with him?"

She didn't care much about herself. He'd already proven repeatedly that he had no problems betraying her. But Antonin was working on something that was much bigger than she was. It carried more weight if Draco had been betraying him. Based on the way he dropped his eyes to stare at her chin and his reluctance to answer, she had all the answer she needed.

"I think it's time that you left, Draco."

His hand reached out to grab hers before she could pull it away. Hermione didn't like how he was looking at her. Nothing about it seemed genuine or comforting. What game was he playing at? He seemed to know all of the rules even when no one else did.

"I don't want to leave. I've missed you."

"Draco, _please_. Go away."

"You've been rather hot and cold with me lately and I don't understand it. The day you found the mirror in my trousers you couldn't wait to get me naked. Remember how we didn't even make it off the sofa? We do have a sordid history of fucking on sofas, don't we?"

She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let go. There was a gleam in his eyes that she remembered seeing the day he bothered her at Rodolphus'. Was he drunk? Or was it something much worse?

"I could make you feel good again, Hermione. Make you forget everything that's been going on. Just let me back inside of you."

Draco leaned his body across the sofa to kiss her. She didn't understand what was happening. He'd _never_ made her feel scared and uncomfortable when they were alone like that. With all of her strength she pushed his chest, but he hardly budged. Worried that it was about to get much worse, she was relieved to hear the front door slam open. In that moment, she wouldn't have even minded if it was Rodolphus to her rescue.

Almost immediately Draco's body flew over the back of the sofa, knocking over a small table with it. Hermione looked up to see her husband standing just steps away with his wand outstretched and his face contorted into an expression that would've made any normal person very afraid. Draco only laughed. Even as he lay in a heap on the floor with Antonin ready to kill him with a simple flick of his wrist, he continued to laugh, reminding her more and more of the deranged man he was the day in Rodolphus' guest room.

"Hermione, darling, I think it's safe to say your husband knows about us."

Antonin cast a summoning charm at the wizard. Confused at first by his seemingly uncharacteristic move, Hermione relaxed when she saw her husband catch her gold pendant in his hand. Realizing that he would no longer be able to track his prey, Draco grew very angry.

"Your _services_ will no longer be required, Malfoy."

Draco stood up, but didn't move any closer to the door. Some of his anger seemed to melt away only to be replaced by renewed laughter. Hermione wasn't sure how the next few moments would go. It was very possible, even likely that the wizard wouldn't make it out there alive. Rarely had she seen Antonin so angry. She didn't understand all that was happening. How did Antonin even know that he was there? How was his timing so perfect?

" _Leave_ , Malfoy, or I'll forget the promise I made your father."

Almost as if Draco could read Hermione's mind, he held up his mirror.

"It was rather careless of me to speak so openly about your wife with my mirror open, wasn't it? Though I suppose it's better than if we were actually engaged in such acts. Tell me, Dolohov, does the mother of your child scream at you to fuck her harder when she's down on all fours or is that just something she saved for me?"

Thorfinn's hand appeared on Antonin's shoulder seemingly out of nowhere. Hermione looked at the front door, curious to know if anyone else would just suddenly pop in. The newest arrival hoped to stop the violence before it happened.

"Remember what Lucius said, mate. One hair harmed on his head…"

Antonin shrugged his hand off, no longer appearing to be ready to rip Draco to shreds. The change in his stance only encouraged Draco to laugh more. Hermione didn't recognize the man. What had changed? Had he always been like that but able to keep a tighter hold on the truth around her? She didn't understand anything. Just as she worried that Antonin was going to lose his temper and murder the wizard despite whatever promise he made his wretched father, Draco took his leave.

When the three of them were alone again, Thorfinn tactfully stepped outside to give the married couple some privacy. It was awkward. Antonin could hardly look his wife in the eyes.

"Antonin, I…"

He held up his hand to stop her before she went any further. It was a good thing because she wasn't entirely sure what she'd been planning to say next. She just felt like _something_ needed to be said. Antonin was trying desperately to keep his temper under control. Not that she could blame him in the slightest. She understood it all too well.

"Will you be staying here?"

She nodded. There seemed no reason to leave. Draco would assume that she wouldn't linger once he knew she was there. And besides, where else could she go?

"I will put up some additional wards before I leave. I'll… I'll come back later."

Antonin had to get away from the house before he exploded. Once she nodded again, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.


	344. December 9th

**_Author's Note : So... I finished writing this story today. YAY! There will continue to be a chapter every single day until the end of the year. Then there will be an Epilogue about a week or two after that. Is it rude to want to just say "Suck it!" to all of the 'lovely' human beings who gleefully told me that they thought I would fail in this challenge and they couldn't wait to see it happen so they could say 'I told you so'? Because... that's what I kinda want to do right now. Lol!_**

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December 9th

Hermione wasn't sure when to expect her husband to return to Ginny Weasley's abandoned house in the woods. Based on how angry he'd been when he stormed away, he wasn't likely to calm down in a short period of time. In order to keep her mind occupied, she took her time tidying up the small house. When she could no longer keep her eyes from drooping closed, she slid under the fresh sheets on Ginny's cleaned bed. There was simply no way she would go anywhere near the piece of furniture without ensuring it had been scrubbed repeatedly.

Sometime after midnight she heard the front door open. Because she was in a practical enemy's home and she had already been visited by someone who didn't have her best interests at heart, she knew that she couldn't get complacent. She quickly rose out of bed with her wand clutched tightly in her hand. If blood needed to be shed, she wouldn't hesitate. Her survival was more important. She hadn't lasted that long for nothing.

She immediately relaxed when she pushed open the door to the main room of the house to see Antonin stumble in. Evidently he'd been spent his time away from her seeking the bottom of a bottle. Not that she could blame him. If she could rely on her vice without it betraying her, she would've done the same. He managed to make it to the sofa without falling to her surprise. Knowing that they were going to need to have an uncomfortable conversation whether she wanted to have it or not, she sat next to him. Immediately he handed her the bottle he still had clutched in his hand. She took a deep drink of the dreadful fire whiskey without hesitation. Maybe their conversation would be a little easier if they were both drunk.

One of the big secrets she'd been keeping from her husband was out. He knew about her inappropriate relationship with Draco. While it would've been much better for the truth to be revealed in a less violent or graphic manner, Hermione wasn't sorry that he knew. She should've figured out some way to tell him a long time earlier. They needed to talk about it, get everything out in the open for once.

"I owe you an apology for this afternoon."

Antonin turned his head to stare at his wife, but said nothing. The furrowing of his brow proved he was confused by her statement. She wanted to laugh even though it was definitely not the time to do so. It was possible that the alcohol was affecting her more than it usually did in her weakened state. Though she was almost at full strength, she knew there would be lingering effects for a little while longer.

"You shouldn't have had to hear about what happened between Draco and me like that."

He ripped the bottle out of her hands, gulped down more of the caustic liquid than was good for him, and let out a deep sigh. His shoulders sank with the weight of his thoughts. She was nervous to hear them no matter how much it needed to be done.

"I've known about you and Malfoy for a long time. Suspected even longer."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She was shocked even though she knew she shouldn't have been. Somehow Antonin always seemed to know everything before she did or when she was trying hard to keep the secret. He'd proven that time and time again over the course of the twenty years they'd known each other. The thirteen years of marriage only honed his skills.

"How did you know? _When_?"

"July, I knew, but I suspected when you were on the run… after I sent him to track you."

She was amazed that he'd known for so long and managed to keep quiet about it. Not once did he even drop a single hint that he suspected. Realizing he didn't answer her first question, she asked it again.

" _How_ did you know?"

His answer wasn't immediately forthcoming. He needed some fire whiskey and at least a minute to collect his thoughts. With a deep sigh, he answered.

"It was that Sunday you said you were going to buy more clothes because you claimed you were getting fat."

"I remember."

"I don't know why, but you just seemed odd to me that day. I suspected you were going to see Gus."

She couldn't stop the rolling of her eyes at his continued jealousy of her ex-lover. Would that always be the case? Would a day ever exist that he didn't always worry that it was just a matter of time before she left him to seek out Augustus? She hoped so. It was exhausting listening to his fears that had no basis in reality.

"So I put a tracking spell on you. When you left, I sent Ollie to Thorfinn and Hannah's. I thought I'd end up in Cornwall, not London. I arrived just as you and Malfoy were walking out. I followed you to his flat. Waited for you to come out. _Two_ hours I waited. I felt like such a fool."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"What right did I have to get angry at you for something I'd done myself?"

"We have _got_ to stop torturing each other. We can't live like this."

She ripped the bottle out of his hands just as he agreed. They'd spent too many years playing an unhealthy game where the only objective seemed to be who could hurt the other the most. It was no way to live. The feel of the fire whiskey moving around in her belly gave her more courage to continue asking questions that she once would've been content to just ignore.

"When did you suspect?"

Another sigh.

"When Ginny told me you were sharing a tent with him in the forest back in February. Didn't take much imagination to imagine how you were spending the cold nights with an attractive wizard your own age."

"Do I even need to ask why you were with Ginny then?"

He was embarrassed and rightfully so. It was how she felt when she considered the beds she'd crawled in and out of over the years. But she wanted to know more. There were so many questions that she continued to have about his relationship with Ginny that the other woman and Rodolphus hadn't answered yet. Though she very well might regret hearing the answers, she knew that that moment was as good a time as any to ask the difficult questions. She wanted to understand how Antonin even began his sordid affair with the Resistance leader _and_ how Ginny managed to fall in love with her husband. From what she gathered, there wasn't much time for romance. How could she develop such strong feelings? So much didn't make sense.

"Will you tell me how you and Ginny even managed to find each other in the first place? Neither of you exactly ran in the same social circles."

"Are you sure you want to hear the details?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

Deciding that he'd had too much to drink and needed to focus on the story he was about to tell, Antonin allowed himself one final gulp from the bottle before he set it down on a table next to the sofa. It was telling that he wasn't able to look his wife in the eyes. He was ashamed of his actions.

"She and I have crossed paths many times since the end of the war. She's fearless. Just like ever other bloody Gryffindor I've known."

He was able to meet her gaze for a brief moment to share a small smile. Over almost as soon as it began, he stared at some random point on the wall ahead of them. Hermione knew from experience that it was easier to bear one's soul when they weren't making eye contact. She was also heartened to know that he was telling the truth. Every mannerism he had, every tilt of his head and blink of eyes proved to her that he wasn't holding back.

"When everyone else was running away from me, she was running _to_ me. I thought she had a death wish. Why would anyone go looking for trouble? Each time she managed to fight me back and make _me_ run, I was impressed. I probably thought about her more than I should admit to. We weren't exactly in the happiest of places at home and it had been a long time since I felt so _excited_ about another person."

While she appreciated the truth, it wasn't easy to hear. Part of Hermione had always been jealous of Ginny since they were teenagers. Listening to her husband speak so openly about his admiration for the witch made her stomach twist in knots. Was she wrong in her assumption that even if he knew about Maisie he wouldn't leave? She felt like she should tell him the truth and reveal the last of the big secrets hanging between them, but she was still worried about his reaction.

"I don't remember how we ended up in the London warehouse together. I truly don't. Some anonymous tip or some mission the Dark Lord sent me on. Rodolphus was with me, but he's never been the sort to stick around when the fighting gets too hot. The others with the Resistance disappeared too. At some point it was just the two of us dueling with everything we had. I was able to get closer to her than I ever had before. Maybe that's what distracted her. I don't know. She made an error and I had the advantage. I pinned her up against the wall. Probably should've just killed her right then and been done with it, but I hesitated. Long enough that she was able to kiss me."

She didn't want to hear all of the sordid details of their first sexual encounter. It was too much. Besides, Rodolphus had already given her more than enough details to paint a vivid picture.

"You said that you looked for her after that. Why?"

"I would think that was obvious. It had been exciting. I wanted to feel that way again."

"Did you have feelings for her? Is that why you went looking?"

There was a note of desperation and insecurity in her voice that Hermione loathed. How many people did she have to murder in cold blood to get rid of that weakness? She wasn't a good person. Did she also have to be pathetic?

"No, not like that, my darling. I swear. I wanted to see her again purely for physical reasons. I know that doesn't make it much better, but it's the truth."

"And how did you two start up again when I was gone?"

"I told you before that she approached me shortly after I left St. Mungo's. She claimed she wanted me to work with the Resistance. I don't know how much of that was true."

Hermione didn't want to hear anymore about his relationship with Ginny. It was too much. No matter how many times he told her that he didn't care for the other witch the same way he loved her, she couldn't deny that it still hurt. Sensing that she was reaching her limit, Antonin changed the subject.

"I owe you an apology for not telling you about the spell that was left over and for keeping secrets."

"No, Antonin. You've already explained yourself. I understand."

"It's been killing me. I've almost told you everything a dozen times. I didn't know if Rodolphus could activate that spell and then he'd know _everything_. A lot of good people, much better than us, would be in trouble."

She pressed her lips against his to keep him from rambling. When they broke apart seconds later, she promised him again that she truly understood finally his reasons for being so distant and secretive. They all made mistakes. She couldn't be angry with him for keeping secrets when she was continuing to do the same.

"It's safer if you don't tell me anything. Just until we know what this spell really is or how we can get rid of it."

There had been no mention of Babajide Akingbade's research into what the spell could possibly be since she received the message from Alexandre. She was nervous to ask, fearing that there was nothing new to learn. Deciding that the night had gone on too long for both of them, Hermione stood up. She reached for Antonin's hand.

"You're exhausted. Let's go to bed."

"In there?"

She couldn't stifle her chuckles at his horrified face.

"I burned the sheets and cast about a hundred scourgifies on the bed."

Antonin offered her a small smile, but she could tell he was still embarrassed. Would he feel differently if he knew that Ginny had given him Amortentia? Probably, but even he admitted that he went to her willingly when he was mad. He would kill Ginny if he knew what she did. Hermione knew that was one secret she had to continue to keep. Ginny was just trying to protect her daughter. Hopefully there would be time to make amends for all past sins when Rodolphus was dead.


	345. December 10th

December 10th

Waking up alone was something Hermione had become inured to after so long on the run and then with the uncertainty of the mess the Dark Lord left with his death, but it didn't mean that she liked it. Going to sleep with Antonin's arms around her comforted her more than she realized. For twenty years, whether she liked him or hated him, he'd been a constant source of security and stability. It had been so easy to take him for granted, especially in the years she didn't want him around.

She remembered the feel of Antonin's light kiss on her forehead as he got out of bed. When she teased him about seducing him to encourage him to stay a little longer, she knew that he'd been tempted. They hadn't done anything more than kiss since the night she found William Wood's button on the floor of Aubin's cottage. But instead of taking her up on the offer, he admitted that he didn't feel right about it considering it was Ginny's bed. She could certainly respect his feelings even though she and Rodolphus hadn't been as thoughtful with his bed.

Before Antonin walked out that morning, he promised her that he would be back when he could. He also offered to place more protective wards on the house. She teased him, accused him of being paranoid. Unwilling to join in her laughter, he grew very serious.

"If I can't even offer my wife a home, I can at least make sure she's safe in this one."

Where he went after that was anyone's guess. She hadn't been lying when she said she didn't want to know. Maybe that made her selfish, but she didn't care. There had been enough times in the past that she'd been relied on too heavily to make decisions and tough calls for those around her who were incapable. Didn't she deserve the opportunity to let someone else worry for a change?

An entire day passed where Hermione was alone in the house. By nightfall, there still was no sign that he was about to return. She kept her mind occupied as best she could. Her body was closer to full strength though she still craved the potions. Kingsley told her that that would likely never change. She hated to hear it and hoped that when the world calmed down, she could throw herself into researching some sort of cure for her addiction. It would be nice to be able to help others in her similar situation figure out how to get rid of the cravings. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she couldn't help but laugh. When did she start thinking of other people instead of just herself? Maybe it was a sign that she really was changing.

Shortly before midnight, she grew tired again. Waiting around with nothing to do was tiresome and exhausting. Hermione chose to take advantage of the nicely appointed bathroom connected to the bedroom to take a hot shower. Unwilling to linger too long under the water when she was alone in the house, she wrapped herself in a towel only minutes after entering to step back out into the bedroom to find Ginny going through her chest of drawers.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?"

Despite appearing to be frantic in her search, the younger witch was able to be snarky in her response.

"It's _my_ house. I should be asking you that question."

Ginny ignored the intruder in her house to continue her search. No longer content with just running her hands through the drawers, she began pulling everything out and throwing it on the floor. Her behavior was odd, but maybe it was not out of character for the Resistance leader. After all, Hermione didn't exactly know the woman anymore.

"What are you looking for?"

"I think she's looking for these."

Antonin entered the bedroom holding up a couple of vials of the Amortentia potion Ginny had hidden in her chest of drawers. All of the color drained from Ginny's face when she was faced with her irate former lover.

"Antonin, I can explain."

Rarely had Hermione seen her husband so angry. That was the first indicator that something was seriously wrong. Fearing that there was about to be violence, she began slowly moving towards the bathroom to get away from the worst of it all. She wasn't a coward, but she knew when it was best to avoid Antonin.

"I found these this morning tucked away in your top drawer."

His eyes cut to Hermione for a brief moment. She was surprised to see his cheeks flush as if he was embarrassed or possibly ashamed.

"I thought at first that you might've been taking potions you shouldn't be."

Hermione couldn't even be angry that his first thought was she was hiding potions from him again. Not after her past. She'd not exactly given him much chance to trust her.

"I opened one to see what it was and all I could smell was lavender, chocolate, and ink. Knew immediately what it was."

"Antonin…"

He held up his hand to stop Ginny from saying whatever she was about to say. Tears were building up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Had she finally reached her breaking point?

"I'm _not_ finished. I couldn't understand why you had these. Then I remembered that night I came here after…"

There was no reason to bring up the awful fight they had in Hogwarts. Everyone in the room knew exactly which night he was referring to. After he stormed away from the castle shortly after learning his wife's terrible secret, he sought out his mistress the next day once he was sure his son was safe from any further harm.

"I remember smelling lavender that night. I thought at the time you were just wearing Hermione's perfume because you knew I liked it. But then… gods, how many times did you make me drink that?"

Ginny could hardly speak. Tears were freely rolling down her cheeks. Antonin didn't care. If anything, her show of emotion only made him more angry. Hermione's fear that the night was going to end violently only increased. She kept a firm hold on her wand just in case she had to step in. Who would she defend? She wasn't sure.

"All of those days here talking about the future, you made me… you made me actually think about leaving my wife."

"I could've made you happy. I still can! I should've told you a long time ago, but I was scared of what he would do."

Hermione's stomach clenched with the beginning of Ginny's confession. How much longer before Antonin would turn his ire upon his wife for keeping the secret of his daughter from him? She was tempted to run from the house before it came to that point without a care that she was still wrapped in just a towel. Ginny struggled for air between her sobs. There was simply no way she could've known Antonin as intimately as she did without understanding the violence of which he was capable.

"Rodolphus made me do it. All of it. He told me if I didn't he would kill…"

Unwilling to listen to another word, Antonin crossed the room to where Ginny stood shaking and trembling near the chest of drawers. For someone who had always been a formidable opponent, she wasn't capable of summoning up the strength required to defend herself against the man she fancied herself in love with. It was sad, if a bit pathetic. Emotions could make even the strongest person weak. The witch didn't even have her wand in her hand. There was nothing to protect her from the wizard closing his hand around her throat and slamming her entire body against a wall.

Hermione wasn't sure she had the right to intervene. Didn't he deserve to be angry for what she did to him? For the lies and the manipulations? Ginny wasn't even willing to fight back. All of her energy was gone. There came a point when everyone finally broke. She didn't have anything left inside of her. Rodolphus had helped to strip that away with years of never-ending fear and shame. She deserved pity, but she also had to face the consequences of her actions.

"There is _no_ excuse for what you did to me. Because of you and Malfoy, my _wife_ saw us that day."

"Antonin, _please_. I'm sorry."

Whether it was the sound of her pleading or her apology that tipped him over the edge, Hermione didn't know. She could see his hand squeeze Ginny's neck tighter. Instantly she was struggling for air. He wasn't going to let up. His purpose was beyond just frightening her.

"Antonin, stop. You'll kill her."

He didn't even seem to register the fact that his wife was speaking to him. Lost in the heat of the moment, he stared without blinking into Ginny's purple face. Though tears continued to roll out of her open eyes, there was a resignation inside of them. She knew what was coming next and she didn't fear it. Perhaps she'd even been looking forward to it. If she defied Rodolphus, he would've killed Maisie without thinking twice. If she was dead, he had nothing to hold over her head any longer. While it was always a possibility that he would still take his rage out on the poor, innocent child, she knew there was no one alive who would be a fiercer protector than Antonin of their daughter.

Breathing had become a real issue for the witch, but her attacker wasn't finished with his revenge. Everything happened so quickly that even if she'd wanted to, Hermione couldn't have done anything to stop the man. She was too far away and he was too determined. Considering how angry he was, he might have even taken some of his anger out on his wife. Without breaking the intense eye contact he held with Ginny, Antonin lifted his wand in his free hand and pressed it to her chest. He muttered a familiar curse. Purple flames burst out of the end of his wand and straight into her heart. She was dead in moments.

"Why would you do that, Antonin?"

Watching her old friend's lifeless body slide to the floor of her bedroom shook something up in Hermione that she didn't expect. Even though she knew what he was going to do, actually seeing him carry through with it was startling. She screamed her question out, ignoring the hot tears that were rolling down her own cheeks. Antonin turned away from the corpse to look at his wife with the most solemn and sickened expression.

"She _violated_ me. Made me feel things that weren't real. I told her I was in love with her and I wanted to leave you."

Some of his anger had dissipated with the curse that he preferred to use to end others' lives. As much as Hermione loathed that he continued to use the curse that once nearly killed her when she was a teenager, he never budged. Everyone had their own way of preferring to make their kills. She'd lost count the number of throats she'd opened up with a slicing spell. Though bloody and incredibly messy, she'd never found another death-inducing spell to be so satisfying.

"Why would she do that? I don't understand why she would force me to drink potions that made me believe I was in love with her. It's _sick_."

Hermione knew her moment had come. She had to tell him the truth. Staring her husband in his dark brown eyes, she finally confessed the last of the secrets she'd been keeping from him.

"Because Rodolphus threatened to kill your daughter unless Ginny did exactly what he told her to do."

"My... my _what_?"


	346. December 11th

**_Author's Note: I want to thank you all for being so encouraging through this whole process, especially lately. This is an extremely difficult time of year for me personally (especially this year) and your kind words have been so very welcome. It means the world to me that so many of you are enjoying this story. Thanks especially to you rockstars who take the time out of your day every single day to encourage me with your reviews and your comments on FB. You are amazing!_**

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December 11th

Antonin's expression after hearing Hermione's statement was one of complete shock. His jaw dropped open slightly and his eyes didn't blink. Part of her wished she could read his thoughts in that moment, but she was also afraid of what she would discover if she could. Would he grow violent again when the shock wore off? He'd never laid a hand in anger on her outside of his ordered punishments from the Dark Lord. Was this going to be the first time? Should she be prepared to fight her husband? She really didn't know what to expect next.

"My _daughter_? What are you talking about?"

The calm, soft tone he used to ask his questions should've put Hermione at ease, but it didn't. She could only imagine the intense emotions that were coursing through him. No matter how uncomfortable her world was about to get, she knew that she couldn't keep the details that she knew from him a secret any longer. He deserved better than that. _Ginny_ deserved better than that. Pushing aside the very real concern that the violence she'd just witnessed could've been avoided if she'd only told him sooner about the child he didn't know about, Hermione took a deep calming breath.

"A few days after I was attacked in St. Mungo's I came here looking for Ginny. I thought I might find you here or at least learn where I could find you. She wasn't expecting me, of course, and seemed very nervous. At first I thought maybe you were in the bedroom or William Wood or someone else she didn't want me to know about, but when the door opened a little girl came out."

The guilt that she could've prevented the death of the woman still lying on the floor only feet away was choking. Hermione couldn't bear to look at the spot where Ginny's lifeless corpse fell.

"Rodolphus has been blackmailing Ginny since she was pregnant. _That's_ why she's been helping him. At first he just threatened to tell you that Maisie existed and Ginny was afraid that you would take her or hurt her, I'm not really sure which. And then he started threatening to kill her if Ginny didn't do as she was ordered."

Her heart threatened to hammer out of her chest. Antonin stared at her, still unmoving, still hardly blinking. She knew she couldn't stop. Not there.

"She's four and her name is Maisie. She looks _exactly_ like Ollie did at that age. Beautiful little girl. Big brown eyes just like yours. I knew she was yours the moment I saw her. Ginny tried to hide her, but it was too late."

"Why didn't you tell me about her? That was _months_ ago."

It would've been too easy to lie and say that Ginny threatened her with violence if she spilled her secret. Or maybe she could've said she was forced into a vow that she couldn't reveal the truth. Before any suitable lie could be fully formed in her mind, she stopped herself. The secrets were exhausting and mentally taxing. And besides, he deserved to know. She couldn't keep a secret any longer simply because she was afraid of how the revelation might affect _her_. Hadn't she spent enough of her life being selfish? It was time she was fully honest, damn the consequences.

"Because I was afraid if you knew you had a daughter with Ginny you would take Ollie and leave me to go have a family with her."

Antonin's eyes opened even wider at her confession. She wasn't expecting what she said to come out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back. Especially considering she meant every word. When her husband didn't say anything, she grew embarrassed. She had a nasty habit of rambling too much when she was mortified and nervous.

"I thought you wouldn't want me anymore if you could have her. It was wrong. I'm so sorry. I should've told you the moment I found out, but I was a coward and selfish. I don't want you to have a family with anyone but me. I _love_ you."

Those three little words that were so easy for everyone else in the world to say had never come out of Hermione's mouth before when she was talking to her husband. The shock of their arrival stopped her rambling. Antonin, equally, if not more shocked than his wife, began to step closer. His eyes were dark and intense. She knew she couldn't take back the words she'd already said, but quickly decided she didn't want to.

"I think I always have and I just didn't know it."

He was still moving slowly towards her, close enough finally that all she had to do was reach out her hand to touch him. She was both exhilarated and frightened by the intensity of his gaze. Everything felt like they were existing in slow motion. There was an element of fear that he wasn't stalking closer to her for anything other than to cause her pain for keeping the secret of his daughter from him for so long, but somehow that was more exciting than it was terrifying. As much as she knew she wasn't a masochist, she could appreciate that she deserved _some_ sort of pain for what she did. It was only fair that she be punished for her crimes.

She held her breath in anticipation. While she recognized the darkening of her husband's eyes to usually mean desire, she'd also known him to look the same moments before he ripped an enemy's throat out with a spell. Up until the moment Antonin pressed his lips hard against hers, she wasn't certain if she would be the second dead witch in the bedroom or not. She exhaled as the kiss grew more heated. One sharp tug at the towel that she wore uncovered her nakedness. Antonin's hands running up and down her bare back and arse proved that at least for the immediate future he didn't have plans to end her life.

Perhaps it would seem strange to any outsider witnessing the exchange that a man would press his body against his woman's when there was a dead body only a short distance away. If Hermione allowed herself to think about the murder that she just witnessed, she would've pushed him away. But, the rules that Death Eaters lived by didn't always match up with those who hadn't taken the reckless and foolish step to pledge their eternal loyalty to Lord Voldemort. Their lives were more dangerous and chaotic than the average person's, especially in those first years of the regime. Death and sex often went hand in hand. One way to celebrate that a person was still alive following the uncertainty of battle was to indulge in the most carnal and selfish of acts.

Still, knowing that the dead woman was in the same room _should_ have made Hermione ill at ease. The emotions that her confession created, however, were impossible to ignore. Antonin seemed intent on proving that he felt the same way just with the touch of his hands, the feel of his lips, and the press of his body. With the towel no longer hiding anything from his view, he led his wife over to the bed, ignoring the fact that he'd previously been reluctant to even consider any inappropriate acts because of the owner of the piece of furniture and the acts that had already been committed on it.

Every cell in Hermione's body was afire. He hadn't been gentle when he pushed her to top of the mattress. There seemingly wasn't time to be respectful and careful. She didn't care. Not when she could feel the flames threatening to consume her if she didn't have an outlet. Once she lay exposed on the bed, Antonin relinquished his hold on her long enough to divest himself of every stitch of clothing he had on. The anticipation of what was going to come next excited her more than she could ever remember feeling. Was it because she'd finally admitted to her husband and most importantly, to _herself,_ of her true feelings? She'd been unwilling to see what was in front of her for so long that opening up the door to the possibility was overwhelming.

It was important to the wizard that every inch of his witch's body be explored with his lips and tongue. Tempted to shout at him to stop with the infernal teasing, Hermione knew better. He would only torture her more if she made demands. Antonin held all of the power in that moment, a truth that she was no longer afraid of. Despite everything they'd done to hurt each other in the past, they were somehow beyond those transgressions. Perhaps when they were no longer in the heat of the passionate moment they would need to stop and actually have a real conversation about their sins, but that could always wait. There was never a rush.

The heat of their two naked bodies pressing against one another was almost painful in its fervor. Both of them were breathing heavily, their hearts pounding against their ribcages begging for release. She could feel his as his mouth travelled down her torso just as she was certain he could feel hers. There was a desperation in him that she couldn't recall every sensing before. Had her words really been that powerful? Or was it just the effects of the kill he was already beginning to regret? She didn't know and decided that it wasn't important. Life was entirely too harsh and too cruel to focus on the insignificant bits that didn't really matter.

His intent was to worship the body of the witch. She screamed at the feel of his tongue sliding through her slick folds, reaching the sensitive bundle of nerves without hesitation. There was none of the teasing that he liked to employ when he wanted to remind her that he was in control. Somehow they were both in control in that moment. Or neither of them were. He devoured her, leaving no nerve untouched. As he combined the pressure of his mouth with two of his practiced fingers sliding inside her taut and ready body, she thought she would go mad with the pleasure. Her screams filled both of their ears, breaking the silence of the night.

He wrapped her still trembling legs around his waist and proved to her yet again the intensity of his own feelings with a single snap of his hips. She hadn't yet come down from the high of the first orgasm he'd given her when his frenetic pace and insistent touches in just the right places brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure again. Screams of his name and demands that he not stop were all that her incoherent mind could make her tongue utter. Her husband found his own moment of release just as she was finding hers again. They rode the waves together, pressing their lips against each other and wishing that the moment never had to end.

But it couldn't go on forever. With one final groan, Antonin released his seed inside his witch, and collapsed on top of her sweaty body. While they both struggled to catch their breaths, the reality of what they'd just done seemed to fall over them at the same time. Hermione tried to avert her eyes from the corner of the bedroom where the body of her old friend lay with her terrified eyes still wide open even in death. It all felt so wrong.

"We shouldn't have done this here."

Antonin simply nodded his head in complete agreement. There was something sick and disturbing about what they just did. The old rules of the Death Eaters could no longer apply to them. If they wanted to start over a new life without the yoke of the Dark Lord hanging around their necks, they couldn't be the same people they once were. Changes to the world first started in the hearts of the individual people living inside it. He kissed his wife's lips one final time before rolling off her body and then the bed. They couldn't linger in the house any longer. It was wrong. They couldn't continue being those same horrible people.


	347. December 12th

December 12th

The Dolohovs did not linger long in Ginny's house after the murder and the unconventional celebration of sorts concluded. Both of them felt a large measure of shame at their behavior. Acting in the moment was no longer a proper excuse. There had to be some level of propriety. Once they were dressed again, Antonin led his wife out of the house. His frequent travel around the country in recent weeks afforded him the knowledge of a more suitable place for them to spend the night. Neither one of them wished to spend another second in that house.

As soon as he was satisfied that they'd found a safe place to pass the night, Antonin began covering the vacant holiday cottage with all of the usual enchantments and wards he used to protect his family. He spared no effort or energy. With the increasing number of enemies they had, he couldn't afford to be careless. Though it upset Hermione to consider, she knew that something had to be done about Ginny.

"What's going to happen to _her_?"

Saying her name was a struggle. Antonin paused in his spellwork to press his lips against her forehead. She appreciated the gesture even if it didn't make her feel any calmer than she was before.

"I will take care of her. Don't worry about anything. Why don't you take another shower or try the bathtub? I'll come back when I'm done."

There was no sense in arguing with his plan. She might have felt better not being alone after such a chaotic and emotional evening, but he needed to clean up the mess as quickly as possible. Neither one of them knew if she would have anyone come searching. Rodolphus hadn't made it a secret to Hermione that he often sought out the pleasure of her company when he was in need. It would be just like him to find the body. Somehow she didn't get the impression that Rodolphus would take the murder of his spy well.

Antonin didn't return until Hermione was already asleep. She asked him for no details when they both woke up with the sun and he didn't offer. Maybe when emotions weren't quite so high. He didn't linger long in bed once he was awake. With a kiss and a promise that he would be back as soon as he could, her husband was gone again. It was the life of a normal Death Eater wife, one that she'd been fortunate enough to not have to endure because of her own Dark Mark.

It was well after midnight before he returned again. She wondered how long their impossible schedules would continue. Seeing him while she was awake for a only a few minutes every day wasn't conducive to a happy home. Not that she knew what one of those was. Or that they even had a home to go to. As much as it rankled her nerves to not be told what was happening, she understood. Until they knew what Rodolphus did to her mind, no one could afford to be careless enough with their secrets in her presence.

When he slipped into bed carefully in order not to wake her up, Hermione worried that Antonin hadn't forgiven her yet for keeping the secret of his daughter from him. Once they came down from their emotional high in Ginny's bedroom, he'd grown distant, even a little cold. She knew that eventually they would have to face reality. What she had done was a terrible thing. If the situation was reversed, she would've been incensed. The way that he seemed to just try to avoid all mention of the truth bothered her. If they didn't address it sooner, they would come to regret it.

"I'm very sorry that I kept the secret about your daughter for so long."

Antonin's heavy sigh was his initial response. Clearly unaware that she was even awake, when she rolled over to face him in the dim light of their borrowed bedroom, she could see that he'd been hoping to slide between the sheets without confrontation. Realizing that she wasn't going to let him sleep until he made some sort of answer, he leaned across the small distance between their bodies to kiss her.

"I understand why you kept it. I'm not angry."

"You're being awfully calm about this, Antonin."

"What do you want me to do, Hermione? Scream at you? Insult you? Curse you? _Hit_ you?"

"Do you _want_ to do any of those?"

He sighed again, deeper than before.

"If I could get through the rest of my life never having to do any of those things again to _anyone_ , I'd die a happy man."

Wishing to see his face as he spoke, Hermione turned the lamp on next to the bed. Light filled the room, but he didn't complain. At once she could see the changes that had overtaken him since their ordeal began with the fall of the Dark Lord. He was exhausted in more ways than just physically. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him looking so tired and drained. There was more silver showing in his hair than she remembered seeing. It was easy to worry about him. Perhaps Kingsley had a point about his blood pressure even if he was attempting to make a joke when he said it.

"I knew there was something Ginny wasn't telling me. She disappeared so soon after we…" He cleared his throat. "And I didn't see her again for nearly a year? I should've been able to put the pieces together."

"She was in love with you."

"I know… poor girl."

The emotion was thick in his voice. She had so many more questions for him that she feared she would never have the courage to ask if she didn't go ahead and just do it.

"When did you know? How did it happen? Did you love her back?"

His dark eyes widened in shock as he met hers, surprised by the bluntness of her inquiries. He rolled over on his side to face her without straining his neck. She knew based on previous experiences when he'd done the same thing in bed that they were about to have a long talk. As much as it was evident that he didn't want to have the conversation they were having, he knew it had to be done.

" _One_ time. One time we have this conversation and I never want to have it again."

"Sounds fair to me."

"But I want to talk about Malfoy too."

She was hesitant to agree to his terms, but knew that she must. He shouldn't be the only person in that marriage revealing the ugliness of secrets they'd tried to hide. Both of them were guilty of being the worst sorts of spouses. If there was _any_ hope of a better relationship for them in the future, which Hermione still wasn't entirely certain was possible, they had to get all of the ugliness out and on the metaphorical table. With a nod of her head, she accepted because she was tired of the secrets too.

"I suspected she loved me right before you came back home on Ollie's birthday. I _knew_ the night I told her we couldn't see each other again days later. She was angry that I wanted to make it work with you, but I realized later it was because she was hurting. She even told me that night that all it would take was one word from her and I'd leave you in a second."

"Is that true? If she told you about Maisie, would you have left me to start a family with her?"

Part of her was afraid to learn the answer. What if it wasn't what she wanted to hear? She _hated_ that she still felt so inadequate next to the other witch. It was embarrassing to be stuck in the mentality of a teenager. Some aspects of her life, however, she feared would never change no matter how old she grew.

"No, I wouldn't have left you for Ginny. I would've taken responsibility for Maisie, but no, _you_ are my wife and I've never wanted another. And, _no_ , I never loved Ginny. I was cruel to her."

An awkward silence fell between them. Ginny's death was going to haunt Antonin for the rest of his life. Just like she couldn't go a single day without thinking about Oliver Wood, she knew that he would feel the same about the mother of his daughter. Regret would follow him around forever.

"When did you and Malfoy..? Did you love him? Did he love you? _Do_ you love him?"

It was her turn to release a heavy sigh. She really didn't want to talk about Draco, but at least they both made the promise that they would only have that conversation one time.

"I was staying at his flat after you found me at Augie's. Nothing happened until the night of the twentieth anniversary in May. We drank too much and…"

She trusted that he could use his own imagination. There was simply no way that she would provide any details of the encounter or of any of the following. The other questions were even more awkward to answer though she knew it was necessary. If she didn't tell Antonin the truth, his imagination would likely make it all much worse than it really was.

"No, I'm not in love with him. Even if I'd managed to fall in love with him, I would've stopped because of all of the times he betrayed me to Rodolphus."

Antonin was uncomfortable by her confession. She didn't understand why. Shouldn't he have been relieved to know that there hadn't been real feelings involved in her dalliance with Draco? He seemed to be holding something back, acting as if he had something he wanted to say but was unsure how.

"And would it have made a difference to you if you learned that he only 'betrayed' you to Rodolphus because I asked him to?"

She felt her forehead crinkle up with her confusion. He wasn't meeting her eyes. Instead he stared at the blankets covering them.

"What are you saying, Antonin?"

"We couldn't afford for Rodolphus to become suspicious of Draco, so he had to keep up the act of still being on his side. When Rodolphus ordered him to do something, he did it. He _had_ to keep telling the truth about where you were or what you were doing or who you were seeing because if he didn't, Rodolphus wouldn't trust him anymore."

Armed with the new knowledge, Hermione wasn't sure if anything would've been different. She just really didn't know. Still unable to offer up an honest answer to his question, she stopped to think it all over before she attempted to form a response. The more she considered the events of the past almost year, the more she was convinced that even knowing that he was only betraying her as a way to keep his status as a spy under wraps wouldn't have made a bit of difference. There was something _off_ about Draco that she couldn't quite describe or explain. She'd felt it many times, especially when their relationship became so convoluted.

"No, Draco represents what my life _could've_ been like if the Dark Lord died instead of Harry. Maybe a part of me was in love with the _idea_ of being in love with him, but no. That's it. I don't love Draco and he certainly doesn't love me."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm not sure Draco even knows how to love someone."

There was a disconcerting truth that she admitted only to herself. Antonin might claim to understand if she tried to share, but she knew in the end she would only end up hurting him. Hadn't she done enough of that already? She recognized the cold detachment from the world in Draco that she was all too familiar with. For most of her life she was exactly the same way. Only in recent days did it feel like she was waking up from that coldness. If Draco loved anyone, it was deep down and hidden, probably even from himself.

"Do you have any further questions, Antonin? Because I don't. You've told me all I want to know."

With a shake of his head, her husband leaned over to kiss her one final time before she turned out the lamp and they both fell asleep.


	348. December 13th

**_Author's Note: Please vote in the poll on my profile if you haven't already. I would love your opinions! Thank you!_**

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December 13th

Hermione's list of enemies had grown surprisingly short in the aftermath of recent days. No longer was she concerned with _everyone_ whose name was written down on the parchment that Draco gave her months earlier. Most of them didn't matter to her in the slightest anymore. And besides, a number had already met their own sticky, painful end. She didn't know or even care to know any longer which of the witches and wizards on the list were truly on Rodolphus' side or were being influenced by her husband in secret.

There was only one enemy she wanted to get rid of. Rodolphus had been alive entirely too long. If it was possible to do so without getting herself hurt, she would've gone searching for the wizard to finally put an end to one of their miseries. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that she would win without question. He had been a Death Eater before she was even born and during some of the most dangerous and tumultuous days of their Dark Lord's life. Trying to kill him without being fully prepared could easily become her own death sentence.

Of course she wasn't able to actually do anything about the horrible wizard until the spell that he placed in her head was removed. What if she was successful in killing him only to discover that the spell was activated upon his death? Fenrir offered the plausible suggestion that it would likely be broken when he died like most spells, but she was afraid to believe that was the truth. Waiting around for the next steps was maddening. There had still been no word from Babajide Akingbade about his research. She was starting to lose faith that anything would come out of it. Most likely she was on her own just as she had been for most of her life.

Sitting around the cottage with nothing to occupy her mind other than her failures and fears was no way to pass the day. Deciding to go for a walk to clear her mind, she scribbled out a note to Antonin in the unlikely chance that he returned when she was out. She didn't want him to think that she'd run away again or that she was in trouble. All she needed was some fresh air and physical exertion.

It was encouraging to feel more like herself again. The effects of Rodolphus drugging her could no longer be felt. Following the terrible recovery she had, she knew that she couldn't allow herself to ever willingly imbibe another vial of that putrid, delicious concoction again. No amount of numbness was worth the side-effects. She had to also be careful not to put herself in a position where she could have it poured down her throat forcibly. Death was preferable to that wretched experience again.

The cold wintery air was bracing, but she didn't mind. It helped to remind her that she was still alive, still human. Only a few steps away from the cottage she heard the distinctive sound of footsteps behind her. While it was entirely likely that it was just an innocent Muggle staying in a nearby cottage, she couldn't afford to be too careful. Besides, crossing the path of the wrong Muggle could be just as dangerous as wizards. One didn't need magic to be deadly. That was a lesson she'd almost learned the hard way while she was on the run a couple of times. There were Muggles who might have even been worse than the worst of the Death Eaters.

With a firm grip on her wand still stashed in her pocket, Hermione spun around quickly to catch the person following her in the act. Immediately she sighed and rolled her eyes. It shouldn't have been a surprise that Draco managed to catch her alone again. Somehow he always seemed to know where she was and when she was by herself.

"What do you want, Draco?"

Once she thought his smirk was attractive. In that moment, however, it simply annoyed her that someone as handsome as Draco Malfoy could be devious and deceitful. Fairy tales often got it all wrong. The monsters weren't always grotesque and difficult to look at. Sometimes they were the most beautiful people in the entire story. An attractive monster was much more terrifying than an ugly one because humans were naturally conditioned to trust those they found to be good-looking.

"Can I not just be out for a stroll? Lovely weather, is it not?"

She rolled her eyes to prove that she didn't find him the least bit humorous. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him to stay longer than required. But, she couldn't deny that having him suddenly appear when her mind was in such turmoil wasn't necessarily bad. There were some questions that she wanted to ask him even if the thought of conducting a conversation was loathsome.

"Would you care to explain your theatrics the other day? I don't believe for a second that anything you did was on accident. What was the purpose of telling Antonin about us? And being so vile and disgusting?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Though he was much calmer and seemingly less deranged than he was the day he practically attacked her in Rodolphus' guest bedroom and the day in Ginny's house, she knew better than to believe that all was well. He was like a snake sunning on a stone. While he might look like he was perfectly at ease, one false move and he would strike.

"I thought Dolohov deserved to know the truth about his wife."

"He already knew. He found out months ago. You simply angered him by being so foul about it."

His grey eyes narrowed at her announcement.

"What do you mean he already knew? We were careful."

"Not careful enough apparently. He suspected there was something between us when we were sharing the tent back in February. Apparently, Ginny told him that we were together."

"Nosy bitch."

Somehow she got the impression from the wizard that he wouldn't be sad to learn of Ginny's death. He was more likely to crack a smile than shed a tear. His disgust for the entire Weasley family had always been well-known. Perhaps he could pretend that his hatred was gone long enough to pretend to be allies, but she knew that some anger ran deep. Even if Rodolphus' disgusting statement about him having sex with Ginny was true, that didn't mean that he actually cared about her. No, Draco was playing his own game. That was the one truth that Hermione knew without question.

"He also placed a tracking spell on me one afternoon when I met you in London and then we went to your flat."

"Sounds like there's a great deal of trust in your marriage."

"My marriage is _none_ of your business."

She felt like she was betraying Antonin any time his name came up when she was alone with Draco. That was a feeling that was likely to never go away. She'd shared some truly intimate moments with the fair-haired wizard that she wished she could take back. While they had certainly been a great deal of fun and a pleasant way to keep her mind distracted at times, she knew he was nothing but trouble.

"Were you lying to me the day you told me that you thought you might finally understand what it meant to love someone?"

He didn't appreciate being reminded of the day he'd shared such a personal statement while in bed. Unable to look her in the eye, he stared at the frozen ground instead. She wasn't deterred. If she was forced to be in his presence again, she was determined that she would at least use the time to her advantage.

"Why would you say something like that? To scare me away? To encourage me to throw myself at you again? I don't understand. You didn't mean it. What was your purpose?"

"What if I told you that that was one of the only _real_ things I ever said to you?"

Brave enough to meet her eyes again, she could sense something strange in the man. He lacked some of the usual confidence that he carried. Either he was actually telling her the truth or he was doing a damned fine job of pretending he was. Despite her many years of experience ferreting out the truth from those she tortured for information, she struggled to properly read the wizard. Maybe she was too close to the situation to be impartial or objective. He'd been eliciting strong emotions out of her since they were eleven.

"I would say that I don't believe you, that you've spent too much time under the influence of your _uncle_."

"He's not really my uncle. Not since my aunt's death."

"Doesn't matter. He's always treated you like his nephew."

Mention of Rodolphus brought up the very real fear that he was about to betray her location to the horrible wizard. Was that why he was there in the first place? To figure out where she'd gone running? Rodolphus might have been an exceedingly patient man, but he had his limits. It was imperative to him that he complete whatever it was he'd been planning with Hermione. He might allow her to lull herself into a false sense of security for a little while. Eventually he'd strike back again.

The accusation of tracking her just to betray her hiding place again was on her tongue before she remembered that Antonin took back the pendant that he used to track her. It still hung around her neck. How was it possible that he was able to track her again? Did he find some other possession of hers that she'd left behind somewhere or had he stolen something without her realizing it? He was full of mysteries that she wasn't even sure she wanted to solve.

"How did you find me here? You don't have my necklace any longer."

Draco closed the distance between their bodies in a couple of strides of his long legs. Realizing that she'd somehow managed to back herself into a corner, Hermione worried about what was going to happen next. She would fight him, of course, but she didn't really want to bring attention to the area. Muggles were nearby. Even in the midst of turmoil within the government and the uncertainty of who was really in charge, the International Statute of Secrecy was still in force. If the British Ministry of Magic didn't enforce the law, there were plenty of International agents who would be called upon to clean up the mess. She didn't fancy spending any amount of time in one of the dreadful wizarding prisons on the continent waiting endlessly for trial simply because she couldn't keep control of the volatile situation.

"I can _always_ find you when I need to, Hermione."

She could smell the sweet spiciness of his cologne. Likely costing more than the average family spent on food for an entire year or more, it was subtle enough to be distinctive with his own body chemistry and just noticeable enough to announce to the world that he had more money than he knew what to do with. There was a time in the not so distant past that she liked inhaling deeply against his skin to fill her senses with the familiar scent. He lifted the corner of one side of his mouth, more than aware of the effect he had on her in such close confines.

"But, it wasn't actually you I was tracking. I tracked your husband to this location late last night and returned this morning to wait for him to leave so I could have a private word with you."

"Why?"

"Maybe I just missed you and wanted to see your pretty face."

Rolling her eyes, she moved to step away from him. Just as quickly, he moved to intercept her. Close enough that they could touch if they only wanted to, she prepared herself for causing him physical harm if he tried. She'd made the decision that she wouldn't even entertain the idea of a man other than her husband taking liberties with her body again. She wouldn't allow it. A severing charm to the bollocks would be his reward.

"Just remember that I can find Dolohov whenever I wish."

He held up the wristwatch she'd given Antonin on his fiftieth birthday. How he'd managed to get his hands on that was a mystery, and one she knew that he wouldn't tell even if she asked. His smirk unnerved her just as much as his words. Was he threatening harm to her husband? Before she could ask him to clarify his intentions, Draco spun in place and Disapparated away. Hermione didn't linger outside a moment longer. The walk in the cold air had done exactly what it was supposed to.


	349. December 14th

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December 14th

Hermione didn't have a chance to speak to her husband until very late the night she was approached by Draco. It was maddening to be left alone for so long knowing her location had been exposed to one who didn't seem to wish her well. The only comfort she had and the one piece of knowledge that was keeping her from running out to find Antonin herself was the fact that Draco didn't actually come inside their cottage. He had to wait out in the cold until Hermione chose to exit. That seemed to her an excellent indication that the wards Antonin erected to keep them safe inside were effective at keeping everyone else out. It was a small comfort.

Somehow she managed to fall asleep while she was waiting for Antonin to return to their temporary home. Apparently waiting up long enough made even the most proficient worrier sleepy at some point. The gentle shaking of the mattress as Antonin climbed in beside her woke Hermione out of a series of ever-more increasingly disturbing dreams. Was there ever a time when she was able to sleep comfortably without fear of nightmares? It seemed too long ago in the past to remember.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Is this our life now? You're gone all day and most of the night only to apologize to me when you wake me up?"

She didn't mean for her words to be so harsh, but it was too late to stop them. Antonin wasn't in the mood for a fight. He never really was nor was she. They just always sort of seemed to happen on their own. Realizing she was in the wrong and essentially attacking him when he was contrite and just trying to get to bed, she sighed.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been able to rest all day waiting for you to come back. I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you."

"Did something happen today when I was gone?"

"Yes."

He turned on the lamp and sat up, exhaustion replaced with concern. Glad that she was finally going to have the opportunity to tell him about his stolen watch, she sat up too.

"Draco Malfoy came by to see me when you were gone."

"Did he come _inside_ this house?"

"No, he followed me when I went outside to take a walk."

He relaxed only slightly at the knowledge that his wards held against the wizard. If he started in with her about how dangerous it was to go outside, she wasn't going to give a damn whether or not he was in the mood to fight. She refused to be treated like a child or a prisoner. They were going to be equal partners or they were going to be nothing. When he didn't start a lecture, she felt slightly less annoyed even if she could tell by the look in his eyes that that was exactly what he wished to do. She could understand the reasons why no one was telling her anything that was happening in the fight against Rodolphus and his minions, but that didn't mean she was going to allow him to treat her poorly.

"What did Malfoy want?"

"To taunt me, I think. I'm not really sure. Who can ever be certain what he means?"

Nothing about her conversation with Draco made the least bit of sense. Only a fool would believe him when he claimed that he'd been honest with her about his feelings. She wasn't stupid. He was playing a game, a dangerous game that could very well end in her death or the deaths of people she loved. The wizard was infuriating.

"What did he say to you? Anything unusual?"

"Everything about the horrible man is unusual, but no, _I_ was the one who asked the most questions."

"What questions?"

She wished she could go back in time thirty seconds to keep her mouth shut. Opening up about the weird confession Draco made in bed months earlier the night before she returned to Hogsmeade wouldn't be a comfortable conversation. But, based on the expression splashed across her husband's face, she knew that she would have to divulge the truth. She was done with secrets in her marriage. They would either be completely honest with each other, once the spell was removed from her head of course, or she was done.

"Draco claimed one night back in May that he thought he was falling in love with me. It was complete lunacy."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't love me! How could he?"

"I've been in love with you for twenty years, so perhaps I'm not the best one for you to convince otherwise. I can think of _plenty_ of reasons to love you."

Maybe a day would come when she wouldn't be so ill at ease when her husband was blunt about his intense feelings for her. Even considering the fact that she was finally able to admit to him and to _herself_ that she loved him back, she didn't know how to have such an open conversation about their emotions. There had always been bits and pieces of Antonin that she'd admired. Perhaps not from the _first_ day when he forced her to stand in place and just stare at the food she wasn't allowed to touch. No, that lesson had been an exercise she wouldn't mind forgetting. But days after that when some of his kindness began to peek through his fearsome Death Eater persona, she found that she liked him.

Men desired respect every bit as much as women desired love. In order to feel like they were in a worthwhile relationship, men needed to feel that respect unconditionally. As she was getting to know the man who once had a starring role in the worst of her nightmares, she began to respect him, even admire him. There was much more to him than she could've ever imagined. More than just some mindless, one-dimensional baddie who served a cruel master, she saw there was more depth to him. It hadn't been hard for her to cling to some semblance of humanity when she was desperate for connection in that horrible time. She knew that it caused him more pain than anything when she disrespected him throughout their marriage. Sometimes she did it just because she knew it would hurt him.

Perhaps that was why she took such offense to women like Ginny Weasley and Andromeda Tonks. She didn't feel an ounce of jealousy towards Gemma Lestrange because she knew that his affair with her was only borne out of the urge for revenge. There had been no love or actual feelings involved. Just mindless fucking that made her sick to her stomach if she thought about it for any length of time. But the other two women? She worried that he could actually love them in a way that she wanted to only be reserved for herself. It was a sick sort of obsession. She knew it was unhealthy. Even when she didn't know that she loved him, she didn't want him to love any other woman but her.

"Draco isn't the sort of person to fall in love. He's too calculated."

"You make him sound like a miserable sort of person."

"I think he probably is. But no, he wasn't being honest. He was just telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. Likely he's been doing that his entire life when around women. With men too, for all I know. The more I think I know the man, the more I realize I don't know anything about him."

It was bizarre that Draco popped back into her life so suddenly almost a year earlier. For twenty years he'd only been on the very peripheral of her world. She didn't pay him much mind. There was no reason. The Malfoys were all jokes in their society. Jokes that weren't funny. Held up as an example for how far a family could fall, few wanted to even speak to them. Hermione didn't know Draco. She never had. If he hadn't appeared in her stolen bedroom right as the new year began, she wouldn't have given him much thought.

"And if it turned out his feelings _were_ genuine? What then?"

She had to stop to really consider how she would answer his question. Draco continued to be an enigma. One moment she couldn't stand the very sight of him and then the next she was worried about him and wished to know that he was all right. Few people had ever had that effect on her. Was it just simply because he was a leftover remnant from an adolescence that was stolen from her or was there something much more complicated at play? It was infuriating to not know the truth.

Deciding that it didn't matter whatsoever whether or not Draco was telling the truth, Hermione was ready to end the conversation. They weren't getting anywhere. If she said the wrong word she knew that Antonin's legendary insecurity and jealousy would take over his better senses. It was amazing how a confident and intelligent man like her husband could be reduced to nothing but a petty, envious child when aspects of his life weren't going as he wished. She wondered if there was something about his childhood that would explain how he could be completely fearless in every area of his life and reduced to such pettiness with the woman he loved. No doubt a Muggle psychiatrist would have a fascinating time exploring the depths of his malfunctions. Hers too, if she allowed one to get close enough.

"I don't love Draco, Antonin. Like I said before, I think I was in love with the _idea_ of loving him when I was at my lowest and loneliest. That's not where I am anymore."

It was as truthful as she was prepared to be about such a delicate topic. As more time passed and the feelings involved weren't so fresh and raw, maybe she would be willing to discuss it in more depth. As it was, she was embarrassed that for even the briefest of moments she allowed Draco to convince her that there was more between them than there actually was. He was possibly the most manipulative man that she'd ever met. Considering the horrible wizards she'd had the misfortune of knowing over the years as a Death Eater, that was saying something.

"I think I was in love with the idea of being in love with Ginny. Maybe I even convinced myself for a moment or two that there could have been something real between us."

Her first instinct was to tell her husband to shut up about his murdered mistress, but she knew that wouldn't be fair. She couldn't allow her own jealousies and insecurities to get in the way of one of the few open, honest conversations they'd had in their entire marriage. Even when they were in the privacy of their Hogsmeade bedroom whispering about their frustrations with the regime and those that they served with, there had always been a large amount of guarding their true feelings. If Antonin was able to sit there calmly as she discussed wishing she could be in love with another man, she could afford him the same courtesy.

"As angry as I am that I haven't even met my daughter yet, I'm glad she didn't tell me about Maisie when she was first born. I think I was so unhappy that I might've been able to convince myself that I would've been happier with her."

"So you would've left me?"

"Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I might have. I know what I said the other night, but maybe I wasn't being entirely honest with myself. Think about how miserable we were four years ago, love. How nervous Ollie was every second we were both home. What is that saying? 'The grass is always greener on the other side'? It would've been a dismal failure. We would never have worked even if the Dark Lord allowed it to happen in the first place."

"Why not?"

He leaned across the bed to gently kiss her lips.

"Because even when I thought I hated you, I've never loved _anyone_ as much as I have loved you."

Theirs would never be a love that was written about in any sort of romance novel or sappy song. Unless, of course, it was written as a warning to those who heard the tale of what _not_ to do. She hoped that at the very least they were a good enough example for their son to wish to aspire to be better. Already she thought Oliver was a better person than both of his parents combined.

Antonin turned the lamp off and slid back down to lay his head on his pillow. With a simple opening of his arms, he invited his wife to find comfort with him. Hermione decided that if he wasn't afraid that Draco was able to track them, she wouldn't be either.


	350. December 15th

December 15th

Antonin was more annoyed that his watch was missing than he was that Draco Malfoy was using it to track his location. When Hermione gave him all of the details of the uncomfortable interaction she had with the wizard, she'd been surprised that he didn't seem to be bothered by anything other than the loss of his watch again.

"I'd just gotten the damn thing back too."

She smiled at his petulant complaint about the loss the watch that he valued so highly. Part of her wished that she could have the same confidence that he did in their safety. Even when she asked him to try to remember how it would've even been possible for Draco to steal the watch from him in the first place, he wasn't bothered. Just made a promise to her that he would do what was necessary to get it back.

"And you're not the least bit concerned that he can track you, Antonin?"

He scoffed and then smiled large enough that she could see his dimples. It was an expression she loved seeing. Too few times in the past was there anything to be so happy and carefree about.

"The day that I'm scared of what a _Malfoy_ can do to me is the day that I hope my heart stops beating."

"You're awfully arrogant."

"I have every right to be in this case. I've never been afraid of the Malfoys and I'm certainly not going to start now."

Two days after Hermione spoke with Draco outside of their holiday cottage, Antonin still wasn't even bothered enough by the event to suggest moving to a different cottage. There was no point after all. If Draco tracked him to that cottage, he would just track them to the next one too. He never told her that she couldn't leave the safety of the wards he'd erected. Only suggested that she be very careful if she decided to go outside. When she made the flippant remark about how she assumed he would insist that she remain inside, he'd acted chastised and almost hurt.

"You're not my prisoner, Hermione. And I don't think you're incapable of taking care of yourself."

"Then why did you get so upset right after the Dark Lord died and insisted I stay inside the wards or be thrown out forever?"

He released a heavy sigh at her question. Focused temporarily on the eggs he was cooking for their breakfast, he didn't immediately answer it. Several times since those tense weeks when they were still living in their Hogsmeade home she wondered about his controlling behavior. It wasn't like him to be so forceful and demanding of her. While she knew they were living under dangerous conditions, he'd never treated her like a child. With the exception of the first few months she lived in his attic room, of course.

"Because you were not yourself. And I don't think you'd been yourself for a very long time at that point."

"What do you mean?"

"I meant what I said when we were living at Gus' that I didn't think you could be the person you used to be, that you weren't capable of being as cold as you used to be. I know what you thought. That I was some patronizing old man who was treating you like a helpless baby. Maybe I was. Merlin knows I'm not perfect. Maybe you thought I was suffocating you or not treating you like an equal, but that's not how I saw it at all. Sometimes treating someone like an equal, especially when that person is _your_ partner, is telling them that they're not ready or capable. Would you have preferred that I lie to you and tell you that you were perfect and there was nothing wrong with you?"

"No."

She hated when he had a point. Sometimes the differences in their ages caused them to see the world just a little bit differently. He also had the unfortunate benefit of living for so long under the cruel and dehumanizing dementors. Those years in Azkaban changed him for good. In an effort to keep those he loved protected, he didn't always care about their feelings. Keeping them alive meant a sight more than worrying about whether or not he was being overbearing or dominating. It could be infuriating, but she understood and couldn't summon up even the tiniest bit of hatred or resentment for him for behaving as he did. Reality was far from a fairy tale.

"You were unraveling. I worried that any moment you were going to…"

"What? Go completely insane?"

"Do you want me to be honest?"

There wasn't a need. If anyone alive knew how close she was to going completely round the bend, it was her husband. He'd been present for many moments that no one else was. How many times did she try to kill him when she was having an episode? While she knew the truth about _why_ she was behaving so bizarrely, neither of them did at the time. It was a legitimate fear for Antonin that she would one day lose complete control over what mental faculties she had remaining. She shook her head.

"There's a change in you, love. When we were still at home, I worried that you would do something foolish that would put Ollie in danger. Now, I know that you would kill anyone who tried to hurt him. Even a scared teenage witch ordered by her father to push a suit of armor on top of him."

"To be fair, I have no reservations killing _anyone_ with the last name Lestrange."

With the skillet still in his hand, Antonin crossed over to the table to spoon some of the eggs onto her plate. He smiled at her remark and leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. Some of the tension from their conversation loosened. Neither of them said anything further for the next couple of minutes while he finished serving their meal and took his seat at the table. She'd forgotten how much she missed the simple everyday moments.

"Months ago, I was worried that you might be careless with Ollie's safety because you weren't yourself. I no longer have that worry. I _know_ that you are capable of doing what is necessary to keep yourself safe and protected. You've proven that repeatedly for months now. I no longer fear for you."

"Liar. Fenrir said he could smell it on you."

He rolled his eyes at her smile.

"Perhaps I should've said that I'm no longer _as_ afraid for you as I was. I will always be afraid for you and for Ollie and now for Maisie. And the werewolf should really keep his nose to himself."

There was no heat behind his remark about Fenrir. She knew that because of his aid to her when she was vulnerable and alone, Antonin felt like he owed a debt to her friend. While she never expected there to come a day when they could all be friendly enough to share a holiday meal together, it was something. At least _some_ of the hatred he felt for the werewolf was gone.

Most of their meal was consumed in silence. Already they'd had a serious discussion for so early in the morning. More were sure to come, but they didn't rush towards them. For the moment it was pleasant to just enjoy the companionable silence that they hadn't had much chance to experience since the whole ordeal with the Dark Lord's death began.

"It's almost Christmas. I can't believe this year has gone by so quickly. This time last year I was…"

She stopped herself mid-sentence to keep from admitting where she'd actually been. It was still a sensitive subject. Based on the slight reddening of Antonin's cheeks and the way he didn't meet her eyes, she knew that he didn't want to talk about what the previous year had been like. Maybe one day when all of their present worries were over, assuming they both lived that long of course, they could have a frank discussion about that horrible year. She hoped that it would finally clear the air.

"Well, no matter, students will be leaving the castle soon. What is going to happen to Ollie? This cottage makes a pretty dismal place for him to visit."

"Ollie has asked to remain in the castle for the break between terms and I think that would be best considering how uncertain everything is right now."

"When did you speak to him?"

"He sent an owl to Thorfinn's house last week. I honestly put it out of my mind completely until you mentioned Christmas just now."

A lot had happened in the past week. Hermione couldn't fault her husband for forgetting to tell her what their son said. Hogwarts seemed like the safest place in the world for him to remain. She smiled at Antonin to show him that she wasn't upset.

"He's worried about his little mate Hugo. Didn't want him to be alone in the dormitory for Christmas. Especially not since it's his first Christmas since his dad died."

Being reminded about Ron's death felt like a punch to Hermione's stomach. Would it always be that painful? Once she learned about Ginny's role in her brother's death and _why_ she was forced to do it, she tried not to think about her old friend. It was too hard. She didn't want to imagine how difficult the first Christmas without him would be for his family.

"Why is Hugo staying in the castle? Why isn't he going home?"

"I'm assuming first of all because there _is_ no home to go back to. Not after the explosion that killed his father. Ollie didn't give me a lot of details, but he said enough to confirm what I already knew. Romilda Weasley has not been handling the death of her husband very well."

"I'm not surprised. Anyone with two eyes in their head could see how much they loved each other."

"There was a rumor that Romilda had to spend several days in St. Mungo's after hearing about her husband's death. She may not be physically able to care for her children over the break."

The loss of a spouse and a parent was the depressing reality of their world. Hermione had been responsible for depriving many of theirs in her lifetime. Some of them she would never feel regret for. She didn't care for the direction their conversation was going. Reminders about the children who wouldn't have their parents with them over the Christmas break because of her actions were depressing. She decided to move their discussion into a different direction.

"While I'm certainly going to miss seeing Ollie for Christmas this year, you're right about Hogwarts being the best place for him."

"This won't last forever. Once Mr. Akingbade finds out what spell is still left in your head, we will get rid of it and then I will take immense pleasure in killing Rodolphus."

"Only if I don't kill him first."

Her vehemence amused her husband. She meant every word. While it didn't really matter by whose hand Rodolphus was murdered, she preferred it to be her own. After everything that he'd done to her, all of the _years_ of manipulating her mind, she thought she deserved to kill him more than anyone else.

"Once Rodolphus is dead, we can move on with our lives."

"Yes, we can. But honestly, I'm tempted to go to the castle and drag Ollie out anyway. I want him where I can see him. I don't even think I would mind homeschooling him."

Antonin's laughter made her laugh too. She was only being honest. He leaned across the small table to kiss her lips.

"You would make a _terrible_ teacher. It would be a disaster. You would both hate each other."

"Fine. Then _you_ be the teacher. You should've been one of those to begin with. You're good at it."

The rest of the meal passed leisurely until Antonin had to make his excuses to leave again. She enjoyed the time she spent with her husband, the rare moments of peace that she'd missed. Something told her that they wouldn't last much longer.


	351. December 16th

December 16th

Being married to a high-ranking Death Eater, even when she was one herself, came with a lot of frustrations and aggravations that Hermione hoped would one day no longer be a problem. Waiting around and being patient had never been her greatest strength. If she had a choice, she would have rather been out in the middle of the excitement than sitting back home counting the minutes until Antonin returned home to tell her what happened. Some wives were capable of enduring those uncertainties with grace and patience. She wasn't one of them.

Shortly after they finished their breakfast the morning the previous day, there was a familiar buzzing in Antonin's trousers that brought their pleasant morning to a screeching halt. Thorfinn wouldn't give him any details where either Hermione could hear or anyone else who might've figured out how to charm their mirror to hear all of the conversations. The wizards spoke in a sort of code that made no sense to outside ears. With a swift kiss to her lips, her husband promised her that he would return as soon as he could. Moments later he was rushing out the door with no further explanation.

He didn't come home that night. It was hardly the first time in their marriage that Hermione had to spend the night alone in their shared bed. That was part of being married to the Dark Lord's most trusted general. Likewise, Antonin had to endure the same when his wife was stuck at the Ministry down in Level Eleven with a particularly stubborn or important victim. While she always felt more comfortable with him close enough that she could brush the tips of her fingers against his skin if she needed to reassure herself that she wasn't alone, it wasn't like she didn't know how to be by herself. It was just one more inconvenience she'd had to allow herself to become inured to.

When he didn't return the next morning, she tried not to worry. Afraid to leave the cottage just in case he returned while she was out, she didn't stray even once out the front door. The holiday cottage was well-stocked with food thanks to the foresight of her husband and with the cold weather outside, she didn't have any reason to leave anyway. It still bothered her that Draco found them. Was he still waiting out there for her to step outside again? If he was, that was just one more reason to stay inside. She didn't know all that he was capable of. The next time their paths crossed, he might not be content to just talk.

Over twenty-four hours passed with no sign of her husband and no message assuring her of his well-being. Even that wasn't terribly unusual. He'd disappeared for days at a time before. No matter what, he always came back. She tried to remind herself of that truth as she climbed into bed for a second night alone. Antonin was a dangerous wizard who knew how to take care of himself. Why then could she not shake the overwhelming feeling that something was terribly wrong? She'd been merely unsettled for most of the time he was away. That was normal and to be expected considering what was happening outside. She knew enough to understand nothing was settled even if no one would give her any details. It was only as she tossed and turned in her empty bed that she could no longer ignore the twisting and churning of her belly.

Something was seriously wrong. She didn't know what it was or even where to begin to discover the truth, but she just _knew_. Her instincts saved her countless times in her lifetime, especially as one of the Dark Lord's faithful. Each minute that passed only further encouraged her to believe something terrible happened. Unable to sit still another moment and certainly unable to sleep, Hermione got out of bed at half-past eleven. She had to do _something_ , anything to try to keep her fear under control.

Thorfinn's house was the most logical place to start looking for answers. A thorough sweep of their entire cottage came up empty for a single possession owned by her husband. He'd even tucked his discarded pajamas and dirty clothes into his own leather bag he carried everywhere. Not for the first time she was angry at herself for giving him his watch back. If she'd known he was only going to get it stolen by Draco, she would've kept it. The moment she was dressed and wrapped up in her warmest cloak, she exited the safety of the cottage to begin her search.

No one was home in the Rowle house. Usually moving forward and distracting her mind helped Hermione to push away the feelings of dread and doom that plagued her, but every second that ticked closer to midnight only made her feel worse. Trusting that Thorfinn would understand and forgive her impertinence later when she had a chance to apologize, she blasted through the wards covering the front door to his house and invited herself inside.

"Thorfinn?"

She repeated his name multiple times just in case he was inside. Known for being a heavy sleeper, a trait so few Death Eaters possessed, it was often joked that Thorfinn could sleep through the Hogwarts Express passing through his bedroom. Satisfied that she was indeed alone, she went straight to his bedroom. If Thorfinn wasn't with her husband, he would most likely know where he could be found. She was ready to demand Antonin give her one of his enchanted mirrors just for her own peace of mind. It wouldn't even matter that others could witness their conversations. Rodolphus had to have known by then that she was back with Antonin. Maybe that's why she had such a strong worry in her guts.

Thorfinn didn't own much in the way of jewelry beyond the simple wedding band Hannah gave him that he never took off. Even though she felt uncomfortable going through his personal possessions without permission, Hermione didn't believe she had a choice. She had to dig through the drawer in his nightstand to find an old gold ring with the Rowle family crest she'd seen him wear before. The moment the ring had a bluish glow thanks to the spell, she Disapparated out of his bedroom straight to his current location.

Her feet landed in a dark, gloomy Diagon Alley. Despite being so close to Christmas, the shopping district was empty at the late hour. She stood just outside of Teddy Lupin's store. Most of the lights were off inside the Junk Shop, but she knew she would find the burly wizard inside. Something felt eerie about the place. The gnawing in her gut hadn't lessened in the slightest.

One step inside the shop and the evidence that there had been a struggle was impossible to miss. Shelves were knocked over. Broken glass covered the floor. Unsure if the attackers were still inside, Hermione held her wand out, ready to attack at the first sign of trouble. It was tempting to call out for the wizard she was tracking, but she knew it was unwise to do so. She couldn't be certain who might call out in response. Confined spaces could be much more dangerous than open ones if one wasn't careful.

Finding Thorfinn wasn't difficult. He always seemed to take up too much room. Sprawled on his back, the wizard was out cold. Terrified at first that he'd been killed, she reminded herself of one of the facts she learned during her tracking lesson with Draco. The spell wouldn't work on someone who was dead. Just the very fact that she was able to track Thorfinn proved he'd only been injured, possibly just stunned.

A cursory exam didn't reveal any serious injuries that she could see. There wasn't even any blood. Taking a chance she cast a rennervate straight to his chest. Within moments Thorfinn began to groan and clutch his head.

"Are you all right? Anything hurt?"

"Just my head, I think."

"Oh, good. Then nothing serious or something you actually use."

Thorfinn snorted at her poor attempt at a joke. At the very least it helped to break the tension a tiny bit even if she still felt worried and unsettled. What happened there? Why was Thorfinn alone? He wasn't the easiest target to attack. Battle-tested and fierce, it was surprising to not see any of his own victims laying in a pool of blood at his feet. Who would attack him without getting injured themselves?

"What are you doing here, Princess?"

"Looking for you."

She held up the ring she'd stolen to track him. Concerned at first that he might be angry, she relaxed when he laughed and took it out of her hand.

"Well, you found me."

"What happened here?"

"Antonin and I came here to meet with…" He cleared his throat before he continued. She just rolled her eyes, annoyed that thanks to Rodolphus, no one was able to tell her anything. "Doesn't matter who. We were attacked from behind. Bloody cowards. Antonin was able to get a few spells off but they attacked me first. Stunned me. I don't know why they didn't just kill me."

Though she certainly was glad that he _wasn't_ killed, Hermione thought it strange too. Most Death Eaters killed without thinking or caring much about the ramifications. A lot of changes had taken place in their world since her husband murdered the Dark Lord with a pillow, but not that much. Only someone acting on orders to _not_ kill Thorfinn would've bothered to spare him. It was the smart move to get rid of Thorfinn as soon as possible. Clearly their attackers knew them well enough to know that fact.

"Thorfinn, where's Antonin?"

"He must be here, Princess. He was _right_ next to me."

She was afraid to check the rest of the shop. What if she couldn't find him? Or worse, what if she did and he wasn't just stunned like his best friend? Her fear that something was terribly wrong hadn't gone away, but she knew she would only go mad with speculation if she didn't find out what happened to Antonin. Maybe there was still time to find him and save him.

The Junk Shop was large and crammed to the ceiling with an eclectic inventory that certainly lived up to its name. She followed the clear path of destruction. A furious fight had taken place inside. Each step she took closer to the center of the store worried Hermione a little more. There was no sign of a body, unconscious or dead, lying on the floor.

Hermione was ready to give up her search when the light from the _lumos_ she cast illuminated a silver object near one of the tumbled shelves. Afraid to trust her eyes, she didn't believe what she was seeing at first. How did Antonin's watch end up discarded on the floor in the middle of the shop? Was he able to get it back from Draco before he was attacked? Or did Draco drop it _while_ he was attacking her husband?

There wasn't a clear path to the watch. She banged her shin against some hideous bronze statue and somehow managed to get tripped up in an old rug. The fall to the hard floor didn't take but a few moments, but she could feel it almost like she was moving in slow motion. At the last second she was able to put her hands up to keep from slamming her face into the hardwoods. It was embarrassing to be so clumsy in such a pivotal moment. Seconds mattered and there she was tumbling to the floor like a toddler just learning to walk.

She was able to get a closer look at the watch while she was on the floor. Enough to dispel all doubt that it was indeed the watch she gave Antonin on his fiftieth birthday. Not bothering to stand up first, Hermione reached out to grab the watch.

" _Hermione_!"

Thorfinn only called her by her first name in rare, serious moments. Princess had been what he'd called her since he tormented her when she was an awkward first year in the castle. Any time her actual name came out of his mouth she knew that it was for a definite reason. Her eyes caught sight of the blood on her hands only a second after he hissed her name. Confused because she wasn't injured and the fall hadn't been _that_ bad to warrant so much blood, she stared at her hand trying to figure out why it was so red.

"Hermione…"

It made her more nervous when he repeated her name. Staring down at the floor, she saw for the first time what she couldn't see in the dim light of the closed shop. A large puddle of thick, red blood covered the floor. Somehow she managed to trip and fall in the very center. She didn't know whose blood covered the front of her robes and her cloak, only that it wasn't _hers_. A gentle tug on her arm from the wizard helped her to her feet.

"Whose blood is that?"

"I don't know, Thorfinn, but I found this."

She held out the watch that her husband took such pride in. He instantly recognized it. The same thought crossed both of their minds at the same time. Clear signs of a struggle and large amount of blood on the floor next to her husband's watch could very well mean that she was covered in Antonin's blood. There were spells that could be cast to find out for certain, but there wasn't time and she didn't know the incantations off the top of her head. Somehow though, she just _knew_.

"Thorfinn, _where_ is Antonin?"

Emboldened by fear for his best friend, Thorfinn lost his temper. Both of them were scared, _terrified_ that it was too late. He stomped through the battered shop smashing shelves and yelling out for the proprietor. Hermione could only stand perfectly still in the puddle of blood staring at her bloody hands holding the watch. Only a minute or two passed that felt like an eternity before she witnessed Thorfinn dragging a frightened Teddy down the stairs from the flat above the shop. Teddy's eyes widened even further when he saw Hermione standing there covered in blood that was not hers.

"Where's Antonin, Lupin?"

"I don't know."

Unhappy with his answer, Thorfinn wrapped a single hand around the young wizard's throat. It wouldn't take much effort for a burly man like him to crush the younger one into dust.

"I swear I don't know."

"Did you know this was an ambush?"

" _No_!"

"I don't believe you. You wanted Antonin dead."

"Why would I want to hurt him? He's the closest thing I've ever had to a father."

Teddy was telling the truth. Hermione didn't need to be an interrogator to know that. It was all over his eyes and in the cracking of his voice. As much as it still hurt to remember how much her husband cared for the boy's grandmother, she didn't believe Teddy had anything to do with what happened in his store that night.

"Thorfinn, let him go. He didn't hurt Antonin, but I think I know who did."

When he released his grip, she pulled the chain she'd stolen from Draco out of her beaded bag. She wasn't prepared to try to track her husband down yet. Not if the reality was bleak. But, at least with the other wizard she could satisfy her curiosity and perhaps curse someone in the face.


	352. December 17th

December 17th

Hermione had to push away her fear of what she would find at the end of her search to keep going. Too many depressing, fatalistic thoughts swirled through her troubled mind. Not a single one was encouraging. Focusing on the silver chain she stole from Draco, she cast his tracking spell. Thorfinn offered to join her, but she was out the front door of the Junk Shop before she even took a moment to consider his offer. Every second counted. She couldn't be sure how much time passed since her husband fought against his attackers.

The chiming of the bells all over the city marking the midnight hour echoed in her ears even as she travelled across the country to his approximate destination. Hardly any time at all had passed since she discovered the bloody scene in the shop. The blood on her hands was already drying. In one she held the chain and in the other she kept a tight grip on Antonin's watch. It would've been just as easy to track him first. Perhaps it would've even been the better decision. With the loss of so much blood, it was entirely possible that he was in critical need. Chasing after Draco first wasn't the logical choice, but she wasn't exactly running on logic that night. Emotions were usually what spurred a Gryffindor into action. Logic and careful analysis was more suited to a Ravenclaw and most of the Slytherins. Acting first and thinking second wasn't how she usually behaved. Only in moments of extreme stress did the worst of her Gryffindor traits come out to play.

If she allowed herself to analyze why she would rather track Draco instead of Antonin, she would have to admit to herself that she was afraid of what she would find if she attempted to cast the tracking spell on the watch. What if it didn't work? Could she have the strength in that moment to keep going forward if it turned out that her husband didn't survive his injuries? Truthfully, it was a miracle that they'd both managed to live as long as they both had in the stress and uncertainty of their world. Someone could've easily stabbed a knife in his back years before. And she'd had enemies who wished her dead since before Harry was killed. Some even loathed her just because of the so-called _dirty_ blood that ran through her veins. Somehow though the Dolohovs were able to keep living. She was afraid that tracking Antonin first might be disheartening.

It came as no surprise to Hermione that she landed just outside of the gates to the Lestrange Estate. Everything kept coming back to Rodolphus after all. Likely he was even one of the attackers in the shop. She had no doubt that he ordered the ambush or whatever it was that happened. As long as Antonin was alive, he was dangerous to the insane man's plans. If his wife was in danger, he would fight to his very last breath. She only hoped that he hadn't made good on his promise to do just that. There was still so much that had been left unsaid and unsettled between them.

She shook her head as if a physical motion would dislodge the thoughts that continued to rush through her mind about missed opportunities and wasted time. What good would it do to worry about what might have been if she'd only stopped lying to herself earlier? There was no way to change the past. Time turners couldn't go back that far in time even if she'd been able to save one from destruction during the battle that took place in the Department of Mysteries when she was a teenager. Allowing her emotions to control her would only result in mistakes and increased danger. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves and her racing heart.

Once there was a time in her life that she considered herself to be too emotional. When she was a teenager she was frequently on the very edge of bursting into tears at a moment's notice. She was too sensitive and allowed others to have more control over her reactions than she should've. Part of her training to become the notorious and feared Madam Dolohov was to learn how to distance herself from emotions, to become cool and detached. Long years had passed since she was in danger of crying over the slightest insult or allowing herself to feel the fear that had been such a huge part of her adolescence. Her potions helped. Without them, she feared she was reverting back to the person she used to be. While in some ways that was a good thing, she worried that she would become the same overly emotional, impulsive Gryffindor she'd been before she pledged her life to Lord Voldemort.

Nothing would entice Hermione to cross over the boundaries of the estate. She remained outside of the gates out of fear that her presence would be noted. If she could avoid stepping foot on that estate for the rest of her life, she would. Nothing good would come of it. Finding a large hedge that she could hide behind and wait for Draco to leave, she found herself growing gradually calmer and more relaxed. There was no reason to be afraid. What was the absolute worst that could happen to her? She could die? Even that didn't sound that terrible and it was certainly what she deserved.

There was no effective way to tell time while she waited. One glance at her husband's watch proved that it had been broken beyond the scope of what a simple _reparo_ could fix. If she was able to survive what was coming, she vowed to take it to the finest wizarding jewelry store to have it completely refurbished. Antonin was the sort of secretly sentimental fool to keep wearing a broken watch that he cherished than to replace it. Sometimes he could be a romantic idiot. The corners of her mouth twisted up into a small smile at the thought.

As time wore on she was more and more convinced that she'd made the wrong decision. What was she doing waiting for Draco when her husband might need her? Of course, there was the very real possibility that if he wasn't dead, he might be tucked away in some dark, dank hole on the Lestrange estate. Was Rodolphus trying to lure her out of hiding? Taking away her biggest protector was a good start.

Just as she was about to cast the tracking spell on Antonin's broken watch she heard the sound of movement coming her way. Her hiding place wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. Draco passed through the gates walking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Alone, he wasn't even aware that he should be checking his surroundings. Had he grown that complacent with his own safety? So many others had.

" _Stupefy_."

His arrogance was going to get him killed one day. She couldn't believe that he just walked out of the gates without even taking a good look around. Catching him off-guard hadn't been difficult at all. Before anyone from inside the Dower House or the manor itself could witness what was happening just outside the boundaries, Hermione grabbed Draco's wrist and Disapparated them away.

The Forest of Dean was still and silent that time of night in the middle of winter. It was a place that always made her feel at ease. With both of her boys now dead, it was also the one place besides the castle that she could almost feel them with her. She would hate to leave it if she ever made her way to Brazil, a future that was seeming less and less likely as the year progressed towards its conclusion.

She reached into Draco's pocket to remove his wand. The temptation to strip him completely naked and leave him laying in the snow unconscious to die of exposure made her chuckle. Instead, she was satisfied just to take the silver mirror he'd used to spy on her husband's conversations. How he still managed to have it after that horrible display in Ginny's house made little sense. Likely emotions were high enough in the moment that her husband didn't even think about forcing him to give it back. Or, maybe despite that awful day and what transpired only hours earlier, Draco might have _still_ been working with Antonin. Thanks to Rodolphus' damned spell in her head, no one could tell her anything out of fear that she would unwittingly betray them all.

" _Rennervate_."

Draco's grey eyes opened wide the moment he came back into consciousness to find himself laying on his back in the snow. Whatever he was expecting to happen moments after leaving his uncle's estate, it wasn't to find Hermione looming over him with his wand in one hand as she pointed hers in his direction. She was going to get answers or she would not be pleased.

"You're getting lazy and sloppy, Draco. You didn't even see me."

He smiled, but it was clear that he was nervous. In an attempt to appear non-threatening he held up both of his empty hands.

"This is a surprise, Hermione. How are you?"

She wasn't in the mood for his snarky questions or his flippant attitude. Already she was beginning to lose her temper. All she wanted was for the spell to be removed from her head so she could kill Rodolphus and move on with her life. Or die. Some days one was more attractive than the other. She held up Antonin's watch and his eyes narrowed.

"Where did you find that?"

"In your cousin's store right next to a large puddle of blood I'm _assuming_ belongs to my husband. What happened?"

It didn't take a well-seasoned interrogator to know that Draco was reluctant to tell her anything. When he tried to stall for time by sitting up, Hermione sent a mild stinging charm straight to his gut. He glared at his attacker, but didn't try moving again. If she had to resort to something a little more painful, she would. He was far from stupid. He knew she would hurt him.

"Merely a little disagreement. Nothing you need to worry your pretty, little head about, Hermione."

"Where's Antonin? Did you kill him?"

"Oh, no, _I_ didn't kill him. Don't you remember the day I told you that I've never killed anyone before?"

Of course she remembered. And the more she thought about that day, the more she believed he was lying. _Everyone_ was lying to her in some form or fashion. It didn't make the least bit of sense that he would've survived as long as he had without shedding enough blood to kill at least _one_ person. The smirk on his lips seemed to prove that her suspicions were correct.

"Where is he?"

"You have his watch. Why don't you try to find him yourself?"

She didn't like his smile. What she once found handsome, she found loathsome in that moment. He was taunting her, daring her to try to track her husband in front of him. Why? Did he know that the spell wouldn't work? Would he use her distress to his advantage and try to get out of the perilous situation he was in?

"It's a simple incantation. Just cast it on the watch and you can find your beloved husband without my help."

The desire to slit his throat with her favorite spell was overpowering. What would happen if she did something that drastic? Evidently there was some sort of agreement between her husband and Lucius Malfoy to keep Draco out of harm. Would Lucius try to kill her in his grief? She didn't fear the drunkard even on his most sober days. Only the very real fear that a man who had nothing to lose wouldn't hesitate to take his anger out on _her_ son kept the curse off of her tongue. And the faintest suspicion that Draco was simply playing a part and there was more to his actions than she was aware of. It was enough to push her fully off the cliff towards her insanity.

" _Stupefy_."

She threw his wand into the darkness of the forest. When the stunner finally wore off, he would have a challenge finding it, but she didn't care. Doing what she needed to do next would be easier without an audience. Pointing the tip of her wand at Antonin's watch, she took a deep breath and muttered the proper incantation to track him.

Nothing happened. A second attempt yielded the same results. And a third and a fourth.


	353. December 18th

December 18th

Admitting defeat felt like a betrayal to Antonin. Hermione refused to give up hope that there was something wrong with either his watch or the spell she was casting instead of facing the very real possibility that the spell would never work again for her husband. She wasn't sure how many times she tried to cast the spell steps away from Draco's unconscious body before she finally decided to return to the cottage they'd been staying in to hopefully find another possession of his that she could try. Long enough that she saw Draco's eyes begin to flutter as the stunner wore off.

Tearing the holiday cottage upside down did her no good other than it helped her keep moving. She dumped her own beaded bag out in the vain hope that she'd picked up something that belonged to her husband by accident. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, she was even desperate enough to cast the spell on the mirror she'd stolen from Draco. If it _technically_ belonged to Antonin, she thought it might work. It didn't.

A trip to Hogsmeade and to the blackened hole where their home once stood was a fruitless search as well. Assuming there had been anything left over to begin with once Rodolphus blew up their house, the remnants had been picked over by scavengers. She would've loved to come face to face with one of the morbid curiosity seekers hoping to uncover a souvenir from the ruins of the fearsome Dolohov house. They would've thought twice about stealing from another's misfortunes again.

Once she was in the village she made a stop at Thorfinn's house. Considering the state that she'd left him in when she ran out of the shop the night before, he deserved to have some answers. If he'd been able to sleep a wink she would've been surprised. One knock on the front door brought the massive wizard. Based on his disheveled clothing and his bloodshot eyes, he'd spent the night drinking. He stepped back silently to allow her entrance into his house.

"You didn't find him?"

She shook her head, unable to trust herself to speak in that moment. It had been an emotional night and she was exhausted. If she allowed herself to sit down for even a moment, she feared that she would fall asleep. Thorfinn picked up a bottle of fire whiskey to drink straight from the neck. When he offered it to her, she thought about refusing for only a half-second. What did it matter that it was only seven in the morning?

"I tried tracking him with his watch, but it didn't work. Something's wrong with the watch. Maybe it won't work because the watch itself was broken."

It was a flimsy excuse, but she was desperate to keep hope. What would she do if she had to admit to herself that her husband was dead? She didn't want to consider the possibility. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. She was prepared for _her_ death, not his. There was a plan in place. Antonin would take Oliver somewhere far away from the violence of their home country. Maybe to Africa with his brother Alain. He could study at Uagadou under Babajide Akingbade. She'd already planned it all out in her head.

"I was hoping that maybe Antonin left something of his in your house that I could try the tracking spell on."

"What does it mean when the spell doesn't work?"

Most people who met Thorfinn assumed that he was all brawn and no brains. They were fools. He was never in a rush to correct them either. It was much easier to be stealthy and secretive when everyone thought he was dumb. She didn't want to tell him the truth about the spell because she didn't want to admit it to herself. Saying the words out loud felt like a failure.

"It _can_ mean that the person who owns the possession you cast it on is dead, but that's not always the case."

His loud sigh and droop of his shoulders threatened to break Hermione's heart. She knew what he was thinking without even needing to hear the words. Hot tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to let them drip down her cheeks. Rubbing them away with more force than was necessary, she wouldn't allow herself to become emotional.

"I was worried last night that you wouldn't be able to find him."

"Just because I haven't found him _yet_ doesn't mean I won't. I refuse to believe he's dead, Thorfinn."

"Whether you want to believe it or not, it's the most likely explanation for why you can't find him. I think maybe it's best if you go up to the castle and take Ollie as far away from here as you can, Princess. Antonin told me how to get into contact with his brothers if I needed them. I'm sure they'll help you get settled somewhere safe."

Running away without Antonin wasn't an option. She didn't want to even consider it. As she watched the wizard guzzle another mouthful of fire whiskey, she could feel anger building up inside her chest. How could he call himself Antonin's best friend if he was willing to give up on him so quickly? She knew just looking at Thorfinn that his grief was real. Maybe the loss of his wife prevented him from being optimistic. She didn't care. It was still infuriating.

"I can't believe you are just giving up on him."

"Princess, you saw all of that blood. And you can't track him? You've got to consider the likely possibility that Antonin's dead."

Hearing the words made her stomach twist into knots. She feared she might throw up. Drinking the fire whiskey on an empty stomach had been a terrible idea that she regretted.

"There's got to be another explanation."

"Maybe there is, but you're not going to figure it out in the state you're in. Neither am I. Go take a shower and burn those bloody rags you're wearing. Sleep in Daisy's room. It'll be easier to think when we've both had some sleep."

She couldn't ignore the wisdom in his words. Operating at anything less than full power wasn't doing them any favors. And she really couldn't bear the feel of her bloody robes another moment once he pointed them out. Blood didn't usually bother her. It was a hazard of her career after all, but knowing that she was sitting in clothes stained with her husband's blood was a little much. Taking his advice whether she wanted to or not, Hermione couldn't deny that he was right again. Especially not when she slipped underneath the covers of his eldest daughter's bed to fall asleep within moments.

If she discovered later that Thorfinn charmed the shower in his daughters' bathroom to pour out a calming potion on her while she bathed, she wouldn't have been surprised. Rarely had she felt so relaxed when she got out. Unclear how many hours she slept, she took advantage of the safety of the Rowle family home. Thorfinn might not have been her husband, but he would fight to keep her protected no matter what it took. While she didn't know if they would ever get back to the same friendship they had before their world imploded, she knew that he possessed an impressive sense of honor. For his best friend, even if he was dead, he would protect his family.

Thinking about Antonin being dead didn't get easier with the passing of time. Even though she was relaxed and well-rested, Hermione was still worried about him. Night came a lot sooner in their part of the world during that time of year, so it wasn't a surprise that when she finally forced herself to get out of Daisy's bed that the sky was growing dark outside. One more failed attempt at casting the tracking spell on his watch threatened to rob her of all remaining hope. Again she swore to herself that there must be _some_ kind of explanation that didn't mean that he was necessarily dead.

Something Ginny said to her when she was explaining how she first got mixed up with Rodolphus years earlier stuck out in her mind. Ginny claimed that thanks to the wards Rodolphus set up on the house he let her hide in during her pregnancy that not even Draco could track her with his spell. The wards had been removed, but what about other places that were similarly protected? She would never forget how Draco promised her that William Wood wouldn't be able to track her to his flat. Was it possible that Antonin was just being held somewhere that the spell wouldn't work?

"I think I know where Antonin is."

Thorfinn appeared on the verge of throwing something heavy at his houseguest when she barged into his bedroom without invitation. Hermione wasn't afraid of the wizard even when he was in his most sour of moods. There was too much history between them. Instead of losing his temper, he just stared at her without speaking. She knew that if he didn't like what she was about to say that he would let her know. He wasn't exactly a man known for keeping his opinions to himself.

"I want to look for him in Draco Malfoy's flat."

"Why?"

"Because I know for a fact that his tracking spell won't work if the intended target is in his flat. When I was staying there right before I went back to Hogsmeade, he assured me that William Wood couldn't find me there."

The fact that Thorfinn didn't immediately discount her theory as foolish was encouraging. He did, however, remind her that they couldn't just go rushing off to the wizard's flat without a plan like a couple of reckless Gryffindors. She chose not to be offended by the remark because it finally felt like he was coming around to her way of thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ , her husband wasn't dead after all.

"We'll need to wait until it's late and then create some sort of diversion so Malfoy isn't home. You stay here. I'll be back when I have something set up. Don't you dare think about going alone, Princess. Wait for me."

Hermione grew more and more impatient the longer Thorfinn was gone. Part of her feared that he was just humoring her and that he didn't actually have any plan to help her storm her way into Draco's flat. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that one of her allies told her one thing and did another. She took to pacing the lounge waiting for the wizard to return.

It was after midnight before the front door opened to admit the master of the house. Thorfinn greeted her with a tight smile. She knew that he was doing his utmost to keep a positive demeanor around her even though he thought they were about to embark on a foolish, dangerous errand. Somehow Hermione just _knew_ that Antonin wasn't dead. Where else would Draco keep him? And why would he be so eager to have her try out the spell in front of him? No doubt he wanted to witness her breakdown when she couldn't get it to work. It was cruel.

Having Thorfinn at her side again on a mission brought Hermione a sense of comfort. There was familiarity in the act. She took his hand to Side-Along him to the alley just outside of Draco's building. Before they took a single step inside, she explained to him how strong the wards were on the flat. They would have to move quickly. The _moment_ they crossed over the wards, Draco would know they were there. There could be no hesitation. If they lingered too long, Draco would be able to show up with allies. Being outnumbered was never fun.

Her heart was in her throat the entire ride in the lift up to the top floor. Once outside the door to the flat, neither one of them wasted a single motion. Thorfinn blasted a giant hole in the front door. If Draco wasn't aware they were there yet, he certainly was then. Hermione didn't stop to worry about the ramifications. There wasn't time.

She ran through the flat calling out Antonin's name. If he wasn't there, she didn't know where else they could look. She wasn't prepared to admit Thorfinn was right yet. Ignoring the rush of memories that haunted the flat, she ran straight for the guest bedroom that had been hers while she was there. _Before_ she slept in Draco's bed, of course. Only seconds had passed though it felt like much longer.

There was a body in the bed. Unmoving and deathly pale, Hermione feared that they'd been too late. She could feel the emotions building up inside of her, desperate for a release. At the sound of his name coming out of her mouth, Antonin stirred. Hardly enough to prove he was going to survive the ordeal, it was enough to give her hope again.

"Someone's coming, Princess. Sorry, mate. This is going to hurt."

Just as he promised, when Thorfinn picked up his best friend's battered body out of the bed to throw over his shoulder, Antonin groaned. There wasn't time to think about how to make him more comfortable. Not when forces were gathering in the front of the flat. Hermione could hear the footsteps and the whispers that weren't quiet enough. Once again she was grateful to have Thorfinn at her side. If she'd been there alone, there wouldn't have been any hope. Together they could fight through a crowd. They'd done it before.

Draco stood at the end of the corridor with a smirk on his face that Hermione longed to scrape off with her fingernails. What could he possibly find so amusing about the situation? A quick glance proved that they were outnumbered three to one.

"Remember that night in Salisbury, Princess?"

"How could I ever forget it?"

"Good."

She was sincere. One of their first missions together just the two of them after Antonin finally believed that she was capable of going out without his supervision, she and Thorfinn encountered a large group of Resistance wannabes. While certainly not nearly as effective and dangerous as the _actual_ Resistance, the odds were not in their favor. Thorfinn taught her the very important lesson that sometimes it was better to distract one's opponents and run like hell than it was to stay and fight. She closed her eyes just as a spell brighter than a hundred lumoses shot out the end of Thorfinn's wand to light up the entire flat. None of their would-be assailants were prepared for the sudden onslaught of bright light in their eyes. Shouts and groans from all of them proved that it worked. Hermione created a shield large enough to cover the three of them as they ran out of the flat with half-blind wizards trying and failing to hit them with various spells and curses. As they ran to the lift, Hermione sealed the door leading to the stairs shut. They wouldn't be able to run after them immediately when their temporary blindness wore off. Seconds mattered.

Outside in the night air once more, Thorfinn had to stop running to catch his breath. Antonin continued to groan softly, an encouragement that at least he was still alive even if it bothered Hermione to hear it. They couldn't stay there long. Already she felt the rush of adrenaline that came with instinctively knowing that her opponents were heading her way again.

"Where can we take him? He's in bad shape."

Hermione grabbed Thorfinn's hand and Disapparated the three of them away to the only place she could think of where they might all be safe.


	354. December 19th

December 19th

Falling asleep in a chair left a lot to be desired. It was only the sheer exhaustion plaguing Hermione's body that seemed to never end that allowed her to find the tiniest bit of rest sitting up. Maybe one day would come when she could sleep without worry until she was no longer tired. She feared something like that would take _days_ , not hours. Possibly even months or years of sleep. Death would likely be the only true respite from the danger of violence and worry of her existence she could expect.

The gentle touch of fingertips on her arm woke her up suddenly. She hadn't even been aware that she'd fallen asleep. Some guard she turned out to be. Opening her eyes up to assess whether or not she was in danger, she sighed in relief when she saw her husband's dark brown eyes staring into hers. Antonin had been asleep since they showed up on the doorstep of an old friend in the middle of the night. Close to death, it had been something of a miracle that he'd even been able to make it through that first night. Later, when he was well and she wasn't quite so afraid for him any longer, she would make some snarky remark about it being his sheer stubbornness that kept him alive when normal men would've been dead.

Her chair was as close to the edge of the bed as it was possible to be without actually being inside the bed with him. She hadn't left his side for longer than a minute or two since the whole ordeal began. Part of her feared that if she let him out of her sights for too long again that he wouldn't wake up. How would she tell their son that his father was dead? She hoped to never find out.

Antonin's weak smile threatened the last of her resolve. She could feel the tears forming that she hadn't allowed herself to cry since she and Thorfinn rescued him from Draco's flat. There had been real fear in her that she wouldn't be able to stop crying if she started. No one would tell her for certain if her husband would survive. He'd lost so much blood in his fight in The Junk Shop and then he wasn't exactly well-cared for while he was stashed inside the untraceable flat. If they hadn't gotten there when they did…. No, she refused to allow herself to think about that possibility. Not again. Not when he was awake and smiling. She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

"You know, Hermione, as much as I love waking up next to you, I prefer it a great deal more when you're actually in the bed with me."

A short, strangled laugh came out of her mouth that almost turned into a sob. How could he joke at a time like that? When he was only just saved from death? She rubbed at her eyes and tried to smile.

"You scared me, Antonin Dolohov. Don't ever do that again. If you even _think_ about dying, stop."

He wasn't strong enough to sit up and pull her into his arms even though she could tell that was exactly what he wanted to do. Feeling his own weakness wasn't easy. If he was expected to remain in bed for any length of time, his grumpy attitude would eventually show. In that moment, however, he was much more concerned for his wife than he was for himself. Able to offer her only the touch of his hand, she accepted it gratefully.

"Where are we? I don't recognize this room."

Just as she was about to explain to him the decision she made the night he was rescued, there was a gentle knock at the door of the bedroom they were borrowing. Hermione stood up to cross the room. A little annoyed with the poor timing of the person on the other side of the door, she bit down a disparaging remark. It would do no one any favors to be rude to the person who undoubtedly saved her husband's life. She twisted the doorknob to allow the intruder access into their own spare bedroom.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but I heard voices and you really should try to eat something, Mr. Dolohov."

Sarah Jordan stepped inside the room carrying a tray laden down with soup and several vials of potions. One warm smile from their hostess and some of Hermione's annoyance faded away. Somehow she got the impression that she would always feel the tiniest bit inadequate in the other witch's presence. She seemed to be everything that Hermione was not. Antonin's bright smile proved that he was either thankful for the woman's presence or excited about the meal he was about to consume.

"No need to be so formal, especially if I owe my life to you."

"Hermione was the one who got you out of the mess you were in. I just patched you up when you got here."

When seconds mattered and they needed a safe place to take the possibly dying Antonin, Hermione could only think of one place. Conversations with Sarah while she stayed in her home, both in Wales and in the Resistance village in Devon, reminded her that the woman was a Healer. Or at least she had been before Lee insisted that his family travel to a new home to fight with the Resistance. Some of the lovely woman's bitterness and frustration about her change in living arrangements was that she had to leave her patients behind. Hermione knew that the moment they were free to return to Wales, Sarah would be packing up her family to leave.

They caused quite a stir in the village showing up in the middle of the night. Three Death Eaters arriving unexpectedly could've become a dangerous situation quickly. Thankfully there had been cooler heads amongst the enraged villagers. Hermione didn't know what would've happened if Thorfinn lost his temper. Or if she'd lost hers. Tiberius Zeller made certain that they were able to cross the village to the Jordan house without incident. He was a respected member of the Resistance and a leader in the village. No one was willing to go against his word.

Lee didn't hesitate to allow them entrance into his home when they knocked on the front door. Especially not when his wife took one look at her newest patient and demanded they follow her. He was a wise wizard who knew better than to go against his wife's wishes. Anyone who believed that Hufflepuffs were nothing but weak pushovers had clearly never taken the time to get to know one. Hermione would've followed Sarah into battle if she'd been so inclined.

There had been some frightening moments while the Healer checked over Antonin's injuries. A couple of times that even the professional Sarah couldn't hide her concern. Instead of giving in to her worries, she continued to work swiftly and steadily. Despite the fact that nearly everyone who ever met Thorfinn for the first time in person was intimidated by his size and his reputation, Sarah didn't hesitate to give him orders to move Antonin's battered body this way or that. He followed those orders without question. Like Lee, he understood all too well what it was like to be married to a determined Hufflepuff. When she was finished with her healing spells and ready to just leave Antonin's body to do the rest of the work, she placed a gentle hand on Thorfinn's forearm.

"I was so sorry to hear about Hannah's death. We were in the same House and I admired her greatly. She was a beautiful soul."

Thorfinn would go to the very ends of the Earth for Sarah Jordan if she asked him to after that. Whatever she desired, she would have it. After he rubbed his weary eyes to hide the fact that he was still in enormous pain thinking about his late wife, Sarah handed him a vial of potion that she swore would help him sleep much better than all the fire whiskey in the world. He'd had to excuse himself from the room at that point. Some wounds would take a lifetime to heal.

"Antonin, this is Sarah Jordan. She's a Healer and she's… with the Resistance."

Hermione wasn't completely sure how he would take the news that he was being treated in the private home of some of his former enemies. Especially considering all of the complications that arose because of his previous relationship with Ginny, she knew that he would likely be ill at ease amongst them. Antonin simply smiled at his Healer.

"I remember going to your house in Wales when I was looking for Hermione."

All three occupants of the room felt a little awkward at the reminder of the time that Hermione was on the run. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Sarah returned his smile and handed the tray to Hermione. She made her excuses to leave the married couple alone. When the door clicked shut behind her, Antonin laughed.

"You brought me to the Resistance?"

"I didn't know where else to go. We were desperate."

She sat down on the edge of the bed with the tray to give herself something to do besides talk about her decision. While it was clearly the correct one, in the moment, she hadn't been so confident. When the concerned villagers were shouting at them to leave, she'd almost given in. Even the dangers in St. Mungo's seemed preferable to the mob. She helped Antonin sit up to have his first meal in days.

"What happened that night, Antonin?"

He sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to talk about it whether he wanted to or not. Knocking back the vials of the potions he was ordered to take first, he left her sitting in uncomfortable suspense. Clearly it had been bad, but had it been _that_ bad? Was he about to reveal that they were still beset with enemies all around them?

"There's not that much to tell, I'm afraid. It all happened very fast. Thorfinn and I went to the Junk Shop to meet with…"

"No, don't tell me. Thorfinn didn't think it was a good idea that I know."

"I wish you didn't have to know _any_ of this and it has nothing to do with the unknown spell in your head. But regardless, it was clear that it was an ambush from the start. They took out Thorfinn first before he could get a single spell off. Smart really. Then they all turned their attention to me. I'm not sure the exact number but there were at least ten in the shop."

"Did you see who they were?"

"Only Malfoy. The others had masks on. No idea."

He really couldn't give her a lot of details. After a fierce fight, he was just simply too outnumbered to do much good. The spells used against him were cruel, designed to weaken him but not kill him. It frustrated him that he wasn't able to tell her more than that, but the memories were becoming faded. When he began to yawn thanks to the potions, she kissed him once on the lips and begged him to go back to sleep. His body still needed rest.

Hermione carried his empty tray back to the kitchen when she was convinced he was making an effort to fall back asleep. Beyond the quick exits from the bedroom to take care of personal matters that lasted no longer than a few minutes at a time, she hadn't spent much time outside of the bedroom. Stepping into the kitchen to find Lizzie seated at the table scribbling on parchment startled her. How could she forget in her time away how unnerving the young girl was? Lizzie stared at her guest, but didn't say a single word.

"Did he eat everything?"

Sarah's voice startled Hermione back to reality. Looking away from the girl still staring in her direction, she focused her attention on the other witch.

"Yes, he did. He's trying to go back to sleep now. Thank you for everything you've done for us, Sarah. I'm not sure how we can ever repay you."

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure. Your husband has very kind eyes. I noticed that months ago."

Uncomfortable once again by the reminder of her time on the run and the fact that Lizzie was _still_ staring at her, Hermione set the tray down next to the sink.

"I know that you're taking a big risk in keeping us both in your house. I promise that it won't be for long."

She could feel eyes on her back following her the entire way back to the bedroom.


	355. December 20th

December 20th

Antonin was a terrible patient. Most men were babies when it came to being sick or injured, but somehow the fearsome Death Eater who once murdered the Dark Lord to save his wife was worse than most. Hermione knew that she wouldn't be able to handle much more of his surly attitude. It seemed to be poor payment for Sarah's kindness to murder her husband in the woman's spare bedroom. A few times that was the only thought that kept her hands away from the petulant man's throat.

He was growing anxious to leave the Jordan home. Not necessarily because he felt unsafe there or they weren't welcome. Like Hermione he knew that their presence there brought a target on their backs. Thanks to no one being certain who was involved in the ambush on the Junk Shop and then who came to Draco's aid at his flat because of the damned masks they wore, it was entirely possible that there were spies amongst the villagers preparing to attack again.

"We can't stay here long."

"I'm aware of that, Antonin, but where would you have us go? You're still recovering."

"Sarah said this morning that I would be safe to leave in the next day or two."

"Then let's worry about it then. You'll just drive yourself mad."

She moved to leave the room to escape his sullenness but was stopped by his hand reaching out to grab her wrist. Knowing that he was making the uncomfortable situation worse, there was shame on his face. A gentle tug brought her to the edge of the bed he was sitting up in. He kissed her lips in either a conciliatory gesture or a non-verbal apology. Even he was aware that he wasn't much fun to put up with when he was irritable. The affection helped _slightly_. At least she no longer considered casting a silencing spell on him. He _hated_ when she'd done that to him in the past. It had always been effective though.

"Get dressed and come join the Jordans for dinner with me. Sarah said that you didn't have to stay in bed any longer. Maybe being around other people will help you with your sour disposition."

Even though there was some small bit of truth in her words, she was mostly just teasing him. Understanding that, he pulled her closer to allow him to kiss her lips again. There was no secret where he wanted the next few minutes to go, but because she knew that he wasn't at full strength yet, Hermione had to be the one to break it up to his immense disappointment.

"I think you'll like Lee. _Everyone_ likes Lee. And Sarah is a wonderful cook. Their daughter Posy is very sweet."

"Don't they have two daughters?"

"Yes, but I would never call Lizzie sweet. Maybe she was once when she was very small."

Hermione didn't actually like speaking disparagingly about a child, but she couldn't help her personal opinion on the Jordans' eldest daughter. Time away from the village hadn't improved her feelings. There was something _off_ about the girl that Hermione couldn't quite explain. Each time she'd ventured out of the bedroom she'd been sharing with Antonin she tried to avoid the girl. Not always possible, when their paths crossed Lizzie didn't say anything. Unlike the last time she stayed in their home, she wasn't as interested in asking Hermione a dozen impertinent questions about what it was like to be a Death Eater. She hoped that meant that the girl had finally moved on to another topic of interest.

"She asked me too many questions when I was here last. She's _very_ interested in Death Eaters."

"I don't think that's necessarily unusual. Perhaps she's just a bright, inquisitive girl. Ollie used to ask me a lot of uncomfortable questions when he was younger."

"Yes, well, let's just hope for his sake that he never brings a young witch like Lizzie home to meet us. I'm not sure that I could stand having a girl like that for a daughter-in-law. She'd probably murder us in our beds."

He might have found her remark amusing enough to laugh, but Hermione wasn't completely joking. Several minutes later when he was dressed for dinner, Antonin promised her at the door of their bedroom that he would keep a close eye on the girl to see if he noticed the same odd behavior. Considering he was an excellent judge of character, except when it came to the women he allowed in his bed, she felt comforted by his insight. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Dinner was initially awkward in the beginning. The two adult couples weren't quite sure where to begin their conversation. Operating on opposite sides for so many years, it all felt a bit strange sharing a meal with the Jordans. Lee naturally did his utmost to make as many jokes as possible to lighten the mood. Just as she suspected, Antonin liked the younger wizard immediately. Sometimes she thought her husband was entirely too serious for his own good. It was one of the reasons she was grateful that he had a best friend like Thorfinn. Few people in her life outside of the Weasley twins were so quick to make jokes and laugh. Antonin needed that. His friendship with Corban Yaxley prior to the attack on his mind that had yet to be reversed was too serious at times. Thorfinn helped to balance him out even in the darkest years of their lives.

She noticed her husband paying close attention to the two young girls during the meal. When he would look into Lizzie's direction, there was a subtle hardening of his features. Not a single word came out of her mouth the entire meal, a fact that struck Hermione as particularly odd. Was she nervous to be around them again? Or had she been warned to keep quiet by her parents? Even that seemed unlikely because she wasn't exactly the sort of girl that minded her parents' wishes at all times. There was a dangerous streak of rebellion inside of her that would need to be dealt with before she was a teenager.

Antonin was charmed with Posy every bit as much as Hermione assumed he would be. There was a great deal of kindness and interest when he asked the youngest girl at the table questions about her lessons or about the owl she'd asked for Christmas. It wasn't difficult to tell that he was thinking about his own daughter he'd never met. A few years younger than Posy, she had some similarities. Of course, with a mother like Ginny and a father like Antonin, Maisie would no doubt be powerful in everything she put her mind to, including her attitude. The thought of the tiny girl with the dark hair that looked so much like her older brother and her father standing her ground against her terrifying Death Eater father made Hermione chuckle to herself. It would be amusing to witness. Antonin wouldn't know how to handle her stubbornness. He would be outnumbered even further in a house full of Gryffindors.

"What are your plans for Christmas?"

Lee's question might have been innocently meant, but it filled Hermione with dread. She knew what she _wanted_ to be doing for Christmas - running away to Brazil with her family. But that wasn't going to happen. Not until they could tie up loose ends first. Rodolphus was the sort to follow her wherever she went just to satisfy his plans. He was tenacious to a terrifying degree. Plastering an insincere on her face, she laughed.

"Oh, don't you worry, Lee. I promise that we will be out of your house before then."

"That wasn't what I was asking, Hermione. You are both welcome to stay here as long as you need to."

"I believe what my wife is trying to say is we don't wish to impose ourselves upon you any longer than necessary. We aren't exactly the most inconspicuous of guests and our presence here puts your entire family in danger."

No one was eager to dispute the fact. There was no need. Silence fell over the table for the first time since the meal began. Not wishing to be the cause for the awkwardness, Antonin smiled and answered the question properly.

"It'll be a quiet day for the two of us. Our son is staying at Hogwarts over Christmas."

The rest of the meal passed without incident. Both of the Dolohovs were grateful to be able to make their excuses to return to the privacy of their room. As they both undressed for bed, she asked her husband his impression of the family they were staying with.

"They're lovely. But, I understand what you mean about the eldest girl. I don't think she said a single word. Is that normal?"

"No, it's not. She was very talkative the last time I was here. Perhaps even too much."

"It seemed a bit odd to me, but it's possible she was just nervous. We both have quite the reputations after all. Even children fear our names."

His ominous remark made them both laugh. Part of the reason why leaving the country to start over was such an attractive option was because neither one of them wanted to be constantly reminded of the fact that they were feared. What would it be like to simply be the normal family none of the neighbors knew anything about? Hermione was sure she would like to find out. There was a time that she enjoyed seeing the terror and respect in the eyes of those unfortunate enough to cross her path, but it had grown old. Never would she be the same. Thanks to the smear campaign against her reputation, she was seen as little more than a dangerous lunatic. If they stayed too long, it wouldn't be much longer before the terrified peasants began to hunt after her with their pitchforks and torches.

"She might also be ill. This time of year it's not uncommon."

"I suppose, but it's still strange."

"Posy was very sweet. She's a lot like her mum. Maybe she'll be a Healer too."

The smile on Antonin's face slipped as he grew more serious. Hermione was worried about where he would take their conversation next. Being around the young witches must have reminded him of his daughter he had yet to meet.

"Do you think Maisie is in the village too?"

His question was asked in a whisper she almost missed.

"I don't think so. When I lived here, I had my tent set up near the main entrance to the village. Charlie Weasley used to come and go a lot. His house must be somewhere outside the village, but I'm sorry I don't know where."

"And you think she's still with her uncle Charlie?"

"That's where she was when Ginny took her out of her house."

Antonin's desire to seek out his daughter was easy to recognize. Just as she longed to run away with their family, he was eager to find Maisie. It wasn't wise to do it yet. They'd both considered the options. With no safe permanent place to live, they would only be exposing Maisie to danger if she came to live with them before everything was settled. As long as she was with her uncle, they didn't fear that she was in danger. Charlie would fight to the death to protect his niece. Still, she knew that Antonin was always only seconds away from choosing to ignore their logical analyses to run after his daughter.

"When Rodolphus is dead and we're safe, I want to bring her home with us."

"Of course. I would expect nothing less."

She knew it wasn't going to be easy if they were fortunate enough to make it to where having Maisie join their family was even an option. He had every right to claim his daughter, especially with her mother no longer being alive. Because he was an honorable man, she didn't believe that Charlie would stand in the way of his rights as Maisie's father. After all, only Antonin and Hermione knew the truth about what happened to Ginny. Neither one of them had any desire to divulge the secret.

"Let's hope that Rodolphus is dead soon. I wouldn't mind doing the honors."

Antonin leaned across the bed they'd both just climbed into to kiss her. It was his only response to her statement, but she knew without him saying so that he was feeling the same way.


	356. December 21st

December 21st

A faint buzzing woke Hermione up out of a sound sleep. Annoyed that her rest had been disturbed, she rolled over onto her side to see if the noise disturbed her husband. When she discovered that he was still asleep, likely thanks to the combination of his pain potions and the one glass of wine Sarah allowed him to drink at dinner, she grew even more annoyed. Why did she have to be such a light sleeper? While it _might_ have saved her life a time or two in the past, mostly it was just frustrating. Though she could no longer hear the sound that woke her up, going back to sleep was difficult. She had too much on her mind, too much anxiety, too much uncertainty about her future.

It was a little after two in the morning when she decided that tossing and turning wasn't going to help her return to sleep. Carefully slipping out of the bed to not wake Antonin up, she made her way towards the home's kitchen. Perhaps a cup of chamomile tea or even something a little stronger if she could find Lee's secret stash. He was a man with exceptional taste in fire whiskey, not that she could ever appreciate the differences in quality.

She didn't expect to find anyone else in the kitchen when she pushed open the door. Especially not Lizzie at that hour. As Hermione stepped inside the room, the young witch opened the door leading to the back garden. Before she exited her parents' home in the middle of the night for seemingly no discernible reason, Lizzie caught Hermione's eye and smiled.

Hermione had a choice to make in that moment. She could either rouse the household for something that might have a simple, innocent explanation or she could follow the girl. Even in the heart of the Resistance village she wasn't safe. A look out the open door showed that Lizzie had already made it to the gate on the edge of the property. If Hermione didn't run after her in that second, she might lose all sight of the girl before she could tell her concerned parents where she went. Borrowing one of the cloaks hanging up on a hook next to the door, Hermione rushed outside in her slippers.

Lizzie wasn't old enough yet to be ready for sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet her young lover. Even she was too innocent for those sorts of activities. Once Hermione was out of the back gate, she could see the young witch several meters ahead. She thought about calling out to the girl, but immediately decided against it. She might wake up some of the concerned villagers. How would it look? Lizzie appeared to be running away from crazy, dangerous Madam Dolohov. No one would believe that Hermione was chasing after the girl because she feared she might be in trouble. One of the villagers might curse first and ask questions second. It was a terrible idea.

The further they travelled away from the Jordan home, the more Hermione got concerned. What was the girl up to? She wished she still had the ability to produce a patronus that she could use to send a message to Lee and Sarah. If she wasn't alone the entire experience might not feel so sinister. Hermione attempted several times to produce a patronus, but nothing happened. Not even a bit of wispy smoke. The darkness was still too strong inside of her to call forth such a pure magic. If she turned around to inform the girl's parents what was happening, she might not be able to find her again in time to keep her from harm. Even with the tracking spell moments mattered. A lot of bad could happen to the girl in that time.

When Lizzie led her to the edge of the village, Hermione grew even more nervous. Where was she going? She almost forgot about her concerns of calling out the girl's name. Instead, Hermione picked up her pace to run as fast as she could in her direction. Not caring that she was about to breach the village's protective wards, Lizzie crossed over the border and kept walking.

At least a hundred meters outside of the village, Hermione heard a rustling up ahead. She was close to catching up with Lizzie who seemed determined to keep moving no matter what. Clutching her wand tightly in her hand, Hermione gasped when she saw the large St. Bernard emerge from the darkness. With a happy giggle of delight, Lizzie ran towards the dog to pet his head.

"I did exactly what you told me to do. She followed me."

Hermione could feel her mouth open in complete surprise. What was happening? Did Lizzie even know who she was talking to? The moment Lizzie pointed in her direction, she _knew_ the girl was aware. It made an awful sort of sense. She'd been so fascinated by Death Eaters. Considering no one but Ginny in the Resistance knew Rodolphus was an animagus happily living amongst them, there would've been no reason to warn the girl to stay away from the friendly dog that lived in Tiberius Zeller's house.

It was all just one nasty trap and she fell right into it. Playing on her newly developed concerns as a mother had been low, even for Rodolphus. Gripping her wand tighter in her hand, she prepared herself to curse the damned dog the moment Lizzie was no longer blocking him. Likely aware of what her plans were, Rodolphus moved even further behind the girl. St. Bernards made big targets, but the girl's presence made trying to hit him more difficult. What if Lizzie was injured in the process? She didn't think Lee and Sarah would be quick to forgive her if anything happened to their daughter.

"Rodolphus, let her go. Lizzie, step away from the dog."

Neither of them heeded her command. Instead of moving away from the dog, Lizzie pressed herself against his fur, effectively acting as a human shield for the monster. Hermione didn't know what to do next. If she screamed for help, the wrong villagers might show up. She knew how bad it looked to an outsider. The evil lunatic Madam Dolohov held a child at wand-point who only wished to protect the helpless dog from the witch's cruelty. She had no doubt that Lizzie could make herself cry if prompted by witnesses. Turning her back wasn't an option. Either Rodolphus would transform into a wizard and curse her as she ran for help she could trust or he'd take Lizzie away. Kidnapping would be just as bad as Lizzie getting hurt for Hermione.

In the end, it didn't even matter what her decision would've been. As she was focused on the animagus being protected by the young girl, she didn't hear the footsteps creeping up behind her. It was an amateurish mistake, one Antonin and Thorfinn would both chide her for if she ever had the opportunity to see them again. A hard body slammed against her back, tackling her to the ground.

She hated herself for her carelessness. No wonder she used to believe so fervently that emotions were weaknesses. With all of her concern placed on what happened to Lizzie, she hadn't taken the time to reserve any for herself. Her attacker held her down on the ground with his body. Temporarily stunned by the surprise, she almost dropped her wand. Everything happened in a matter of moments. He punched her forearm with a closed fist and all of his strength. Hermione cried out as she could feel and _hear_ her bone break. The sheer pain forced her to lose her grip on her only weapon. It was only a matter of few seconds before she was completely subdued. Her limited physical strength, especially when she was attacked off-guard, simply couldn't compete with the wizard. Her ankles were bound with conjured rope and despite the agonizing pain in her clearly broken arm, she screamed when her attacker bound her arms together in a tight knot.

The final insult was when he jumped off her back to stomp her wand into two useless pieces. Even if she was somehow able to untie her wrists, she had nothing to fight with. It was only then that she got a good look at Rodolphus' second accomplice. She just had to laugh or she feared she would go mad with worry. How persuasive did Rodolphus have to be to get such a distinguished and respected member of the Resistance on his side?

Tiberius Zeller was once one of the most powerful men in the Ministry of Magic. The Head of his department, he was close friends with the murdered Minister Scrimgeour. Hermione remembered Cormac McLaggen mentioning his uncle's close friendship with the Head of their government. It had been impressive enough to earn him a spot in the coveted Slug Club. One of the few who actually _survived_ a Ministry purge with his life intact, Tiberius might've disappeared into obscurity if it hadn't been for the tragedy that befell his only daughter Rose ten years after the war ended.

"Why are you helping him? Don't you know who he is?"

"Of course I know who he is." Tiberius practically spat in his anger. Still in shock, Hermione didn't know what to say. "More than that, I know who _you_ are. You lied to me when you told me my Rosie's death was an accident. _You_ killed her."

Laughter she had grown to hate startled her attention away from the still-grieving father who seemed ready to kill. Rodolphus took the time to transform into his human form while Hermione struggled with Tiberius on the ground. He clearly found the entire situation amusing.

"Oh, dear, I didn't realize you hadn't told Tiberius the full truth about how his daughter actually died. When I filled in the blanks for him, I had no idea he would be so angry."

Hermione would hate Rodolphus until the day she died. Never once did she expect anything that she'd confided in him about over the years of their fucked up relationship to be used against her in such a way. What was he playing at? She didn't think he wanted her dead, so why would he put her in a such a terrible position? If it was just to get Tiberius to agree to help him attack her in the middle of the night, what did he expect would happen when the wizard began demanding her blood for what she did to his daughter?

Tiberius pulled her off the ground by her broken arm none too gently. She was afraid she would throw up because of the pain. As she turned her head to look at Tiberius' face in some hope of gauging his next move, a deep gash appeared in his neck. Blood, copious amounts of it, gushed out of the wound, spraying Hermione in the face. Out of fear or revulsion, she wasn't sure which, she screamed. Rodolphus laughed again.

"Handy little spell. I can see why you like using it."

Completely ignoring the rapidly draining body on the ground, Rodolphus turned his full attention to his younger accomplice. Far from being horrified by the murder she just witnessed only a short distance away, Lizzie seemed _excited_. A chill ran up Hermione's spine. What was wrong with the girl? Rodolphus knelt on the ground so his eyes were level with the girl's.

"You did a wonderful job, Lizzie. Now, I need you to run home as fast as you can to tell your parents that Hermione killed Mr. Zeller and tried to kill you too."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. He was going to blame the murder on her and worse? Lizzie turned towards Hermione to smile. She didn't even flinch when Rodolphus pressed the tip of his wand against her throat to make a small cut. Not deep enough and certainly not in the right place to kill her, it indeed looked as if Hermione _tried_ to kill the girl. Rodolphus laughed for several moments as he watched the girl run back towards the village while Hermione could only stand there in complete shock.

" _Stupefy_."

Still bound by Tiberius' spell, Hermione was unable to escape Rodolphus' stunner.


	357. December 22nd

**_Author's Note_** ** _: Not going to lie, kinda thrown by the number of people calling Hermione "stupid" for being concerned about the safety of a child... but wow, guess I know now who I should never rely on for childcare. Lol! And acting rashly without a plan is sort of the unofficial Gryffindor motto. Remember that she's a Gryffindor and is slowly becoming more like her pre-war self? I actually thought it was a growth experience that she was worried about someone other than herself for once, but guess several of you disagree. Sigh. Whatever. You can never make everyone happy. But anyway, there will be nine more chapters to finish out the year and then I will be posting an Epilogue about a week or two after New Years to finish the story out..._ finally _. Not soon enough for me. Thanks again for all of your encouragement and support._**

* * *

December 22nd

Hermione didn't have the first clue where she was when she finally regained consciousness. Somewhere cold and dark and dreary. Her broken arm had been mended. The taste of Skele-Gro and some other foul potion likely used to ease her pain still lingered on her tongue. Was it a good sign that her captor tended to her injuries? As much as she hoped so, she could also remember there were plenty of times that she'd ordered Healers to look after one of her prisoners on Level Eleven only to end their existence in a painful interrogation days later. While she didn't _think_ Rodolphus would hurt her, she'd been wrong before. The problem with trying to predict the actions of a crazy person was they were entirely unpredictable. She should know.

The longer her eyes were open the easier it was to see in the dark. Nothing about where she was seemed the least bit familiar. Dirty and musty, she knew that she was underground somewhere. The dusty camp bed she was laying on wasn't very comfortable or soft. It reminded her eerily of the cellar she was held prisoner in almost a year earlier by William Wood. Had she come full circle? Was she right back where she started? Just the thought made her laugh to keep from crying in her frustration.

"Is there something funny I don't know about?"

Rodolphus' sudden emergence from the shadows was hardly a surprise. No doubt he'd been watching her for hours, waiting patiently for her to wake up. Ginny was right when she called the wizard a 'creepy bastard'. He was one of those bizarre people who enjoyed watching people without their knowledge. There was a great deal about him that was psychologically disturbing.

She couldn't exactly explain why she was laughing without sounding completely insane. Not that it really even mattered. She no longer felt the slightest urge to laugh again. Being back in the madman's presence only made her stomach churn. She looked forward to the day that she could finally grant him the painful death he was just begging for. The year was almost over. Perhaps she would get her chance before the new year began?

"Your last prison for me was more luxurious. A bit warmer too."

"You were never my prisoner, my dear. You could've left whenever you wished. I wouldn't have stopped you."

The urge to laugh returned. As she gave in to her desire, she thought about how false his words were. Just because he gave her the illusion of freedom, the ability to come and go as she liked, did _not_ mean she wasn't a prisoner. Thanks to his partnership with Draco, he would've just found her again if she ran.

"Where are we? Is this underneath your dead brother's house?

Rodolphus' jaw clenched at the reminder of his brother's death. Seeing as it hadn't come as a shock to him, it was clear he already was aware that Rabastan was no longer with them. When Fenrir disposed of his mangled body did he simply drop it at the gates of the estate? It wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest. Fenrir could be a bit dramatic at times.

"Forgive me. I suppose it was always technically your house, but because of your inability to do something as basic as father a child, you were gracious enough to lend it to your brother for his family's use."

She knew it was dangerous to continue to insult and irritate the man, but she didn't care. Part of her wanted him to just lose control and murder her. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about what was going to happen next. She could understand why Ginny didn't fight back the night Antonin killed her. Maybe it was macabre to consider that with her no longer a problem, her family would be free to move on with their lives with considerable less complications. Rodolphus, however, wasn't about to take the bait.

"All you need to concern yourself with is that you will not be able to escape. This room is quite secure."

"I can't imagine that any of your family's house-elves would allow a single corner of your estate to become so filthy, let alone an entire room. So, this house must belong to one of your supporters, one of your closest allies. But, who could that possibly be? I've killed almost all of them."

Rodolphus' eyes narrowed at the unkind mention of her recent killing spree. While she wasn't naïve enough to believe he didn't have others who would be willing to help him, those who were closest to him were no longer able to help him in his disgusting plans. That fact brought her a lot of joy. Isolation could make a person commit very large mistakes. One was generally weaker when they were alone. She'd learned that lesson over and over again.

"They're not _all_ dead."

"Oh, clearly, but your best and brightest are gone. Who are you left with? The ones like Tiberius Zeller that you can easily dispose of?"

Reminding him of the wizard he killed the night he kidnapped Hermione brought a smile to his face. When Rodolphus was happy, Hermione was nervous. Had she said something she shouldn't? Some of the bravado she'd been feeling began to dissipate, her dispassionate façade slowly cracking.

"My plan the other night worked to perfection, wouldn't you agree? Tell me, Hermione, what do _you_ think happened when Miss Jordan ran home bleeding to tell her parents you attacked her and killed poor Mr. Zeller?"

She was afraid to imagine the scene. It had to have been horrible, especially when Tiberius' body was found. Anyone who knew anything about her preferred method of ending an interrogation would've believed she was responsible in a heartbeat. Would Lee and Sarah believe she tried to kill their daughter? If they did, she couldn't blame them if they hated her forever. Not after all they'd done for her over the past year. It was a horrible way to repay their kindness.

"And what about poor Antonin? You just left him in that house, vulnerable and not up to his full strength yet. Do you think the Jordans will have taken their anger at your betrayal out on your husband?"

It was a mark of her true level of self-absorption that she hadn't taken a moment to consider how Antonin would be affected. Evidently she still had a lot to learn about being a good, caring wife. She'd been more concerned about what the Jordans would _think_ of her than they they might _do_ to Antonin. As kind and generous as they were, she knew they were still parents who would be livid that their daughter was attacked by someone they thought was their friend. There was simply no way to tell how they would react. Humans were unpredictable, never behaving exactly as one believed they should. Antonin very well could've been in danger.

Hermione worried that Rodolphus might be right and it was all her fault. She knew from the very beginning that taking Antonin to the Resistance was a huge risk. There were so many enemies of them both within the organization. What if they were just looking for a reason to hurt or imprison her husband? Lee and Sarah might be able to see past the violence on their daughter, but what about the other villagers? If the Jordans weren't at the head of the mob, they would be in danger too. And spy or not, if someone found out Antonin was the one who killed Ginny, he wouldn't leave the village alive. At least two of her three remaining brothers would have something to say about his fate.

"How did you get Lizzie to do what you wanted?"

From the moment she realized the young witch was leading her into a trap, Hermione wanted to know how it all began. Focusing on the logistics of the plan would hopefully keep her mind off of the worries she had for her husband for a few minutes. There was nothing she could do to help him where she was. Her question made Rodolphus laugh.

"I suppose I have _you_ to thank for her, my dear. Without your help I never would've known what sort of asset young Lizzie could be."

"How did _I_ help?"

"You told Draco about your concerns for the girl months ago. I thought she sounded fascinating, so I decided to find out if it was true. What did I have to lose? If I was wrong, I could always obliviate the girl. Besides, who would take her seriously? She's just a child."

It made Hermione sick to realize what she told Draco in confidence was passed along to his uncle. How was it even possible that for a short time in the past year she believed she could actually trust Draco? She was embarrassed to remember how easily she'd fallen under his manipulative spell. Why? Had she simply been that lonely, that desperate for companionship? It was a question she didn't expect to ever learn the answer to.

"Once she knew who I was, she wasn't afraid. Just like you told Draco, she's fascinated by Death Eaters. Even seemed a bit sad to learn that we all lost our Dark Marks when the Dark Lord died. Children make wonderful spies. Adults never pay them much mind and they are _always_ listening."

"So you didn't use an Imperius Curse on her to get her to help you?"

"Oh, I certainly did, but it wasn't because she was unwilling to help me. She was actually quite eager. Seems the girl doesn't care much for you at all, I'm afraid, but no, I needed it to be perfect. The Imperius Curse ensured she would say and do _exactly_ as I told her. More parents should be willing to use it on their children. The world would be a much more pleasant place."

Hermione wasn't sure what her beliefs were when it came to the existence of some sort of Higher Power. Sometimes it all sounded like complete rubbish to her logical brain, but then there were times she couldn't just simply write something off as a coincidence. The fact that early on in his miserable life Rodolphus was struck with a disease that would rob him of the ability to create his own children seemed divinely providential. Just imagining a child born with his genes mixed in with Bellatrix's was terrifying. The poor child would have had no chance at being anything closely resembling a normal, healthy human being. They would've quite simply been fucked from the very beginning. Was the hand of God responsible for his inability to create life? Needing a distraction from her disturbing thoughts about Rodolphus as a father, she dwelled on the knowledge of Draco's latest betrayal.

"What exactly is Draco's role in all of this? Why does he pretend one second that he's on my side, that he's falling in love with me, and then in the next, betray me?"

She didn't really expect Rodolphus to give her a truthful answer. That was quite simply not how he operated. If he wanted her to know something, he would tell her openly. If he wanted to keep something a secret, nothing would change his mind. He could be infuriatingly tenacious and tight-lipped.

"Did he actually claim he was falling in love with you?"

"No, but he implied it."

"Interesting. That's a surprise to me. I was under the impression that Draco didn't have the capacity to feel love for anyone but his own mother. There's a tragic Greek play about that, I believe. Something delightfully naughty. Occasionally even Muggles can be entertaining. Perhaps I should give Draco a copy of it for Christmas. He might enjoy the similarities."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his attempt to make jokes. No, if she wanted information about Draco's true loyalties, Rodolphus wasn't the one to give them to her. He would leave her in the dark just because he found it entertaining. He was infuriating.

"Do you have some sort of power over Draco? Are you blackmailing him?"

"Not that it is any of your business, but no, I'm not. Draco has always been the one to approach _me_. I apologize if that hurts your feelings. I know how fond you were growing of him."

"Just _tell_ me, Rodolphus. _Why_ is Draco helping you?"

"Oh, no, my dear. You are in no position to make demands any longer."

Clearly bored with their conversation, Rodolphus abandoned her in the darkness.


	358. December 23rd

December 23rd

After another day stuck in the freezing cellar trying to keep warm, Hermione could understand her husband's obsessive need to build up the fires in their home to a stifling degree. It was an annoyance that she'd learned to live with. Fifteen years in the wizarding prison Azkaban made it so Antonin's biggest fear was never being warm again. She'd only suffered for a few days in conditions that were surely not really as extreme and she worried about the same. How could he have survived such an existence for so long with all of his wits intact?

The truth of the matter was the former inhabitants of Azkaban never truly got over their experiences. Especially those who'd been subjected to years underneath the constant assault of the dementors. One could easily point out the former inmates if they just knew the signs. More than just the distinctive neck tattoo they were all forced to wear, there was a haunting in their eyes. Not present at every moment, but often Hermione could see the faraway expression and know that her husband was back inside the damned fortress reliving the worst years of his entire life. Once it used to annoy her, made her think he was weak for dwelling on a past he could not change. A lot had happened since then. She hoped that she still had the opportunity to be a more thoughtful, caring person for those she loved in the future. Being selfish was a false protection from being hurt by reality. She would've given anything to make better choices.

Rodolphus stole her beaded bag when she was unconscious so any hopes of using one of the extra blankets tucked inside were dashed. She hated that there was once a time in her life when she trusted the monster enough to divulge the secret of her bag. It was just one more confidence he used against her. Would his treachery never end? Still dressed in her thin nightgown she wore when she ran after Lizzie, she was glad that she'd stolen a cloak before she stepped outside. If she hadn't, she feared all of her teeth would've chipped with their chattering. How much longer was she expected to be subjected to the cold without answers?

There was no escape from her prison. She'd looked and found nothing. Although unable to tell time in the dark, she knew at least a day had passed since she last spoke to her captor. As soon as the door slammed shut, she went on a search for a way out or something she could use as a weapon. She'd been unsuccessful on both counts. As much as it pained her to admit the depressing truth, she was at Rodolphus' mercy. Her only hope was a rescue attempt and even that was faint.

Almost as if she summoned the bastard with just the power of her thoughts, the door opened. A wave of magic washed over the space. Prepared with a powerful shielding charm in case she tried to attack him when he entered, Rodolphus needn't have bothered. She was too cold to move out from underneath the inadequate blanket she had wrapped around her body. Carrying a tray with a plate of food in the middle, Rodolphus set it down on a table next to the camp bed.

"You don't seriously expect me to eat or drink anything you give me, do you?"

Rodolphus acted offended, but Hermione just rolled her eyes. What did she care if he had his feelings hurt? The way his eyes moved over her body made her uncomfortable. Not wishing to give him any ideas, she threw off the blanket to sit up.

"I would _never_ harm you, my dear."

Whether he was referring to doing something to her food or forcing himself on her, she wasn't sure. Not that it really mattered. She wouldn't have believed him either way. Even the thought of him never hurting her made her laugh out loud in an almost hysterical manner. Unbothered, Rodolphus ate some of her food to prove it had not been tampered with. Still she didn't eat. She didn't have the stomach to swallow a bite.

"What do you think the villagers have done to Antonin in your absence? What the _Jordans_ have done?"

Hermione didn't want to have the conversation about her husband. Not when she was still so worried about the mess that she left behind. She'd hoped that following the physical struggle she had with Tiberius that some clues might be left behind indicating that she'd not been a willing participant. When she considered the fact that her wand had been broken in two and perhaps the pieces were found in the aftermath, she shook her head and groaned. Rodolphus wasn't stupid nor was he careless enough to not sweep the area while she was unconscious for anything that might indicate she _wasn't_ the one who committed murder. He'd been planning to use Lizzie to his advantage for months. The man was disgusting. She was glad that the Jordans only moved to the Resistance's village in February. What sort of havoc could he have created if he'd had access to young Lizzie for years? As it was, mere months was bad enough.

"What are you planning to do with me, Rodolphus? I'm exhausted of all of these secrets and intrigue."

His smile made her nervous. It usually did. So much changed between them. Every time she thought about the past where she believed he actually cared about her only made her more embarrassed. How could she have been such a fool for so long? She could only blame her potions for a small portion of her poor choices.

"Do you mean you haven't figured it out yet? I thought you were smarter than that."

She was exhausted of everyone always expecting her to know all of the answers to every question. When did she become some sort of superhuman who was all-knowing and all-seeing? Just because she was clever and unafraid to do research in dusty books most wouldn't didn't mean she was somehow this perfect genius who could solve every riddle. She was human. Imperfect, flawed, _normal_. Were there people out there that believed that she was somehow a perfect creature who could do no wrong and knew _everything_? Because that was just ridiculous and unnatural. She'd been forced to prove herself over and over again since she was eleven years old entering into a strange world that she didn't even know existed a short time earlier. While she had some suspicions of what the madman was up to, she didn't believe they were even possible. Perhaps there was a simple explanation.

" _No_ , Rodolphus. I haven't figured it out. None of my theories even seem plausible."

With a smirk, he closed the short distance between them. Hermione feared to take a breath. He reached out his hand to gently tug on one of her curls.

"You know, the first time I got a really good look at you, I thought I'd lost my mind."

Forgetting some of her fear in the wake of his statement, she scoffed. He was undeterred.

"It was several weeks after the Dark Lord killed your little mate. Sure, I'd seen you before, but in battle or in unflattering photographs in the Daily Prophet. I walked into Antonin's kitchen and I saw you sitting at that table… I thought I was looking at a ghost."

She was uncomfortable, desperate for him to leave her alone in the freezing darkness again. It was much easier to be by herself than it was to look into his face when he was making such remarks. She didn't like how he continued to look at her.

"You don't even realize how much you two look alike, do you?"

"I think you're only seeing what you want to see."

Releasing his grip on her curl, he ran the tips of his fingers gently down her cheek. The touch made her want to scream and push him away. Only fear that his next touches would be painful kept her from doing what she wanted.

"Same skin, same hair, same little nose. Your eyes are different though."

Hermione never felt comfortable with the comparisons made between her and the late Bellatrix. Others mentioned it to her before over the years, but it never made it any easier to hear. Perhaps they simply shared common enough physical features. That's as far as she was willing to take it. Lots of people looked alike. It didn't mean anything special. Besides, Bellatrix was insane. She hated the comparisons because she worried they were always just one step away from calling her the same.

"I thought I could be content with you, but everything was wrong. I needed to change you. I hated that you lived alone with Antonin and I couldn't find out what poison he was whispering into your ears. He never wanted you to be a Death Eater."

"No, he didn't. He tried to persuade me over and over again to remain Unmarked, to stay out of the danger that would inevitably come my way as a Death Eater."

"He was only supposed to make you more _amenable_ to the Dark Lord, not encourage you to join us. Lovesick fool wanted to keep you protected even then. I knew that I wouldn't be able to do what I wanted with you if he was always standing in my way. I _encouraged_ you to want to be a Death Eater so I could be near you, so we could have reasons to be alone."

Rodolphus was even more insidious than she ever imagined. Had he been grooming her from the very beginning to become someone, _something_ she didn't want to be? She hadn't realized what changes to her personality and her belief system came about naturally as a result of surviving the lost war and what was thrust upon her with memory charms, illegal potions, and questionable spells. Which thoughts were her own and which thoughts had been carefully and skillfully planted inside her mind? Hermione feared that she would never know the true scope of his treachery.

"I thought I could take away the parts of you that weren't like her, make you into her, but it never worked like I wanted it to. You're too different."

She could feel her skin crawl with each word he spoke. Was that why he cast so many spells in her mind? He was conditioning her to become the very last person she would ever want to be. It was sick and demented. The man should've cast an Avada to his own chest moments after Bellatrix died if that's what he really wished. She remembered what she learned from Marcus Flint right before she killed him.

"Is that what you meant about trying to wake me up?"

His light green eyes got hard at the question. He was angry.

"Who told you that?"

"Marcus Flint told me how he listened in on a conversation between you and Alecto right before I killed him."

"I'm not sorry to hear you were the one to kill him. I suspected as much."

Thanks to Albert Runcorn most of their country believed that she was responsible for the murders of the Flints. Even a broken clock was right twice a day. The more she stopped to consider the implications of 'waking her up', the more frightened she became. Was it possible? He might have failed in his previous attempts, but was he able to figure out how to replace all of Hermione's traits with Bellatrix's? She couldn't even imagine how that would work. It would still be her mind and her body, just she would _think_ she was Bellatrix? Or would he just make her so she was nasty and even more insane like his late wife? There were so many questions she had that she knew he wouldn't be willing to answer. Of course it was also possible that the man was completely insane and speaking gibberish. He might _believe_ he could do something and not actually be able to follow through. Until she knew the facts, she couldn't afford to discount him just because he seemed like he'd gone round the bend.

"You've been trying to make me more like your wife? Why?"

His anger was even more noticeable. She was glad that he was no longer touching her because his hands were both clenched in tight fists. One wrong move or wrong word and he could easily turn his anger around on her. She had to be careful as she sought more answers.

"I would think that was obvious. I miss her. I've actually taken a great deal of joy out of torturing the Weasley family because of what that bitch Molly did to my beloved wife."

The wizard's vendetta against the Weasley family made a sick sort of sense. No doubt he would see the remaining children born to his wife's murderer as enemies he needed to dispose of. Seeking out Ginny to utterly destroy her was genius in a demented kind of way. Making her murder her own brother was dastardly and exactly what he would do. Rodolphus played the long game. Most might have rushed out in their anger and pain to eradicate as many enemies as possible immediately. And in those first several chaotic and violent years, he might have been successful in taking down a few. But, that wasn't enough. He wanted them to _suffer_. He wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less than complete annihilation of his enemies. Hermione worried about the remaining members of the Weasley family. While she certainly had had her differences and disagreements with all of them at some point, she hated that they were all in danger. Shouldn't the world be safer with the Dark Lord dead and buried?

She hoped that she could trick Rodolphus into revealing more about his plans. Though it rarely happened, when he got emotional, he got sloppy. She had to use that against him in some way. It was dangerous, but it was the only weapon she had. What was the worst that could happen to her if he didn't appreciate her efforts? He would kill her? She didn't find that fate all that terrible. At least then it would all be over. Forcing out an amused laugh, the wizard was annoyed instantly.

"And you thought you could turn me into your wife? That you could mold me into _her_? You're as insane as she was, Roddy."

The back of his hand slammed against her mouth with a dizzying force. Even though her lip was bleeding and tears were forming in the corners of her eyes thanks to the pain of the blow, she laughed, refusing to be cowed. He was getting too emotional.

"You're pathetic. Bellatrix is dead. You can't change that."

He struck her again with his other hand on the opposite side of her face. Blood dribbled down her chin. Her heart raced with fear and expectation. Perhaps realizing that he was losing control, Rodolphus turned away to cross the room to the door. Before he exited the room, he looked over his shoulder to address her one final time.

"I can still try to bring her back."


	359. December 24th

December 24th

Rodolphus didn't come back to the cellar or whatever damned room she was tucked away in for a very long time. When her stomach could no longer stand being empty, Hermione forced herself to eat the food that was still waiting on the tray. For all she knew, it was the last time anyone would come back to feed her. Maybe she'd pushed him too hard. Clearly the man wasn't stable. She should've been gentler in her approach. Trying to wind him up to the point of being overly emotional rarely did her any good.

Her mouth still throbbed where he'd struck her twice. She was thankful that at least he hadn't hit her hard enough to break any of her teeth. That was an experience she didn't care to experience again. Once the memory charms were removed from her mind carefully by Babajide Akingbade months earlier, she was able to remember all of the times that Rodolphus had lost his temper over the years and physically hurt her in some manner. Most of the incidents had been worse than just a simple backhand across her mouth. He'd been clever in his manipulation of her mind, forcing her to believe that the one who was actually hurting her was her husband. The man was a genius with memory charms. If he'd only been able to channel his talents into something useful and worthwhile maybe all of their lives would've been different.

There was something very telling about a man who would use physical violence against a woman. Especially one that was so much smaller. Somehow Hermione couldn't imagine that Bellatrix would ever allow the violence in her own home. At least not unless there was some sort of adult game being played behind the closed doors of their bedroom. Hermione didn't want to travel down that sick line of thinking. Rodolphus was the sort of man who could hold his temper for a very long time without exploding. Possessed of an extraordinarily long fuse, when the end was finally reached, it was explosive. She'd been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his ire more times than most. Perhaps his frustration with her was because at every turn she disappointed him simply by not being the woman he wished she was. How was anyone supposed to succeed in that sort of environment?

No one bothered to bring her an additional blanket. It was entirely possible that he was angry enough that he wouldn't care if she died down there. Every person had their breaking point. Maybe Rodolphus finally found his. Without her beaded bag, she felt naked and exposed. Hermione wrapped the stolen cloak and the thin blanket as tightly around her body as she could in an effort to conserve as much of her body heat as possible. The temperatures dropped at some point in her stay. If she discovered that there was snow on the ground outside, she wouldn't have been surprised.

With no way to tell time, she didn't even know what day it was. Had Christmas come and gone? The thought of spending her Christmas shivering in the cold darkness made her laugh. It certainly wouldn't be the _worst_ Christmas she'd ever had if that was the case. The one she spent with Harry on the horcrux hunt had been pretty dismal. There had been some terrible ones in the worst years of her marriage too. And how could she ever forget the Christmas she almost murdered Aubin? As thankful as she was for Alexandre's help in passing along the message from Antonin, part of her still hated him for preventing her from killing his baby brother. How different would the world be if she'd eradicated that sorry son of a bitch before he could kill Hannah? Or any of the other horrible acts he'd committed?

Of course, she had to remind herself that just because it wasn't the worst Christmas she'd ever had _yet_ , that didn't mean there wasn't still time for anything else to happen. The longer Rodolphus stayed away, the more nervous she grew. What was he doing? Was he preparing for some disturbing ritual? Or was he gathering up his allies for a bit of bloodsport? She really couldn't tell.

From the moment Rodolphus left her prison, she'd thought of little else but their conversation. How could she? It had been bizarre and upsetting. Was he telling the truth? She believed him about the part where he tried unsuccessfully to mold her into some facsimile of his late wife. There had been enough evidence of that over the years between his spells in her mind and the training he gave her that she didn't even realize had been training at the time. But the memory spells and the charms that he planted in her head made her believe that he was trying to make her into some sort of mindless super solider, not his dead wife. She thought that he was attempting to turn her into a weapon.

What did he mean by stating he could still try to bring Bellatrix back? That required the use of extremely Dark magic, similar to what the Dark Lord used to give him back a body. Except much, _much_ worse. Hermione didn't want to believe that it was possible that Rodolphus was trying to resurrect Bellatrix, but he certainly was crazy enough to try it. How would that even work? The logistics of such an abomination of nature threatened to do her head in.

Was Rodolphus trying to be the real-life Dr. Frankenstein? Maybe he was planning on building his dead wife a brand-new body from bits and pieces of others. He claimed that Hermione had many of the same features. Was it even possible to cut multiple bodies up to make the perfect vessel? And even if it was, how would he make it Bellatrix? Could he call her back from beyond the Veil? Or was he just essentially trying to create an inferius that _looked_ a bit like his wife?

Clearly, Rodolphus was losing his mind. Likely he had been for many years. He experienced entirely too much isolation. That wasn't good for anyone. For four years he'd lived almost solely as a dog with just a few humans he trusted enough to speak to. But it was likely that he'd been suffering much longer than that.

 _"_ _One man went into Azkaban and another came out."_

She'd heard her husband repeat the same statement countless times. While it was probably true for everyone who spent any time in the infamous prison, Antonin made a special distinction for Rodolphus. Her husband and the other wizard were never open about what caused the rift between them. Hermione resolved to demand answers from Antonin if she ever saw him again. Obviously it hadn't been bad enough that the two men couldn't stand to be in the same room together. Antonin even trusted Rodolphus enough to help restore his in-laws' memories. Both men were confusing.

The sound of the door to her prison opening should have been a welcome sound, but it wasn't. Somehow she didn't get the impression that the person who was about to enter would be one that she had any desire to see again. Rescue missions were common in stories and movies, not reality. Hermione didn't have the energy to endure another nonsense conversation with the lunatic. Just the thought made her long to pull her blanket over her head to hide. Even the possibility of more food to fill her empty belly didn't make the thought any easier. Besides, he might drug her food again. She would rather starve to death than have to go through potions withdrawals again. They only got worse each time. The next time she feared she would die.

A groan exited her mouth when she heard the heavy footsteps walking towards her camp bed. Whatever experience she was about to have, she didn't imagine it would be good. Completely involuntary, the noise she made only served to make the new inhabitant of her prison laugh. Realizing immediately that it wasn't Rodolphus at all, Hermione opened her eyes to see Draco come into view. Though she was surprised to see the wizard, she was still annoyed and worried about what the next few minutes would bring. Draco was _not_ a friend. She couldn't allow herself to forget that fact for a single moment. Not again.

"I expected you'd be at least a little more excited to see me."

In that moment she almost would've preferred it to have been Rodolphus instead. She didn't bother to hide the rolling of her eyes. He should be made aware that she wasn't in the mood for his antics.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Oh, are we back to 'Malfoy'? And after all of those times I heard you scream out Draco."

He wasn't going to leave her alone in peace. Reminders of the times they'd spent together in various beds and on random sofas disturbed her more than she cared to admit even to herself. She sat up on the rickety camp bed, ready in case the disgusting wizard had some nefarious purpose in mind for his visit. How he knew where to find her would be an interesting mystery to solve, but she didn't think that he would tell her the truth even if she asked nicely.

"This is a truly dreadful place and forgive me for saying so, but you look _awful_ , Hermione. Has my uncle been treating you poorly?"

Not caring that she was glaring at him, Draco sat down on the camp bed next to her and leaned his back against the wall. She was surprised that he was willing to sit on something so dusty, but then again his twenty years as a tracker meant he'd been forced to endure less-than-luxurious accommodations on many occasions. Hermione sighed, every cell in her body exhausted. More than just the inadequate sleep and the incessant shivering that wouldn't stop, she was weary to her bones. She could feel the end coming. Somehow the end of the year seemed like a significant time to her for reasons she didn't fully understand. What was the ridiculous statement that so many made each January 1st as the year changed? _New year, new me_. The thought made her laugh. No one ever really changed.

But with the end coming, she was finding the nasty business of living each moment much harder than before. It was tempting to want time to pass quickly enough that she didn't have to wait long, but she feared what the end was going to be. She could handle it just fine if she lost her life. It was something she'd been expecting to happen for years. Part of her believed it was something of a miracle that she'd managed to survive as long in the Dark Lord's world as she had. People were always quick to state that someone experiencing a rough patch in their life should take it 'day by day'. What if that was too hard? Hermione struggled to make it moment by moment some days. Each breath was becoming more difficult.

She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her ever-increasingly depressing thoughts. Evidently she'd been alone for far too long in the dark. It was embarrassing the depths she'd sunk to. The desire to be seen by Draco as something other than the beaten, terrified, pathetic creature she felt herself to be only moments before he opened the door become her sole desire. He would use any amount of weakness against her. Not only that, but he was apt to share every word they spoke, every expression she made with his uncle when they were through. She refused to let either wizard believe they'd somehow broken her.

"What do you want, _Malfoy_?"

Draco held up her beaded bag and the spare, untraceable wand she used when she was cloaking her magic months earlier.

"To rescue you, of course."


	360. December 25th

December 25th

Trusting Draco to rescue her from the prison that Rodolphus threw her in days earlier was no small decision. Everything was suspicious and she couldn't afford to be made a fool of again. Besides, it was difficult to believe that Draco was sincere after every horrible thing he'd done to her in recent months. She'd been fooled by him many times. When it was clear that she wasn't about to take the offered treasures out of his hands, Draco rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Granger. We don't have all day. The potion I slipped in Rodolphus' wine is going to wear off eventually."

Still she didn't reach for her bag. It could all be some nasty test. Some way that Rodolphus was trying to test her loyalties or Draco's cruelty or any number of other factors. The man was insane. There was simply no way to tell what he was capable of.

If she took Draco up on his offer to be 'rescued', would she just end up in an even worse prison? Rodolphus might be waiting for them just outside the door. Ready to pounce on her if she dared believe for even a second that she could get away. She could begin to understand some of the reasons why kidnapping victims didn't always run away immediately when they saw an opportunity. Psychological torture was nothing to sneer at.

"Why are you doing this, Draco? Do you really expect me to believe that you're here to help me?"

Even in the dim light of the cellar she could tell that his cheeks flushed slightly at her question. Was that shame she saw? He dropped his eyes from hers to stare at the dusty floor. Perhaps there was a little bit of humanity left in him after all. She'd been struggling to believe that he was nothing but evil. That didn't seem anything at all like the wizard she'd gotten to know over the past year.

"I know that I haven't always been very kind to you, Hermione, but I _swear_ I'm just trying to get you out here. Rodolphus is going to hurt you. I don't know all of the details. Honestly, I don't _want_ to know the details. I just know that if you stay here any longer, eventually he's going to do something terrible to you that he can't take back."

She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that there was a small part of the wizard that actually cared about her, but the tiny voice in the back of her mind told her repeatedly that she couldn't afford to trust anyone. Especially not the man who'd manipulated her over and over again.

 _"_ _And would it have made a difference to you if you learned that he only 'betrayed' you to Rodolphus because I asked him to?"_

The question her husband asked her only days earlier echoed through her head. Antonin believed that at least some of Draco's repeated betrayals were because they were part of the grand plan to make sure that Rodolphus still believed he could trust his nephew. But was that true? She could feel her head pounding. If she trusted Draco again only for him to betray her once more, she wasn't sure what she would do. She _wanted_ to ignore her fears and worries and allow him to rescue her again. How many times had he done that in a year? More than she wanted to stop and relive.

"If you're lying to me, Draco, I'll never forgive you."

With a slow nod of his head wordlessly acknowledging that he understood, Draco rose from the camp bed. He extended his hand to help her to her feet. Unsteady thanks to the exhaustion plaguing her body and the lack of food, Hermione was grateful for the extra support. As a further show that he could be trusted, he pushed the beaded bag and extra wand into her hands. She felt more secure with a weapon and her possessions.

Up until the very moment that Hermione crossed through the doorframe, she feared that it was all just another elaborate trap. When they were no longer in the room and at the foot of a staircase, she relaxed only slightly. She didn't know where they were. There might still be plenty of opportunities to be attacked.

"Where are we?"

One of the questions she'd been asking herself since she first arrived in her temporary prison was her location. She meant what she said about Rodolphus' family's house-elves. Once she'd witnessed one of the house-elves scrubbing the pipes underneath a sink. If their house-elves wouldn't allow even the plumbing to get the least bit tarnished, there was simply no way that they'd allow the room she was living in to be so filthy. Prisoner or not, she would've had the cleanest linens and nightgown possible.

Her question made Draco laugh. He seemed to be finding much of what she said amusing. Usually that annoyed her to no end. Considering it was still possible that he was actually doing what he promised and not just manipulating her once again, she held her tongue.

"You've had the privilege of being a guest at Malfoy Manor."

"I should've guessed that. My stays have never been particularly pleasant affairs after all."

Draco never appreciated when she brought up that horrible March night when she was tortured by his aunt in the drawing room. It wasn't exactly as if Hermione enjoyed remembering it either. Once she made a promise that she would never return to the damned Manor of her own free will again. She hoped to continue the rest of her life, no matter how long or short it turned out to be, continuing to avoid that hateful place. As they climbed the stairs, she tried to push away reminders of the first time she knew she was in his childhood home. So much happened when she was simply trying to stay alive that wretched night. When he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, she felt like she could breathe easier.

Until she came face to face with Lucius Malfoy. They hadn't spoken since the night he allowed her to murder his illegitimate half-brother with Thorfinn. There had been no need. Even in the golden days of the regime, she avoided the wizard whenever possible. Hermione knew that the horrible man had been aware of her presence in his cellar and done nothing to come to her aid. While it should've angered her, she knew all too well the power that Rodolphus could hold over people. Likely, Lucius didn't have a choice. That didn't mean she was going to just forgive the man, however. No, she would've been more than happy to slice open his throat if his son wasn't standing right next to her.

"I should've realized Madam Dolohov had something to do with why Rodolphus is passed out on my dining room table."

Before she could come up with a suitable retort, the clocks all around the manor struck the midnight hour. Lucius offered her a courtly bow.

"Happy Christmas, Madam Dolohov. I do trust that you can find your way out of my home."

Lucius excused himself from their presence to check on his drugged former brother-in-law. The entire exchange had been nothing less than bizarre. Hermione wondered if she should pinch herself just to make certain she wasn't actually dreaming. Why were the Malfoy men both so very odd?

"Come on. Father wants you out. He's not pleased with Rodolphus for involving him in his scheme. He's been worried ever since you were brought here that Antonin was going to discover you were here."

"Then why did he allow me to be locked in the cellar?"

"Rodolphus never does anything without having several backup plans. He threatened Mother. While you were locked downstairs, she's been locked upstairs. I imagine Father is unlocking her now. Rodolphus said that he'd hurt her if anything happened to you."

If that was the truth, and Hermione was struggling to believe that Draco was willingly divulging it, she didn't understand how the Malfoys would just let her go if Narcissa was really in danger. Families were complicated. That was a lesson she'd learned repeatedly over the course of her almost forty years. Even before she had the additional complication of magic and a secret world she knew nothing about, she knew that fact.

"Won't your uncle be angry with you when he discovers you let me go?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders with a laugh.

"Probably, but I don't work for my uncle."

She didn't think she would ever understand all of the intricate alliances within their society since the Dark Lord died. Part of her was glad that she'd been intentionally left in the dark for so long. If she had to try to make sense of it all, try to keep track who was an enemy and who was a friend, she feared her head might burst. If Draco claimed he didn't work for his uncle, who did he work for? Who was calling all of the shots?

"Once Father is certain that Mother is all right, I imagine the two of them will banish Rodolphus' sorry arse into the snow outside the gates. He doesn't have as many allies as he thinks he does and thanks to his last effort to control my family, he has even fewer. Father will ward the gates against him and they'll wait patiently for this all to end."

"And what if it doesn't end soon?"

"Can't you feel it, Hermione? Surely you know that it's going to happen soon. I thought Christmas was the day that Rodolphus was going to finally make his move, but I was wrong. Or maybe he was and thanks to the potion I added to his wine, I stopped it. Doesn't matter. He's getting desperate and he's getting careless. Without his closest allies, the ones that always helped center him, he's losing touch with reality. It's just going to be a matter of time before he snaps."

She couldn't dispute a single word that he said. Thanks to her systematic elimination of his allies, as well as the help she received from others, Rodolphus was almost entirely alone in the world. He couldn't afford to wait too long. His power was waning.

Draco pushed open the heavy front door of the manor to allow her to exit. The slippers she wore weren't thick enough to protect her feet from the elements, but thanks to the wizard, she had her bag back. As soon as she was able to assure herself that her husband was all right, she planned to seek out an acceptable shower. It had been too long since she last felt clean and warm.

Just outside the gates of his family's estate, Draco stopped moving. Hermione didn't know what to do next. Was she supposed to thank him for allowing her to leave? Somehow it didn't exactly feel like a rescue. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something felt _off_ about the whole affair. In an effort to distract her confusing thoughts, she stuck her hand deep into her beaded bag to find the one object that she knew would help her next. Unfortunately, she couldn't find it.

"What are you looking for?"

The words were on the tip of her tongue until she stopped herself. He didn't need to know how worried she was about Antonin. It was something that he would use against her if he did. When he realized she wasn't going to tell him, Draco wasn't offended. Instead, he laughed and held up the very watch she was desperate to find.

"Was it this?"

"Give that to me."

"No, I don't think so. Not yet."

Frustrated and annoyed, she tried to summon the watch with her wand, but he was able to block the spell. Clearly he'd been anticipating that very move.

"Interesting that the _first_ thing you want to do when you're free is find your husband again. I'm a little jealous."

Hermione wasn't in the mood for his theatrics.

"You don't even have the capacity of love, Draco. Don't pretend like you're in love with me."

He didn't even bother denying a word she said. With a smile and a tight grip on Antonin's watch, Draco Disapparated away. She was furious that he would take her one way of tracking her husband away. Remembering the silver chain she'd stolen months earlier to track the tracker when she desired, she dug through the contents of her bag. It was gone. She would have to make her next move entirely alone. Angry at the turn of events, she thought of a place she didn't suspect Rodolphus would look for her immediately upon discovering the treachery of the Malfoys. There was no reason to linger there another second.


	361. December 26th

December 26th

Beyond the first few minutes after midnight, Hermione's Christmas was rather uneventful. As soon as she left Malfoy Manor behind, she returned to Hogsmeade. It was dangerous to go back to the place that had proven to be so unfriendly to her, but she had few options. There was simply no way she would put Augustus and Rosalind in danger and Fenrir's cottage had already been compromised. She had to assume that Rodolphus wouldn't immediately go looking for her in a place that might seem too obvious. Hiding in a Muggle hotel would be considered a more likely place than the home of her husband's best friend.

No one was at the Rowle house when she carefully knocked on the back door. She wasn't aware of their plans for the holiday. With it being the first Christmas without Hannah who truly was the heart of their family, she could only imagine that wherever they were, they were struggling. While possible that the older girls stayed at Hogwarts, she wasn't sure where Alice was living. She knew that tensions had been high between Thorfinn and his father-in-law, especially where his daughters were concerned. Perhaps the girls were with their grandfather while their father hid himself at the bottom of a bottle. Hermione was worried about her old friend.

She took advantage of the silent house. Placing extra wards around Daisy's bedroom that would hopefully alert her to the presence of another person if one stopped by, she first took as long a hot shower as she dared. Washing the dirt and grime from the Malfoy Manor's cellar off made her feel like a new woman. And the added benefit of the warmth of the hot water proved to her that she was still alive. Once she was clean and dressed warmly in proper clothes just in case she had to run at a moment's notice, she laid on top of the girl's made bed with one of her own blankets covering her body. Within moments, she was asleep.

Staying in Thorfinn's empty house turned out to be the best decision for the moment. If Rodolphus was even aware after being unceremoniously tossed into the snow that his prisoner was no longer in Malfoy Manor, he hadn't yet considered the possibility that Hermione was in Hogsmeade. Christmas Day passed with no incidents. No one came home or blasted the doors off the hinges. It gave her the opportunity to rest her exhausted body and consider her next moves.

Just a little after nine in the morning on Boxing Day, she heard the first sounds of life in the house. Carefully packing her blanket into her beaded bag just in case she had to run, Hermione prepared to open the door to find an enemy waiting. Rodolphus was in the process of losing his mind, but he was still an intelligent man. Eventually he would run out of options to look for her beyond the obvious. And with Draco able to potentially steal one of her possessions from her bag without her realizing, she knew he could be tracking her too. Before she could open the door to Daisy's bedroom to check for herself who was outside in the corridor, the door was blasted inwards, knocking Hermione off her feet.

"Princess? Are you all right?"

Relieved that it was just the master of the house returned home, she allowed Thorfinn to help her up off the floor. He seemed a little sheepish about almost injuring her, but she could never blame him. Not after all they'd gone through. When he pulled her into a tight hug to prove he was glad to see her, she felt her eyes burn. Had they finally moved past everything that happened after Hannah's death? She desperately hoped so. Especially with her mind clear from the lack of potions and the memory charms, she missed her friend.

"The girls and I spent Christmas at their grandfather's. I was just stopping in here for a few minutes to shower and shave. Thought you might be an intruder."

"Technically, I suppose I was, but I didn't know where else to go."

Unwilling to share where she'd been and terrified to ask after her husband, she tried to change the subject. If there was bad news about Antonin considering how she left things in the Resistance's village, she no longer felt prepared to hear the terrible truth. As Thorfinn led her to the kitchen with promises of hot tea and something for breakfast, she referred back to a statement he'd made.

"You said you were with Hannah's father? But I thought he was on Rodolphus' side?"

Thorfinn smirked. She knew she wasn't wrong. Mr. Abbott had been at the top of the list that Draco smuggled to her a lifetime earlier. As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, the Abbotts were promised a seat on the soon-to-be reformed Wizengamot. Considering Hannah's father had never warmed up to the idea of his only daughter marrying a Death Eater, especially after her own mother was murdered back in their sixth year, it wasn't difficult to deduce that the man would be firmly against whatever side Thorfinn aligned himself with.

"He doesn't like me, but he knows how much I love his daughter and his granddaughters. He wanted a better world for them too. He's been helping us."

The wizard reached into the pocket of his robes to pull out his silver mirror. Considering the fact that he didn't immediately offer his condolences to Hermione when he found her, she hoped that meant that there had been a positive outcome for Antonin following her kidnapping. She'd been too afraid to discover otherwise. With a cheeky grin, he flipped the mirror open.

"And I think there's someone desperate to find you. He's been driving himself mad."

"But others can hear you."

He winked.

"Oh, I'm aware. Don't you worry."

Thorfinn cleared his throat and called out Antonin's name.

"Mate, Emmy sent Ollie's Christmas gift home with me. I'm just going to send it up to the castle, but is there something I should know about? Emmy can hardly say his name without blushing."

Antonin laughed through the mirror. At once Hermione felt heartened and the ache in her stomach that had been present since she first woke up in the cellar began to lessen.

 _"_ _Not that I know of, but I'll be sure to ask him."_

"I know how you Dolohovs fall desperately in love with your witches. I'm not sure I want my Emmy to be subjected to that."

There was no heat behind his words. Based on the chuckle that she heard coming from the other side of the mirror, her husband didn't believe him either. Thorfinn closed the mirror and turned back to Hermione to wink again.

Seconds later the door to the back garden opened and Antonin rushed inside. With his eyes focused solely on his wife, he crossed the space to take her into his arms. His kiss was heated enough that Thorfinn laughed and gave them privacy. Hermione didn't care. She would've done a great deal more than kiss with the other wizard still there in the room to witness it if her husband had been so inclined. Feeling his hands on her body and his lips against hers calmed her down more than anything, including her old potions, ever did. When she was no longer alone, she didn't feel afraid. Based on the manner in which he wished to prove to his wife that he was glad to see her, Antonin had been terribly afraid for days. She hated that he had to worry.

"Are you all right? Is anything hurt?"

"I should be the one asking you that, Antonin. When I left, you weren't exactly in top form."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her back. Holding her tightly against his chest, she could feel his heart beating frantically. The poor man wasn't doing well. When this was all over, she was going to personally drag him in front of a Healer to make certain he wasn't about to keel over and die on her. What sort of cruel fate would that be if they both survived and she finally could admit to herself that she'd loved her husband all along just for him to die? She would be tempted to cross through the Veil herself just to pull him back out.

"I'm much better now that I have you back in my arms where you belong."

Hermione leaned back enough that she could kiss him softly. Some of the tension in his body began to lessen. She ran her fingers through his dark brown hair, worried that she was seeing even more silver than had been there just a short time before. While he was certainly the type of man who would only improve in his looks with more grey in his hair, she was afraid that the stress was slowly killing him. How could she make it all stop?

"I was worried about you. I thought that the villagers would hurt you once Tiberius Zeller's body was found. I know how awful it looked."

His deep, heavy sigh brought her more pain and fear. She slid her arms around his waist again to rest her cheek against his chest. The feel of his body against hers and his arms enveloping her was what they both needed to feel calm.

"Yes, I'm afraid that you will never be welcome there again. No matter how much Lee tried to assure them that you had nothing to do with his murder, most of them didn't believe him."

"Lee didn't believe I did it?"

"No, neither did Sarah. When Lizzie came running back into the house screaming that you tried to kill her, neither one of them believed that was true for a second. And then Posy admitted that she'd seen Lizzie visiting a big, fluffy dog earlier in the day. We were able to put the pieces together. Sarah was angry with herself for not recognizing that her own daughter was under the Imperius Curse, but she said that the girl had been acting strangely for months."

"Rodolphus said that Lizzie _wanted_ to help him."

"Yes, well, we've already discovered that the bastard is a master manipulator. Maybe she thought she did. You said that you told Malfoy about her interest in Death Eaters. Rodolphus probably used that against her, planted spells in her mind. I really don't know. Sarah took the girls back to Wales to the hospital she worked at. She has a colleague who will be examining them both just to make sure there's nothing permanently wrong with either of them."

An immense sense of relief washed over Hermione at the knowledge that the Jordans didn't blame her for what happened that horrible night. Just her presence in their lives put them all in grave danger. If the roles had been reversed, she couldn't be certain that she would've allowed them into her home where her family could've been in trouble. They were much better people than she was. Perhaps there was hope, however, that she could be more like them.

"I'm worried about Ollie. Is he okay in the castle?"

Antonin tightened his hold on his wife.

"Yes, he's fine. I went up to Hogwarts yesterday on Christmas Day to check on him. Afraid I had to lie and tell him you were sick."

"Did he believe you?"

"Highly doubt it. The kid is too smart. But yes, he's all right."

They couldn't linger in Thorfinn's house for much longer. She'd already been there too long. If anyone was tracking her or watching his house, they would all find themselves in trouble. After both of the Dolohovs thanked Thorfinn for allowing Hermione to hide in his home, Antonin took his wife to another house she didn't recognize. She didn't even care where they were. The fact that there was heat and she wasn't alone was enough to satisfy her immediate needs and desires.

Only moments after entering the house, she kicked off her shoes and climbed on top of the bed. Opening her arms, she invited Antonin to lay there with her. Neither of them pushed the other to do anything other than just be still and quiet in each other's company. She'd taken those quiet moments for granted. Perhaps they both had. Long before she was ready to break the spell of the moment, Hermione turned on her side to face her husband.

"I need to tell you everything that happened. It's… you're not going to like it, Antonin."

He offered her a kiss as encouragement. It was just what she needed to recount everything that happened since she walked out of the bedroom they shared at the Jordans' home until he found her in Thorfinn's kitchen.


	362. December 27th

December 27th

Antonin's grip on her waist was bruising, but Hermione was past the point of caring. Each undulation of his hips behind her threatened to be her undoing. Something about having her naked form spread out in front of him in such an animalistic and submissive stance always brought out the primal passion in her husband. Of course, that could be said about generally any position they chose. If they had to choose a favorite collectively, she didn't have any doubt they would pick the same one.

She rested her cheek against the scratchy fabric of the terrible sheets covering their borrowed bed. Her fists closed on the fibers, desperate for something to hold on to, something to ground her to the Earth when all she wanted to do was give in to the euphoric high and float away. How was it that she didn't realize all of those years she wasted living under the influence of her damned potions that she could've found the same release in bed with her husband? Why had she been running from him for so long?

Following the explanation of everything that she'd endured during Rodolphus' kidnapping and every vile word he said to her, the Dolohovs sought out comfort in each other. Neither one of them wanted to admit how afraid they both were of the possibilities. Forming it all into words was too much. Except to eat or bathe, they hadn't bothered to even get out of bed and even then, they were still together. Where her husband rediscovered his insatiability was an amusing question Hermione didn't care if she ever learned the answer to. For having such a dismal Christmas Eve and Day, they both made certain to make up for it in the following two days they spent entirely alone.

His increased speed and his uneven rhythm indicated that Antonin was near to finding his release. Eager to encourage him, especially considering she'd lost count the number of breathtaking orgasms he'd pulled from her, Hermione pushed her body backwards to meet each of his thrusts. The low growl coming out of his mouth was all the confirmation she needed that he liked what she was doing very much. Her body ached, but she would've continued for as long as he desired just so she could _feel_ something real. Tightening his grasp on her hips, he didn't last much longer. They both collapsed into a sweaty heap on the awful bed. Still desiring to be close to his wife, Antonin pulled her into his arms as they both caught their breaths.

As much as she had grown to truly appreciate the moments they had alone, Hermione hated that when they weren't actively working to engage the other in the sorts of activities that left little room for coherent thought, her mind wandered to places it shouldn't. There was a deep unsettling in her that she couldn't ignore. Since she left Rodolphus' captivity armed with the horrible knowledge of at least some of what he wanted to do to her, she hadn't been able to feel relaxed or the least bit calm. If she managed to _appear_ at ease, it was solely for her husband's benefit. She hated that he'd been forced to worry about her for days. She didn't want him to worry if he didn't have to.

With the end of the year quickly approaching, she knew that something was about to happen. Of course, no matter how many times she attempted to convince herself that she was being paranoid, it never worked. Rodolphus was growing desperate. His actions would start to show that soon, if they hadn't already. The loss of his key alliances had no doubt altered his long-term plans, but there was still cause to fear that his desire to bring back his wife was his number one and possibly _only_ priority. Hermione was still in danger. It was exhausting to never be able to take a deep breath and relax.

"I can tell you're worried. What are you thinking?"

She didn't want to admit to Antonin what was really going on in her mind. When she told him her suspicions about what Rodolphus had planned for her, he didn't even know how to respond. The explanation she gave about the horrible man spending years trying to turn her more into his wife with changes inside her mind angered him, but he'd somehow managed to keep a handle on his temper. Likely he was biding his time until he could rid the world of the entire Lestrange family. She felt the same. Only the fear that whatever the spell he had left in her mind activating when he was killed prevented them from going straight to that option. Once Mr. Akingbade was able to get the necessary information about what the spell was and how it could be removed would Rodolphus' murder even be possible.

"I was just thinking about Ollie. I hate that he's in the castle right now so far away from us."

"Yes, but if he was here with us right now, we wouldn't have been able to have near so pleasant a day, would we?"

His reminder of the way they spent their hours alone made her snort. A gentle nudge in his stomach with her elbow drew laughter out of him. It was a sound that she'd missed without even realizing it. So much of her life had been spent in a fog that she felt like she was finally waking up out of. Antonin kissed the top of her head and tightened his hold on her body.

"Ollie is safe. I'm sure of it."

Before he could continue with all of the explanations as to why he was certain their son was protected in the walls of Hogwarts, a familiar vibrating on the table next to the bed caught his attention. Releasing his hold on her to answer the mirror, Antonin rolled over to retrieve his communicator. They'd been very careful with how it was used in recent weeks, but it was still the easiest way to speak, especially when it was necessary to do so quickly. Thorfinn didn't even bother to apologize for interrupting their evening.

 _"_ _Have you seen your brother lately?"_

"Which one?

 _"The_ smart _one_."

Antonin laughed.

" _I'm_ the smart one."

 _"_ _Whatever, mate. I think he's got a gift for you."_

"Thanks."

He had a bright smile on his face when he closed the mirror. Confused by the exchange, Hermione started to ask a question, but was immediately interrupted by a fierce kiss. When they broke apart, she wasn't even sure she remembered what she was going to ask in the first place.

"Let's take a quick shower. We have somewhere we need to be."

Antonin would offer her no further details. Whether it was because he was afraid that she would know too much or if it was simply because he enjoyed being mysterious, she didn't know. She didn't even really care. Based on the smile that he couldn't wipe off of his face and the evident lightening of the burden on his shoulders, she knew he was happy. If he was happy, she knew she should be too. They shared a short shower together and dressed warmly.

Once they were outside, her husband didn't release his grip on her hand. She appreciated the support. With another kiss to calm her nerves, he Disapparated them both away from their refuge. When the squeezing stopped and they were at their destination, she felt a sinking in her gut. She _hated_ the Hogsmeade Caves. Even before she murdered Oliver Wood in another lifetime, she'd felt uneasy around them. Sensing her reluctance and concern, Antonin squeezed her hand, a reminder that she wasn't alone. It helped.

He led her deep into a cloaked cave entrance. There were torches set up to light the way. It _should've_ felt warm and cheery, but it didn't. She didn't have the first clue what they would find when they finished their journey. When it seemed like they would never stop walking, she saw a large fire up ahead with three figures standing around it. Based on the fact that Antonin felt perfectly at ease, she didn't worry. Clearly, they were friendly.

Alexandre Dolohov was the first one she recognized. Standing furthest away from the fire, he was the one to greet them both with a bright smile. So unlike he'd been the day he'd sneered at her in Rodolphus' dining room, she was glad to see that despite knowing what she'd done to his younger brother, Alexandre held no hard feelings. Antonin admitted when she had the courage to finally ask if his brothers knew about her role in Aubin's murder that neither of his surviving brothers could blame her for what happened. Aubin made his choices and they understood that he had to face the consequences.

"We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

With another bright smile, Alexandre clapped his eldest brother on the back and leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. The moment he stepped back, she saw the faces of the other two clearly in the firelight. It was no wonder that Thorfinn teased Antonin about his 'smart' brother. The well-known world traveling Professor Alain Dolohov had come to visit and to Hermione's immense relief brought his colleague Babajide Akingbade. Did that mean that he finally understood what wretched, disgusting spell Rodolphus put inside her brain? Was her nightmare about to be over? When the initial greetings were all exchanged, Mr. Akingbade smiled brightly and turned his full attention to her.

"Hermione, I wonder if you and I might have a few minutes to speak alone?"

She was reluctant to let go of her husband's hand even if it meant she could be free of Rodolphus again. He'd been such a constant source of comfort and security that she didn't want to leave him. Sensing her anxiety, Antonin kissed the top of her head and whispered in her ear that she would be safe and he would only be a short distance away if she needed him. It was enough encouragement to follow Mr. Akingbade to a small chamber off of the one the Dolohov brothers were standing in.

"Your husband's younger brother Alexandre is very gifted at conjuring charms. I never expected to be given such comfortable accommodations when I was informed I would be spending several days inside a cave."

Mr. Akingbade waved his hand over the area they'd moved to. It certainly was more luxurious than all of the times Hermione had been forced to sleep in a cave. Alexandre conjured a soft bed, a plush chair and a small table with a lamp for the memory charm expert's use. Just as they'd done in the tiny attic bedroom that had once been her home, Hermione took a seat on the edge of the bed and he pulled the chair closer to be able to face her.

"Now, I must confess that I've already spoken to both of your brothers-in-law about what I'm going to tell you. Alain is sharing what I've discovered with your husband right now. I hope you will forgive me for making that decision without you, but I believe your husband will be very angry once he's learned what I have. My hope is that with both of his brothers there by his side, they might be able to prevent him from doing something rash."

Nothing about what he said encouraged Hermione in the slightest. There was still some part of her that was hoping that she'd blown everything up out of proportion and there was nothing to be worried about. If Mr. Akingbade thought that Antonin would need his brothers there to keep him from rushing out in the night to track Rodolphus down to murder him, what he was about to reveal had to have been just dreadful. She didn't mind that he'd shared what he had with her brothers-in-law. Though there had been many years when the Dolohov brothers would've preferred to ignore the others' existences, the events of the previous year brought them a lot closer. The loss of their youngest seemed only to have solidified the bond that Antonin said hadn't really been present since they were small. She would trust Alain and Alexandre with her secrets just as she would trust them with her husband's safety. They were all one family, were they not? That fact meant more to her than it used to.

"It's that bad, is it?"

"I'm afraid so."

He reached into the pocket of his robes to pull out an old, battered book. There was a sick expression on his face that he didn't even try to deny. She could understand immediately once he pressed the volume into her hands. That book had seen evil in its days. It was awful. Even just holding it made her feel sick to her stomach. What would she find when she opened it? She almost didn't want to know.

"I believe I have discovered the spell that Mr. Lestrange has placed inside your mind. First, before I tell you any more, I must apologize for my role in keeping the presence of that spell _and_ the block that I placed in your mind a secret. While I believe that it was the right decision to make at the time, I understand that it was very frustrating for you to be lied to."

She couldn't hold it against him. Not when she understood the reasons and because she knew how eager he was to help right the wrongs that had been done to her. With a genuine smile, she reassured him that all was forgiven. He appeared relieved.

"When I received the message from your husband telling me a little bit about what you'd learned from Lestange, I felt sick because I had a suspicion. One that I hoped very strongly I would discover I was wrong about. Unfortunately…"

"It seems you were correct?"

He nodded, distress clear on his features.

"There is a terrible spell that I read once in my research. The book you hold is full of some of the darkest spells you can imagine and quite a few that I don't believe you could even fathom were capable. It is truly disgusting what crimes against humanity some witches and wizards have committed throughout time."

"And the spell is inside this book?"

"If I am correct, and I fear I am, then yes, it is indeed."

"What is it? Can we get rid of it? Is it truly terrible?"

She had about a thousand different questions, each a variation of the same. What it was mattered, but not nearly as much as whether or not it was possible to get rid of it. Just the thought of anything of Rodolphus' still lingering inside her head was bad enough. Knowing that it was a spell that horrified a man as wise and knowledgable as Mr. Akingbade was infinitely worse.

"I will have to check inside your mind once more just to make sure that it carries all of the same traits as the one I've been studying, but yes, we can certainly remove it."

"What does it do?"

He was reluctant to answer her question. She knew all of the signs thanks to her former career. Though she didn't believe that he would refuse to tell her, she knew that he was trying to think of the best way to explain himself without frightening her. It made her feel like a child, but for once she didn't mind.

"I believe the spell inside your brain is something like a trap."

"A trap?"

"Yes, or I suppose a vessel might be a better term for it. Its design is to… well, there really isn't any other way to explain this than quite bluntly so you'll have to forgive me. The spell will essentially trap the consciousness of a person within a small corner of their mind which they will be unable to escape. They would no longer have any control over their own body."

"For what purpose?"

"To leave the body open to be used as a host for the spirit of someone else brought back from the dead."

Hermione was thankful that she hadn't had anything to eat that evening. It would've all come rushing back up out of her body if she had. Rodolphus finally figured out a way to bring Bellatrix back from the dead. Instead of building her a body from parts of others, he was just simply going to steal Hermione's body while she was still alive and conscious of what was happening. It was terrifying, but it made a sick sort of sense. When his attempts to mold her into a more-Bellatrix version of herself failed, he had to keep looking for other options. Hadn't he proven over the years that he was rather partial to her body? With his wife being inside of it, he would have the best of both worlds. Doing her best to give the impression that she was calm even when she was screaming inside, Hermione took a deep breath and met Mr. Akingbade's concerned eyes.

"Is there any way to stop him?"

"Of course, but I'm afraid I'll need to get back inside your mind."

She had no worries that he couldn't be trusted. Hadn't he already proven that he had her best interests at heart? Babajide Akingbade was a good man, much better than most she'd had the misfortune to meet in her lifetime. No matter what happened, whether he was successful or not, she would always be grateful for his assistance and his kindness. He didn't have to do anything to help her. The fact that he allowed Alain to smuggle him into a country that was in the midst of a very dangerous reconstruction to help a notorious former Death Eater only proved that he was a much better person than she had ever been.

Allowing him back inside her mind felt strange. Compared to the pain that Rodolphus caused the two instances he'd rooted around in her brain in recent weeks, Mr. Akingbade's gentle touch was almost difficult to feel. Before he returned to her mind, he explained that first he would need to remove the block that he placed inside. Once that was gone, he would be free to start the process of removing the leftover spell. As soon as he suspected the spell that Rodolphus used, he'd been researching how to remove it. Hermione felt confident that he would be successful.

There was a rush of energy inside her head at the breaking of the block. Though not uncomfortable or painful, it was simply bizarre how she could feel the flow. A gentle voice warned her that he would be going after the spell next. While she was prepared for there to be _some_ pain in the removal process, she wasn't prepared for the intensity. She could hear herself screaming. Mr. Akingbade immediately closed the connection between their minds. Some of the pain dissipated, but a dull throb remained.

Antonin ran inside the small chamber with his two brothers close behind. His dark brown eyes were wide with fear. Clearly the screaming hadn't just been inside her mind. Mr. Akingbade offered everyone a reassuring smile before he turned his attention solely back to Hermione. He took one of her hands in his and squeezed.

"Your mind needs rest. I fear that if I try to go in there right now to remove the spell so soon after I removed the block I might damage your brain permanently."

A crushing wave of disappointment rolled over her. She had been so hoping that it would all be taken care of that night. Knowing that she would have to wait even longer to be free of Rodolphus' treachery was disheartening.

"We will try again tomorrow night. Go home and take one of the potions that your husband used to give you. Not the one that you would take when you were having an episode. One of the strawberry-flavored ones. Rest. You will be fine tomorrow night."

She hoped that he was right. Refusing to relinquish her hold on the disturbing book containing the description for the spell, she allowed her husband to lead her out of the caves. When they returned to their temporary home, she didn't even argue when Antonin handed her one of her old potions and encouraged her to get straight in bed. If all went as it was supposed to, that would be the last time she ever had to drink a vial of the damned potion.


	363. December 28th

December 28th

Even with the potion used to calm her nerves when she was confused or the least bit out of sorts in the past, Hermione's sleep was restless. How could she be expected to find any rest at all when the horror of Mr. Akingbade's confession consumed her every thought? What he told her was worse than the stuff of normal nightmares. It was enough to ensure that she might never sleep again. Not as long as Rodolphus was still alive and able to follow through on his plan.

Her next session with the memory charms expert could not come soon enough to satisfy her. With the block no longer in her mind, she felt vulnerable. If her path crossed Rodolphus' any time soon, he might be able to do whatever horrible, disgusting thing he had planned. She didn't want to consider the possibilities. There was nothing that was going to keep her out of the Hogsmeade Caves once it grew dark. Even if she had to lie to say that she no longer felt any pain in her head, she was going. Antonin would have to stupefy her and tie her to the bed to keep her away. Not that she believed he'd resort to such drastic measures. He seemed just as anxious to get rid of Rodolphus' spell as she was. Though he hadn't said a single word to her about the spell and Rodolphus' plan, she'd seen the way he kept looking at her. He was terrified and afraid to tell her so.

When the calming potion wore off, Hermione couldn't bear to stay in bed another minute. At some point Antonin was able to finally fall asleep. He'd spent most of the night awake, watching her sleep. Several times she woke up for just a few moments to find him staring at her, unmoved from his previous position since she last caught him staring. It was as if he was afraid that she would disappear if he dared to even blink. Careful not to wake him up by shaking the bed, she slipped out from under the covers.

The book that cast a dark shadow over the entire house sat on a table in the tiny kitchen. As much as it sickened her and made her even more afraid, she knew she had to read everything she could about the spell Mr. Akingbade suspected still resided inside her mind. Maybe knowledge would help her find some comfort in the whole sordid affair. Ignorance had rarely been bliss in her opinion.

Of course, that thought quickly changed once she read the description of the spell. First designed by another depressed widower longing to bring his wife back from the dead, its purpose was just as Mr. Akingbade explained. The first step was to implant a trapping spell inside the mind of the poor soul chosen as the body they wished to steal. When the spell-caster was ready to begin the second part of the disgusting scheme, they would lock away the host's consciousness into a small corner of their mind. Unable to control a single part of their own body, they were forced to be a prisoner, able to watch and feel. Nothing else.

There was some speculation as to whether or not their thoughts could be shared with the spirit of the deceased person taking over control. The spell had been used successfully so infrequently in the past that there weren't enough examples to understand it fully. The very idea of only being able to interact with Bellatrix inside her mind filled Hermione with indescribable fear and horror. While she certainly deserved to pay for all of the terrible crimes she'd committed over the previous twenty years, that fate sounded worse than a thousand days locked in a side-room on Level Eleven with Rabastan. Death of her body would be her only escape from her prison and she wouldn't even have the ability to kill herself if she so desired.

The second step of the process to call Bellatrix back from the dead and insert her into Hermione's body was just as disturbing. Consisting of a number of different parts, she couldn't believe how complicated it all was. It was no wonder that the ritual had rarely been completed. There were numerous ways in which it could go terribly wrong. At least the high likelihood that she would die in the process gave Hermione some comfort. Even a painful death was preferable to sharing a body with Bellatrix.

It had to be completed in the very spot the deceased breathed their last. Hermione would never forget the moment Molly Weasley bested Bellatrix in a duel in the middle of the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It was a moment that Molly should've always been proud of. Pity she was murdered painfully shortly after the battle ended. She didn't even have a chance to enjoy her victory.

A great deal of blood was required. Not just any blood either. No, the ritual required 'blood of the innocent'. In the past, Hermione hadn't been terribly squeamish about murdering children, but a lot had changed. Just the thought of some poor child being sacrificed so a lunatic could bring his lunatic wife back from the dead was sickening.

An asterisk next to the mention of the 'blood of the innocent' caught her attention. At the bottom of the page in tiny print she could hardly see was an important caveat. The potency of the spell, and thus the likelihood of it succeeding, would be improved by using the innocent blood of the spell-caster's own child. If it wasn't possible to use one's own child either because there wasn't one or none of the ones available were 'innocent' enough, a sibling or niece or nephew could be substituted. Though not necessary as any innocent child would theoretically work, it was highly encouraged.

Rosalind Nott's purpose in Rodolphus' horrible plan became quite clear. Thanks to Rodolphus' inability to father children, he had to rely on his younger brother to provide him with an innocent child to sacrifice. Offering up one of the children he shared with Gemma would've never been an option. Rabastan loved his own children too much to offer and the only one who would likely be innocent enough would be his youngest Gwendoline. It was obvious to everyone that if he had a favorite, she would've been it. No, Rabastan wouldn't even do that for his brother.

But, he probably would seduce a lonely girl without family or a friend in the world. Likely he didn't even know _why_ Rodolphus ordered him to get Rosalind pregnant, but it wasn't a hardship for him to comply. Maybe he even believed what he told her that day in The Three Broomsticks that it was an attempt to have more power on the Wizengamot in their hands. Though Rabastan had a lot of faults, she struggled to believe he would willingly offer up his child, even unwanted and illegitimate, for sacrifice.

Hermione was glad once again that she took Rosalind to Augustus. He would protect her, to the death, if necessary. Naturally, she hoped it wouldn't come to that. There had already been enough senseless violence and she still cared a great deal for her ex-lover. She desperately wanted him to have his second chance at a family, even another chance at finding real love. Rosalind and her unborn son were both innocents in that horrible game. Augustus would do what was necessary to keep them out of it. She had no doubt that he would even smuggle them out of the country to do so.

"Why aren't you in bed? I was worried."

So engrossed was she in her reading and her own horror that Hermione didn't even hear Antonin's footsteps. Only when his hands rested on her shoulders and he pressed his cheek against the side of her head did she even know she was no longer alone. Her research was making her too afraid to pay attention to her own surroundings. It was a fault she needed to remedy. Next time, it might not be her husband walking up behind her. She couldn't afford to forget for even a moment that she was in constant danger.

"I couldn't sleep. Not as long as I knew that this horrible book was out here."

Antonin sighed heavily as he took a seat in the chair closest to hers. She'd seen him looking at the book the night before, but not opening it. Perhaps he could feel the malevolent power within its cover too. Every bit as curious and eager to learn as his wife in normal circumstances, she knew that he was afraid to learn what was wrong with her. Alain explained it to him while they were in the cave as best he could. Hermione wondered if Mr. Akingbade was correct and her husband required both of his brothers there to keep him from rushing off into the night to do something foolish that could get him killed. He seemed unnaturally calm, like he was forcing himself not to move or even breathe too hard. It was clear, to his wife at least, that Antonin was only moments away from snapping the tiny bit of composure he was holding on to. She knew that if Rodolphus was suicidal enough to walk through the door, Antonin wouldn't rest until one of them was dead.

"Did you read it when I was sleeping?"

He shook his head, but she suspected she already knew the answer.

"I didn't want to know what was in there, what the bastard wants to do to you."

"I understand that, but Antonin… darling, you _need_ to know."

Even though he visibly flinched when she opened the hateful volume to the pages describing the spell, he didn't move away or demand that she stop. Deep down he knew that she was right. As much as she hated to bring him even more stress, she needed him to know because there was something very important that she needed him to promise her, something that she would trust no one else in the world to do. When the explanation of what the spell was designed to do and the ritual required to bring it into fruition was completed, Antonin's pallor was concerning. Hermione leaned across the table to kiss him, hoping that it would distract him enough that he would actually _listen_ to what she had to ask him.

"Antonin… I need you to make me a promise."

Something in her tone gave away that he wasn't going to like what she said. He stared at her, unblinking, clearly not eager for what she was going to ask him. Hermione didn't allow his reluctance to dissuade her from her purpose.

"If Rodolphus succeeds and I'm trapped inside my mind…"

"He _won't_."

"He might. He's very determined and I'm sure he's been planning this far longer than we even realize. Every step of the way has been planned and even executed. I think if he gets the opportunity, there is a very high possibility that he will succeed."

"He _won't_."

She kissed her husband again, desperate to believe that he was right, but knowing that at least one of them had to be pragmatic. It wouldn't do if they were both burying their heads in the proverbial sand.

" _If_ he succeeds, I can't live like that, Antonin. Stuck inside my mind with no way out and no control? Spending whatever time I'm left on this Earth trapped with Bellatrix my only companion? It's a fate that's worse than death."

"Hermione, don't ask me."

"I'm sorry, but I have to. _If_ he succeeds, I need you to kill me."

Unable to look at her another moment, Antonin laid his head down on top of the table. She could tell that he was struggling to breathe, struggling to keep the emotion that was threatening to rush out of him in a torrent under control. It was an impossible request to make of her husband, but she trusted no one else half as much. Existing trapped in her mind was a future that terrified her beyond measure. She placed a gentle hand on his back, hoping that he could truly understand why she was asking him to do something so terrible if it was necessary.

"You should move on and be happy again."

Antonin lifted his head to stare her in the face. His dark brown eyes were filled with unshed tears. Every wrinkle that had crept up on his features in recent months was on prominent display. Though still quite handsome, she hated that he was starting to show his age. How much of that was her fault? If they were able to get away, would he be healthier? She didn't even want to imagine what would become of him if he had to do what she begged him to do. Likely he wouldn't be able to to move past that horrible moment. Taking a deep, calming breath, Antonin reached across the space between them to run his hand gently through her curls.

"I'm not even sure why we're discussing this. It's unnecessary. Mr. Akingbade will be removing the spell from your mind tonight and then I'm going to kill Rodolphus."

His statement drew a chuckle out of his wife.

"Oh, _you're_ going to kill him? Because I had my heart set on doing it myself."

"As long as he's dead, what does it matter which one of us does it?"

She kissed him, eager for the physical reminder that she wasn't alone. Somehow she didn't think she would ever get used to that feeling or stop needing the reassurance that it existed. Antonin, to his credit, didn't seem to mind. When she broke the kiss, she grew serious again. They needed to discuss what they were going to do when it was all over. Before, they'd simply been fantasizing about a possible future. The closer it seemed to get to becoming a reality, the more she wanted to know without question what their plans were.

"And what do we do when he's dead?"

"We take our family to Brazil like we planned and start over."

The definition of their family didn't mean what it used to mean.

"Maisie too?"

"She's my daughter and her mother is gone. I can't just leave her behind."

"No, of course you can't."

Most women might have been horrified by the idea that she might be expected to help raise her husband's illegitimate child, conceived of an affair in the middle of the marriage. The situation with little Maisie was much different and it wasn't exactly as if Hermione was like most women. Besides, a large part of her felt like she owed it to Ginny to make certain that her daughter was kept safe and given a home. Guilt would likely plague Hermione for the rest of her life where it came to her former friend. If she had just been honest and stopped keeping that damned secret, she could've prevented that horrible night when Ginny was murdered. She knew that Antonin struggled, and would continue to struggle, with his own guilt. Together they could try to make it up to Ginny by loving her daughter and giving her a home where she was happy and allowed to be a carefree child. Something stirred deep within Hermione when she imagined the possibility of the four of them becoming a true family. She could open her home and her heart to the innocent four year old girl. It was the _least_ she could do after what happened to the poor child's mother.

"I'm not sure how we're going to explain her to Ollie. How _I'm_ going to explain to him that I have a daughter with a woman that is not his mother."

"He'll be okay. He's smart. He'll understand. Maybe he'll be angry in the beginning, but he'll make a wonderful big brother. And he adores you."

Trusting that his wife was correct and desperately wishing to change the subject, Antonin made the suggestion that they return to the bedroom. When Hermione replied that she wasn't in the least bit tired any longer, he simply winked and informed her that neither was he. There were many hours to kill before they could return to the Hogsmeade Caves. What better way to spend that time than with each other?


	364. December 29th

_**Author's Note : This chapter is dedicated to one of my besties, Kittenshift17. While both she and our other bestie Freya Ishtar have been invaluable the past year keeping me sane while tackling this enormous project, Kitten directly inspired part of this chapter. She'll understand which part. ;)**_

* * *

December 29th

Midnight never seemed so far away than when Hermione was waiting to meet in the Hogsmeade Caves again with Babajide Akingbade. It took all of her self-control not to rush there before the agreed upon time. Even as her husband did his damndest to keep her mind and her body occupied before it was time to leave, she was anxious. Would she finally be free of Rodolphus' curse? It seemed almost too much to hope for.

She would've never believed when the year began that she would discover that the true villain of her life was Rodolphus Lestrange. For many years he had been one of her only friends inside the ranks of the Death Eaters. It was a lonely, dangerous place to find oneself without allies. While it was a known fact that she always would've had Antonin on her side no matter the circumstances, she appreciated that she wasn't so isolated when other Death Eaters began to treat her like an equal. She _thought_ Rodolphus cared about her. How very wrong she turned out to be. He just wanted the use of her body, in more ways than one.

"You've never told me the story of why you and Rodolphus hate each other so much."

Surprised by the randomness of the question, Antonin stopped in the middle of buttoning up his shirt to stare at his wife with an expression of incredulity. After a very pleasant day and evening spent alone again savoring every possible moment together, they were preparing themselves for the moment that the signal was given for them to make their way back to the Caves. She knew it was a bizarre question to ask at such a time, but she wanted to know. Every time she'd asked either man in the past, they'd simply shrugged her off and refused to answer. It forced her to imagine all sorts of terrible possibilities.

"I've never told you because it's nothing. _I_ never hated him. Not until the day we found out he was the reason why you tripped on the stairs that day and what he had been doing to your mind. I didn't always _like_ the arsehole, but I had nothing against him. Not even when I suspected the two of you were much more than the _friends_ you claimed you were."

"He hates you. Always has. Never made a secret about it. Why does he hate you, but you didn't hate him?"

Antonin sighed and shook his head. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter _why_ the two wizards didn't get along, especially not after all the evil that Rodolphus committed. Her husband finished buttoning his shirt and pulled his trousers on. She was determined to be patient. Before they left their temporary home, she would have the answers. Hadn't she waited long enough?

"It's very stupid. Hardly even worth mentioning."

"Evidently it wasn't stupid to Rodolphus."

"Fine. It was back when we were in Azkaban. Before then, we never had a single problem with the other. I never much cared for his wife, but that wasn't an unusual feeling amongst us."

"Because none of you liked a woman with any sort of power?"

"No, Hermione. It had absolutely nothing to do with what she had underneath her robes. Don't accuse me of that. You know how much I respect and appreciate powerful witches."

It was a topic of conversation that had come up many times over the course of their friendship and subsequent marriage. Each time it annoyed her husband to be accused of not appreciating women who were powerful. Most of her didn't believe it, but there were times when he could be so ridiculously old-fashioned that she thought he'd prefer that she just stayed entirely at home and was quiet and subservient. Other wizards might have wanted that; Antonin Dolohov did _not_. He had to concede, however, that there were plenty of wizards within their society, especially in the Inner Circle, that didn't believe a woman should ever have cause to leave the safety and security of her husband's family manor. She was thankful that most of those were steadily dying out.

"I insulted Bellatrix, though I'm not sorry I said it and I still believe what I said to her. But, you know how prickly Rodolphus is about his 'honor as a Lestrange'." He rolled his eyes. "You would think that I threatened to murder every member of his family. Yes, I was certainly _tempted_ to do so, but how could I when I was still in a prison cell?"

"What did you say?"

"Bellatrix was in the cell across from mine. For almost fifteen years I had to look at her face every single day. Used to imagine that one day I'd get a chance to slice all of the skin off of her face."

"Sounds like there might have been some unresolved sexual tension on your part."

Hermione couldn't help but tease him. When he wrinkled up his nose and turned to stare at her with a look of disgust, she laughed. A smirk appeared on his lips.

"Well, maybe a little. She used to be a beautiful woman. Azkaban stripped a lot of that away. But, on this particular day, she was being an absolute terror. Screaming and throwing the few possessions we were allowed in our cells. I was trying to sleep and she was making it impossible. When I screamed at her to stop, she just got louder, so I yelled at Rodolphus. Told him to get control of his cunt wife or the rest of us would figure out how to break out of our cells to shut her up permanently."

"He hates you because you threatened to kill his wife?"

"No, I certainly wasn't the only one who has done that before. He resented the language I used to express my frustrations."

"So the whole reason that Rodolphus hates you so much is because you called his wife a cunt while you were in Azkaban?"

Antonin shrugged his shoulders, an expression of complete sincerity and seriousness on his face.

"Act like a cunt, I'm going to call you a cunt. I think the real issue Rodolphus had was the fact that he knew I was just telling the truth."

A bubble of laughter that Hermione couldn't stifle any longer burst out of her mouth. She had no doubt that Antonin was telling the truth. Rodolphus could indeed be _prickly_ about his honor. Being unable to protect his beloved wife from such a disgusting, though appropriate, term had to have been maddening. No doubt he stewed on that single moment for the rest of the time they were unfortunate enough to be in Azkaban under the constant influence of the dementors. Amused by the sound of her laughter, Antonin joined in. Soon they were both laughing so hard that tears rolled out of their eyes. It felt amazing. She couldn't remember the last time they'd been able to share such a moment together. When they still had their home in Hogsmeade, there was a great deal of laughter in their bed. She'd missed it. Desperately she hoped that one day they could find those experiences again.

"There is such a thing as being too preoccupied with honor, in my opinion. And that prickly arsehole is the perfect example of that."

Hermione couldn't argue with her husband about that. Many times in the past she'd thought that the wizard was too obsessed with his family honor. Perhaps it had something to do with being a Sacred Twenty-Eight family or maybe it was because he spent such a significant part of his life in Azkaban that the shame of it all made his desire to be seen as honorable more important. She didn't know and she didn't care. At least it finally made sense why Rodolphus never told her the true story. He might have had to admit that perhaps there was some truth in what her husband said.

The vibration of her husband's silver mirror startled them both. No longer laughing and smiling, they were instantly reminded that there was a still a lot of danger outside the door of their bedroom. When she first saw that her husband continued to use the silver mirror despite knowing that it was possible for others to listen in to his conversations, Hermione had been annoyed. Did he truly not see Draco Malfoy as a serious threat? She still didn't understand his motivations for anything, but she knew that it was always dangerous and foolish to ignore those society deemed somehow 'inferior'. Kicked dogs eventually rose up to bite their offenders. But, Antonin wasn't stupid. Far from it. He acknowledged her concerns and assured her that they were all being very careful with what they said in the mirrors.

When Antonin opened the mirror, no one spoke. Too far away to see what he was seeing inside the mirror, she didn't know what was happening. With a single nod of his head, Antonin snapped the mirror shut and put it inside the pocket of his trousers. He crossed the room to where she stood to wrap her in his arms. A heated kiss threatened to take her very breath away. Why was he acting so strange? Like they were about to walk into battle with an uncertain outcome?

"You're making me nervous."

"I'm sorry."

The grin on his lips seemed to indicate otherwise. Maybe he was more excited for what was coming than she was. Taking hold of her hand, he laced his fingers through hers. Still unsure who the signal from the mirror was from, she got the impression that it was time to leave. Before they made it out the front door, Antonin stopped three more times to kiss her. While she appreciated the affectionate gestures, they also made her nervous. Was he afraid that they would have no more opportunities for kisses after that night? She didn't want to believe that was even possible.

Outside in the freezing night air, she felt some of her courage from earlier begin to dissipate. What if it wasn't possible to remove the spell? Or worse, what if it wasn't the right one to begin with and they were all just wasting their time? Rodolphus might've come up with something truly terrible and dark that no one else would've considered. Babajide Akingbade could've been researching the wrong spell.

As soon as those thoughts threatened to take hold of her troubled mind, Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath. It was natural to be worried and skeptical that their nightmare could soon be over. But, what she absolutely could not afford to do, was to talk herself out of finding answers and moving on just because she was scared. Was she or was she not a Gryffindor, after all? They didn't go bravely ahead because they weren't afraid. They did it in _spite_ of being terrified. She squeezed Antonin's hand, grateful that she had his support. It wasn't just any man who would've stayed with her after everything that she put him through, intentionally and unintentionally. No one would've blamed him if he'd left her years earlier before they knew what was really wrong with her, least of all Hermione. She hoped that no matter what happened to her, Antonin would find the happiness he deserved.

There was an eeriness hanging over the Hogsmeade Caves that Hermione couldn't ignore. Had it always been there and she'd just been too preoccupied to notice? She hated those caves. Since the day she was forced to kill Oliver Wood to prove her loyalty to the Dark Lord, and to a certain extent, Antonin, she'd loathed the place. Too many hurtful memories. Antonin couldn't give her a good enough reason to explain why his brothers chose the wretched location. They hadn't asked him for his opinion in the decision. Still, it felt almost poetic that the moment she crossed over the line years earlier to become the terrible person she'd been happened in the very place she wanted to turn away from her past self. Because the moment it was all over, she planned on spending the rest of her life becoming someone that Harry wouldn't be ashamed of any longer.

Antonin led her back into the intricate cave system. Each step she took further inside only increased the unsettling feeling she had in her guts. Were they making a mistake? Was this all some sort of trap? Only when she saw her two brothers-in-law waiting with both Mr. Akingbade and even Thorfinn at the edge of the fire did she relax somewhat. She was just feeling paranoid. It was normal, was it not? Before he would release his hold on his wife's hand, Antonin kissed her once more and pulled her into his arms. Sensing that she was nervous, he was offering the support that he could. It helped. She also got the impression that he was just as nervous as she. Sometimes he could be painfully transparent.

"We'll be waiting out here for you."

There was an unspoken reminder that they were there to make certain that Mr. Akingbade and Hermione were safe while they removed the last bit of Rodolphus' treachery from her mind. Both of them would be in a very vulnerable position while they worked. It was imperative that there were strong protectors steps away in case anything went wrong. As much as she wanted to believe that nothing could possibly go wrong, Hermione wasn't an idiot. Sometimes, especially when it seemed that life was cooperating too fully, it had a dangerous tendency to throw out a rogue bludger.

"I can tell by the look on your face that you read the book."

"Yes, I did. It was… _awful_."

"I agree. This Lestrange wizard is a terrible person. I sincerely hope that when we are finished here, you are able to rid this world of his presence. People like him are a sickness, an infection that will spread if they're allowed to keep living."

It was the first time she'd ever heard Babajide Akingbade use such harsh terms about another human being. Even when he was steadily uncovering the worst of Rodolphus' acts, he'd been careful in what he said. A born diplomat, it was no wonder that he'd been elevated to the lofty position of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Only his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore and his insistence that the Dark Lord had returned removed him from his position. While he might have found some success in his native Uganda as a professor and around the world as a respected memory charms expert, she knew that his past had been something of an embarrassment to him. She could relate. There was very little about hers that she was proud of.

"I'm afraid that removing this spell will hurt you. There's simply no way around it."

"I'm not afraid of pain."

"If it becomes too much, I will stop."

There wasn't a single exaggeration in his statement. From the moment Hermione could feel the wizard inside her mind, she thought she would pass out from the pain. Unwilling to allow herself to scream out in case Antonin came running in, demanding that he stop, she bit her bottom lip to hold it in. What was a large amount of pain for a short period of time compared to a lifetime trapped in her own mind? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She wouldn't allow Rodolphus to win.

The familiar tugging that she remembered from the days that Mr. Akingbade removed the blocked memories in her mind was impossible to ignore. Unlike those days, however, was the fact that there was no gentle way to remove the disgusting spell. She knew that he was _trying_ to be careful, but any movement at all, no matter how gentle, resulted in extreme pain. If she'd been able to keep her eyes open, she knew that she would've struggled to see anything.

Time was either passing by very quickly or creeping along. It was impossible to tell. She tried to keep focused on the fact that once the pain was over, she would be free from Rodolphus. Free to kill him and then free to move on with her life. The future was frightening and full of possibilities, but it was infinitely better than the plans that were made for her already.

She wasn't sure when she first became aware that something was terribly wrong. Maybe when she could hear the distant screams in the background. Sounding as if they were miles away, she almost didn't even recognize that they were real. They might have belonged to the people inside a television set that had the volume turned down too low to hear properly. When she first became aware of the sounds, she could sense urgency from the wizard inside her mind. Less careful with how he was pulling apart the spell, she suspected there were problems. Had the caves been chosen because they were easily fortified? Or because they were imbued with an ancient magic that her protectors could use to their advantage? Surely there was a reason.

A shout from a voice she thought she might have once recognized sounded unnaturally loud in her ears. Moments later the connection with Mr. Akingbade was severed. Immense pain, even more than she'd already been experiencing, flooded Hermione's head. She fell backwards on the bed. Without the wizard inside her mind, she could hear the shouts and voices outside more clearly. They were under attack. That much seemed obvious. How did anyone know they were even there? One voice was raised higher than all of the others shouting orders. She couldn't focus on it long enough to identify it.

"Alex! Protect them!"

Her husband's demand cut through the cacophony of other voices shouting curses and orders. It brought her a small measure of comfort to know that regardless of what was happening, Antonin was still all right. As the pain in her head lessened to a dull throb, Hermione forced her eyes open. Thankful for the dim light of the cave, she made herself sit up.

"Mr. Akingbade, what..?"

Her question hung in the air. The moment she saw the open friendly eyes of the wizard as his lifeless form laid on the ground beneath her feet, an indescribable fear mingled with her pain. She didn't believe what she was seeing. A glance up showed her youngest brother-in-law dueling fiercely with at least two masked attackers. It might kill her, but she knew that she had to help. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the wand she was given when she was on the run. While not nearly as effective as her wand that had been broken in her attack by Tiberius Zeller, it would have to do.

Alexandre was very gifted in Charms. His dueling skills were phenomenal, but even he was just one man. The most talented duelist would eventually meet someone who was better. Or be forced to face down too many at once. Hermione had a curse on the tip of her tongue ready to shout out if she could keep her trembling hand steady. Before she could utter it, she witnessed the quiet, bookish man crumple to the ground. All she could see in the dim light was the blood running down from the top of his head.

Once the attackers were inside the section of the cave Hermione was in, it was obvious their true purpose. A spell was cast up at the ceiling just above her head. Rocks of varying sizes, each more painful than the last, began to rain down. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't cooperate. Not after the assault on her mind. A flash of red light hit her chest just moments after she felt the intense pain of one of the rocks hitting her in the head. Then, there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

Her eyes felt too heavy to open. A throbbing pain in the back of her head proved to Hermione that she had yet another head injury. How many would that make in her lifetime? She'd lost count. Enough that there should be actual concern for her mental capabilities. Didn't repeated blows to the head take away the cognitive abilities of many professional athletes? She thought she remembered reading an article about that in another lifetime.

Every muscle in her body screamed out in pain when she tried to move. Laying down too long on a hard surface wasn't good for anyone's joints or bones. She didn't know where she was, only that it wasn't a plush mattress with high thread count sheets. Based on the ambient sounds of the location, she didn't know either. She thought she heard footsteps and maybe voices raised. Was that a scream in the distance? She hoped not. Rarely did screaming indicate safety and security.

A few minutes passed before she was brave enough to try to open her eyes. Everything hurt. Her head was excruciating. She longed for one of her potions just to help her get through the never-ending pain. As her eyes began to adjust, she could tell that she was on a stone floor. The space was small and dark. An odd odor permeated the room like cleaning potions or disinfectants. A wooden bucket in the corner caught her eye. As her eyes began to adjust fully to the darkened conditions, she recognized a mop, a box with writing on the side advertising some sort of miracle substance guaranteed to clean stains, and then finally, a broom. She thought she might be sick. Frantically searching the area, ignoring the pain that wouldn't stop, she took in her surroundings. It was just as she feared.

She was back inside the damned broom cupboard.


	365. December 30th

December 30th

Or maybe she never left it. Was that a possibility? Hermione didn't know what it was. There was no way to tell time inside the darkness of the broom cupboard and her wand was nowhere to be found. Of course her captors wouldn't allow her to keep it. She was too much of a threat when she was in good form.

With no way to tell time, she didn't have any clue how long she'd been locked in the cupboard. Hours? Days? _Years_? A loud laugh, bordering on the edge of hysteria, exploded out of her at the thought that she'd never actually stepped outside the cupboard since her captivity. If that was the case, every single thing that happened to her over the past twenty years didn't actually happen at all. It was all made up inside her head. Was that how she kept herself from going mad as she was trapped inside? And if so, why didn't she imagine a much happier life for herself? Did she feel like she deserved to be punished because she failed to save Harry?

Dozens more questions with no answers flooded her mind. She was overwhelmed and close to the edge of a full-blown panic attack if she wasn't careful. Her prison was too small if she started hyperventilating. She couldn't rely on anyone to save her if she started to gasp for air. A thought suddenly struck her. If she was still in her cupboard, did that mean her protector was outside?

"Augie? Augie, are you there?"

The tremor in her voice made her sound weak and terrified like the child she hadn't been in a lifetime. When no one answered back, she wasn't sure what to think. Was Augustus' presence outside her cupboard nothing more than a figment of her own troubled imagination? If she stopped to think logically, Augustus _couldn't_ have been outside her door the entire time she was locked inside. Even if his duties as a Death Eater didn't take him occasionally elsewhere, he would've had to leave at some point to sleep, eat, and take care of his personal hygiene. How could he _always_ be just outside her door? It made no sense. What the most logical and probable explanation was was that she heard a kind voice outside her cupboard, because she knew there were _some_ kind people even in the midst of the Death Eaters, and in her desperation for human connection in her most terrified and vulnerable state, she imagined a wizard who had a friendly voice who didn't make her feel alone. It probably wasn't even Augustus Rookwood to begin with. It could've been anyone. And was it all that strange in her need to deceive herself she constructed a fantasy world where she fell in love with the man outside the door?

The more she thought about her predicament, the more it all made a sick sort of sense that she'd simply constructed a highly complex world inside her mind to help her cope with the uncertainty of reality. Losing the war and witnessing Harry be murdered by the Dark Lord… no, _Lord Voldemort_ , must have made her go temporarily insane. Or permanently. For all she knew she was just experiencing a temporary period of lucidity. Had that happened before? She tried to remember all of the times she thought to herself that she'd never left the broom cupboard. It was distressing to recall she had the thought many times, especially in the last year.

How could she ever actually believe that she'd spent the previous thirteen years married to Antonin Dolohov, of all people? He tried to kill her when she was a teenager and he'd been the star of her nightmares for years. There was no possible way that that deranged man who smiled at her as he tried to kill her in the Department of Mysteries was deeply in love with her and certainly no way that the feelings of love she had for him were real. If someone suggested she be given a bed next to Neville's parents in the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's, she wouldn't even argue. Clearly, she was completely insane. Her mind couldn't handle the defeat of the side she was on. That was the only explanation that made the least bit of sense. How could she be in love with a lunatic?

Every piece of the past she'd built for herself made less sense than the piece before it. She would never willingly become a Death Eater, would she? And if somehow she did become one, she wouldn't take so much joy in being such a loyal and destructive one. She'd sat at the feet of the monster that killed her best friend and felt privileged to do so. Part of her had always been afraid that she could give in to the darkness that lived inside of her if she was given the opportunity and allowed it to happen. What normal person trapped a person in an unbreakable jar for weeks or led a woman out into the middle of an angry herd of centaurs knowing full well the sorts of deplorable acts they had a reputation for committing on human women? Even before the war ended and her fantasy world began, she'd been a little frightening and cold-hearted when it suited her purposes to be so.

She'd allowed her fantasy to grow too complicated and unrealistic. It was hardly any wonder that it cracked enough to wake her up out of her delusions. Nothing that happened in the previous twenty years could've really happened. The spell that Rodolphus was planning to use was the most ridiculous part of all. What made more sense? A madman was planning to trap her in her own mind so he could bring his wife back from the dead to take possession of the body or that a scared girl locked in a broom cupboard dreamt up a fantasy world to help her cope?

She never left her broom cupboard. Likely only hours or mere days passed since two large Death Eaters threw her inside. Based on the fact that she wasn't the least bit hungry, little time must've passed. She had her life ahead of her again. If she was ever allowed out, she would make drastically different decisions. The feeling of killing someone, even if it existed solely in her dreams was disgusting. She didn't want to be that person. Madam Dolohov was just one awful, vivid nightmare.

The temperature in the broom cupboard began to drastically drop. It had happened before. Still unwilling to open her eyes to look at the ghost of Fred Weasley, Hermione covered them up with her hands. It was too cruel to see him in that state. When he'd come by before, he didn't linger long when it was clear she didn't want to see him. All she had to do was be patient and the cupboard would warm up again. But, he seemed in no hurry to leave. After a couple of silent minutes, she began to lose patience.

"Go away, Fred. I can't look at you right now."

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

There was the slightest note of panic in his voice. He was worried about her. Not that she could blame him. With his new abilities to go wherever he pleased inside the castle, he must've seen a great deal to concern him in the hours since the battle ended.

"No, I don't think I am. The Death Eaters have taken over the school and the Dark Lord won. How can I be all right? Harry's dead. _You're_ dead. Nothing will ever be all right again."

She cursed the tears rolling down her cheeks. Hadn't she gone through enough without embarrassing herself in front of Fred? The ghost of her friend didn't linger long. Within just a few moments, the temperature in the broom cupboard began to rise. Hermione didn't have the first clue what was going to happen next. Though the castle seemed eerily quiet outside in the corridors, she knew that she couldn't get too complacent. _Something_ terrible was going to happen before her ordeal was all over. She wasn't sure how she knew that, just that she did.

A long time passed with her alone in the dark once Fred left. Every second that ticked by seemed to take an eternity. How much longer would she be expected to remain inside the too-small space? Did the Dark Lord have some horrible plan for her? She was almost anxious just to get it over with. At least her fantasy world taught her not to fear death. It would even be a welcome change.

The rattling of the doorknob startled her out of her increasingly depressing thoughts. Still seated on the hard stone floor, Hermione pushed herself backwards as much into the corner as possible. Experience taught her that whatever was outside the broom cupboard was likely to be much more dangerous than what was inside. She searched the space for a suitable weapon, but found nothing. Certainly nothing that would work against a fully armed Death Eater. With her heart pounding in her throat, she waited for whatever horrible fate awaited her.

Someone on the other side of the door cursed in a quiet tone, but didn't give up. Able to feel the presence of protective and confinement wards on the door, Hermione knew that it wasn't going to be just anybody who would be able to make it through. It would have to be someone who knew advanced wards or like her imaginary husband, had a natural ability to tear down and build up the spells. Assuming the person jiggling the doorknob was powerful enough to remove the enchantments, she was in even more danger once they were inside. The click of the lock opening was deafening. She held her breath as the door opened.

It was nighttime based on the darkness in the corridor. Impossible to see the face of the person in the doorway, Hermione could only tell that at least they weren't as massive as the Death Eaters that threw her in there to begin with. Maybe she might have at least some chance against them in a physical contest. Muttering _lumos_ , the end of their wand erupted into a ball of light. When she saw the familiar features that belonged to her son Oliver staring back at her, she wasn't sure what to believe. Even when his face split into the wide grin that was so like his father's, Hermione didn't think she could trust her own eyes. She could've just imagined him into existence, dimples and everything. A glance just over his shoulder showed the transparent form of Fred Weasley hovering in the corridor watching the scene unfold. Had he gone to find her son where he should've been tucked in his bed inside Gryffindor Tower? No, it wasn't possible.

"Mum, are you okay?"

His voice was a little deeper since she'd last seen him when he was in the infirmary after the suit of armor attack. Sounding more and more like his father, she couldn't help but notice he'd also grown at least a few centimeters. It wouldn't be long before he'd look more like Antonin's brother than his son. Wizarding genes were incredible. Just as she was tempted to stand up and wrap her arms around the young wizard, she stopped herself. It was just another hallucination. Oliver wasn't real. She wasn't old enough to have a son his age.

"You can't be real. No, no, you can't be. I've been stuck in here. The last twenty years didn't happen."

Oliver gave a dramatic roll of his eyes and sighed. Clearly, he wasn't deterred by her outburst.

"Calm down, Mum. You're not _that_ crazy."

Offering her his hand, she didn't know if she should take it or not. Deciding that it couldn't hurt if he was just a figment of her imagination, Hermione took it. Solid and comforting, the hand helped her to her feet. Realizing that she could feel him which proved that he was most assuredly _not_ just in her head, she felt dumb. She placed her hands on the outside of both of his cheeks to stare into the familiar brown eyes. His smile put her instantly at ease. She kissed both of his cheeks and pulled him against her for a tight embrace. Oliver wrapped his arms around her back, another reminder that he was real. When they broke apart, she reached for his hand again needing reassurance that he wasn't about to float away.

"It's really late. I shouldn't be out of bed, but Fred told me you were here. He's worried about you. Headmaster Mulciber locked all of the portraits into the House Common Rooms to keep those of us who stayed for Christmas inside. Fred showed me a secret passage out of the Tower I didn't know about."

She looked up into the smirking face of her old friend as Oliver led her out into the corridor away from her damned broom cupboard. He shrugged his ghostly shoulders.

"I've been able to learn a lot more about the castle since I died. You wouldn't _believe_ how many secret rooms and passages George and I never found. I'm embarrassed by our failures."

It hurt to listen to Fred sounding just like he did when he was alive. Somehow she didn't think she would ever get over his death. It was so unfair, so cruel. Turning her attention back to her son, she could see that he was worried too.

"Why did you not think I was real, Mum?"

"I was just a little confused. That was… many years ago I was…"

There hadn't yet been a chance for Hermione to share the details of her story with her son. Not all of them. She'd hoped that he wouldn't have to know anything until he was much older, but unfortunately, the world had a terrible way of forcing children into wars they had no business fighting.

"Fred said they thought it would be funny to put you in the same cupboard you were in after the battle ended."

"Who thought it would be funny?"

"I did."

The sound of Rodolphus' voice behind her startled her back to reality. Pushing her son behind her back, she tried to shield him from the madman that was threatening to ruin their lives. With the same friendly smile that used to make Hermione believe him to be handsome, Rodolphus stepped closer to the Dolohovs. He held up the spell book that turned Hermione's stomach. Would she never be rid of it?

"It's very interesting that young Oliver will be here to witness the ritual I've been planning for a few years now. He will get quite the education, I think."

She pushed her son even further behind her body. Without a wand, she couldn't do much. Just the act of shielding him with her body was enough to help calm her just a little. All she succeeded in doing, however, was make Rodolphus laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, my dear. Thanks to what I heard Headmaster Mulciber witnessed him do in an empty classroom with Emmy Rowle, little Ollie doesn't have as innocent of blood as I need."

Rodolphus reached behind a tapestry hanging on the wall where a hidden alcove sat to tug on a tiny arm. Recognizing Maisie at once, Hermione couldn't breathe.

"Your husband's bastard, however, will do perfectly."


	366. December 31st

_**Author's Note**_ ** _: This is the LAST regular chapter! Can you believe it?! I certainly can't. Thank you so much for sticking through this crazy ride with me. Look at this - 365 updates in 365 days! And there were so many people who took pleasure out of telling me that I would fail and never make it. Umm, guess you were wrong. Thank you so much to all of the wonderfully encouraging readers who helped me get through this insane story. I would have never been able to finish it without your supportive reviews, PMs, Asks, FB comments, etc. I appreciate you all so very much!_**

 ** _There will be an Epilogue to this story posted in the next week or so. Be on the lookout!_**

* * *

December 31st

Maisie's little red face proved that she had been crying for a long time. The sight tore at Hermione's heart. Her first instinct was to reach for the terrified girl to pull her into her arms. Based on the tight grip Rodolphus kept on her tiny arm, he wasn't about to allow that sort of behavior. It always bothered him to see adults be affectionate with children. Left up to him, children would never be seen nor heard until they were adults. Even his nieces and nephews were obnoxious in his eyes.

As she stared at the little girl wiping at her eyes and sniffling, Hermione felt Oliver touch her arm. She'd almost forgotten that he was there witnessing what she was. What could he be thinking at the bombshell revelation that he had a younger sister? She turned her head to see his eyes focused on Maisie, wide and unblinking.

"Mum, is she really my..?"

"Your sister?" Rodolphus answered before Hermione could even form the words. He seemed to take great pleasure in shattering more of her son's peace. "Yes, she is. Maisie, that's Oliver. He's your older brother."

It was clear that Maisie knew just as much about her brother as he knew about her. Ginny had been keeping excellent secrets. With her eyes just as wide as her brother's identical ones, she looked up at Hermione, recognizing a familiar face.

"Like my mummy and my uncle Charlie?"

Even in the midst of an extremely tense moment, Hermione couldn't help but smile at the young girl's innocence. The expression helped to calm Maisie somewhat. When she nodded her head and assured her that Oliver was exactly like what her uncle Charlie was to her mother, the girl even returned her smile. She was so innocent, so unaware of the fact that they were all in danger.

Hermione knew that everyone had to remain calm if they were going to get out of the terrible predicament unscathed. Catching Fred's eye, she watched him point towards the front of the castle. Whether he was trying to indicate that he was going to find help or something else, she didn't know. Only when he floated away at top speed did she feel encouraged.

"Poor Oliver. Your parents both kept your little sister a secret from you. What else do you think they might have kept hidden?"

"That's enough, Rodolphus. Leave him alone."

Angry enough at the pain he was gleefully subjecting her son to, Hermione wondered if her maternal instincts had grown potent enough yet that she could rip the man apart with her bare hands before he could use his wand. The addition of a second child for her to protect made her believe she could. Rodolphus released his grip on the girl. Perhaps he could see the anger in Hermione's eyes. He knew better than most that she was a dangerous foe, wand or not. Once she was free, Maisie rushed towards her older brother. Oliver took her hand in his without hesitation.

"Rodolphus, I really don't think it's necessary to involve the children in this. Just let them go and I'll come with you."

"Mum, no!"

Rodolphus smiled the same feral grin that Hermione had seen him use just before he inflicted a great deal of pain on her. That was fine. He could hurt her all he desired as long as the children, _her_ children, were left alone. The bastard stepped closer so their faces were only centimeters apart.

"Oh, my dear, I think we are past that point. I understand Babajide Akingbade was able to remove the block he put in your mind?"

The reminder that she was once again vulnerable to whatever treachery he wished to employ against her worried Hermione. Was he insane enough to actually go through with the ritual? She'd just assumed earlier that he'd been bluffing. But, why else would he come prepared with Maisie's innocent blood? She didn't want to consider what he would've had to do to get his hands on the little girl.

"I must confess that it was quite amusing playing these games with you over the past several weeks. You weren't even aware what was happening, were you? You wouldn't have been so compliant if you knew you were behaving just as we knew you would. Antonin too. You've always been his weakness."

"What are you saying? What sorts of 'games'?"

She knew she had to stall for as much time as possible. Fred was getting help. She just knew it. The more she could get Rodolphus to talk, the more likely he was to give any potential rescuers time to find them. As conceited and convinced of his own greatness as he was, she knew that Rodolphus would use any available opportunity to talk at great length about himself. He desperately needed the validation of others. No doubt it was rooted in some childhood trauma he could never quite get over. Maybe his cold, distant father loved his gardens too much and he was desperate to prove his greatness to the man who never had much use for his own children.

"You needed to feel both vulnerable enough that you would seek out help for the spell I placed in your mind and angry enough to make mistakes."

"You're not making any sense, Rodolphus. Kindly explain this nonsense so someone who isn't completely insane can understand."

"Well, my dear, if I did that, how would _you_ understand?"

Hermione refused to allow him to upset her with insinuations that she was crazy. If she was, she need only blame him for everything he did to her mind. Any sane person would struggle under _half_ the assaults he made on her head. The old Hermione would take offense, but she couldn't afford to be that selfish. Not when she had two children she was responsible for protecting.

"I needed to lure you out of hiding. Thanks to your newly discovered feelings for your husband, it wasn't too difficult to set up a trap. All I had to do was put kind, trusting Teddy Lupin under the Imperius Curse, make him convince Antonin to come to his shop late at night, and the rest was easy."

"You had Antonin attacked for _me_?"

"Yes. You see, you'd been doing a very good job of staying hidden or at least staying behind wards I was unable to break. Put Antonin in danger and you came running. You were _supposed_ to be captured in my nephew's flat." He rolled his eyes, evidently still angered by the failure. "But clearly that didn't work. Pity too. I was going to kill Antonin when you were caught. I've been wanting to do that for decades."

"Because he dared to call out your dear wife for being a wretched cunt?"

Rodolphus' closed fist slammed into her jaw. No longer bothering to simply slap her when she said something that displeased him, the blow to her face was a painful reminder that he held the power. Furious that the wizard dared to strike his mother, Oliver acted as is he was going to go after the monster. Hermione begged him to stop and think of his little sister as she pushed him back firmly, but gently. There was a great deal of passion in her son, just like his father. It could either help him or be his downfall. Understanding that he wouldn't have a chance against the wizard, Oliver backed down.

"You _will_ hold your tongue when it comes to my wife or the next one I hurt is your son. Is that understood?"

She nodded her head, furious that he would dare to threaten Oliver. As much as she appreciated having her son with her so she didn't feel quite so alone, part of Hermione wished he'd just stayed in bed. He was in immense danger that she wasn't sure she knew how to get them out of. Eventually, a person's past and mistakes caught up with them, preventing an escape. She felt less and less optimistic about getting out of the predicament they were in unscathed. Maybe if she just kept him talking…

"Well, I'm very sorry that I ruined your plans to murder my husband. That must've been quite the disappointment."

"Yes, it was, but no matter. Antonin's time is running out. I will make sure that he's dead soon enough. I'm certain that Bellatrix will enjoy helping."

His smile was so unsettling she worried she would be sick. Hermione wanted to shield her children from the dangerous man. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, even if it left a trail of dead bodies behind him. Life never meant much to the arsehole. Truthfully, it hadn't meant much to Hermione either for a very long time. When it seemed she might be nearing the end of hers, it suddenly seemed much more valuable and important. Pity that she'd always taken it for granted.

"It was cruel of you to involve Lizzie in your plans. Children have no business being subjected to the violence of adults."

"But, I've seen you murder your own fair share of children, my dear."

Hermione loathed that her son was hearing every single word. While she knew full well that Oliver wasn't ignorant of the kinds of people his parents were, it was much different to suspect and hear the truth spoken aloud. Would she ever had the chance to explain it all to her son? Or were they past the point it was even a possibility?

"But, no matter. That's all in the past now. Lizzie served her purpose. As did Tiberius Zeller and so did Draco."

"Draco?"

"Yes, my nephew has been very helpful. First, telling me about Lizzie, of course, but also suggesting the cellar of his family's manor to imprison you."

Hermione knew that Draco wasn't an ally, but a small part of her continued to hold out hope that she might've been wrong about him. Antonin seemed assured that at least for a little while he'd been on their side. Rodolphus believed the same. Who was correct? She decided that much like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Draco was only doing what he thought was best for himself. He fought for only one man.

"I confess that I never would've considered that keeping you hostage would be just the push Antonin needed to make sure Babajide Akingbade returned to the country. I needed him to remove that block in your mind. It was so thorough that not even his death would've broken it. Maybe the old fool realized he would be so easily defeated if his death broke the block."

" _Draco_ was the one that suggested you kidnap me?"

"Yes, he did. Clever man. He was also the one who knew just the perfect time to release you too. You didn't actually believe I would be careless enough to drink wine spiked with a sleeping potion, did you?"

The world spun around Hermione with each revelation. Every single day since the first of January, possibly even longer, Draco had been actively working against her. How could she not have realized? Why had she been so desperate to believe that he was a good man who cared about what happened to her? She had been such a fool!

"You see, my dear, every single step of the way you did exactly what we wanted you to do. I'll admit that I didn't believe Draco at first was capable, but he's turned out to be the master manipulator, hasn't he?"

Once Rodolphus allowed himself several long moments to laugh and gloat in her face, he grew serious again. He pointed his wand directly at Oliver.

"Now, I think I have been patient long enough. Let's move to the Great Hall or I might have to teach your son all about the effectiveness of the Cruciatus Curse."

It was Hermione's fervent hope that her son never be subjected to the cruel torture curse at any point in his life. There had already been enough pain in his twelve and a half years. Hermione took a hand of each child in hers and began the long walk to her fate. Rodolphus was never far behind ready to curse if they were too slow.

Halfway to their destination, Oliver looked towards his mother with a serious expression on his face that made him look so much like Antonin she almost forgot how to breathe. Where was their husband and father in that moment? Did he even know that his entire family was in serious peril? Rodolphus would've crowed with delight if Antonin hadn't survived the attack on the Hogsmeade Caves so she had no doubt he was still alive. Wherever he was, she knew he must've been frightened out of his mind. Lowering his voice so only she could hear him, Oliver wanted to make sure he didn't miss an opportunity to set the record straight.

"Mum, what he said about Emmy and me in the classroom… it wasn't as bad as he made it sound."

Though hardly the time for laughter, Hermione had to bite back a smile. Was that what had him so upset? She hoped so. If he could focus on something else other than what Rodolphus had planned to do, maybe he wouldn't be so scared. She never wanted him to be afraid.

"Ollie, darling, I don't want any details of what you two did when you were alone."

"I love her."

She didn't fight her smile that time. He was still so very innocent despite the world he'd been born into. If there was a way to keep him that way forever, she would've tried. Had she ever been that young? It was impossible to remember.

"I know you care very much for her, but you really must be careful. Always be respectful of her. Thorfinn might love you, but he loves his daughter much more. I've seen him break every bone in a bad man's body with just his hands."

Oliver's wide eyes and deep gulp were too much for Hermione to keep her laughter in check. Forgetting for the briefest of moments where they were and why they were there, she stopped to kiss her son's cheek. The feel of hands roughly pushing her forward broke the spell of the private moment she'd been having. Rodolphus was not a patient man any longer.

Once inside the Great Hall Hermione's fear increased tenfold. How were they going to get out of the mess they were in? It surprised her not to come into contact with anyone else in the castle. Where were all of his allies that helped attack the Hogsmeade Caves? She wished she knew who they had been too. Babajide Akingbade was dead because of them and she feared Alexandre as well. Had there been any other casualties? She hoped not. Everyone had already suffered enough.

For the rest of her life, she would be unable to stand in the same place where Bellatrix fell from a curse sent straight to her chest by Molly Weasley without thinking about the moments leading up to it. Hermione tried to duel the crazy woman with Luna's and Ginny's help, but they were outmatched, untested, still unwilling to use the truly terrible spells that Bellatrix used. If it hadn't been for Molly, they might all have died instead. She would be forever grateful for the matriarch of the Weasley family for giving her a chance at life.

"I'm going to like spilling even more Weasley blood here tonight. The dragon keeper put up quite an admirable fight to protect his niece. I _almost_ felt badly killing him."

Maisie's sniffles tore once again at Hermione's heart. It made her angry that the poor child had to witness her uncle's murder. She must have been so scared. _Poor Charlie._ She wouldn't allow herself to feel sadness about his death yet. There would be plenty of time for that _after_. Giving Maisie's hand a reassuring squeeze before she dropped it, Hermione tried to get Rodolphus to step away from the children to talk to him privately. He wouldn't budge. What did it matter to him that the children were afraid? One of them he'd already admitted to kidnapping to use her precious blood and the other had been a constant source of annoyance for him since his birth. She had no doubt that Rodolphus would hurt Oliver too.

There was no need to even try to get Rodolphus alone for a quiet conference. Before Hermione could utter a single word, the heavy door to the anteroom off of the Great Hall behind the Head table opened. Expecting to see Temeritus Mulciber, she was shocked to see a smirking Draco enter the room alone. Somehow she didn't get the impression he was there to save them.

Worried about what was going to happen next, she caught Oliver's eyes. Staring intensely in them for a few seconds to make certain he was paying attention, she looked down at Maisie and back into her son's eyes. There was a wealth of communication in the silent gesture. Thankfully Oliver understood exactly what his mother was telling him. He took his little sister by the hand and gently pushed her behind his back. Maisie didn't argue. When Oliver released her hand, she grabbed tightly onto his pajamas with both of her tiny fists.

Draco's amused laughter sent a chill up Hermione's spine. What was he doing there? Because of all of his deceptions and manipulative games, she didn't know if he was there to stop Rodolphus or help him. It could be either. She had no idea.

"Excellent. Looks like we're all here. Evening, Rodolphus. Good evening, Hermione."

She didn't even know where to begin. As much as she desired answers from the wizard that had repeatedly convinced her they were friends, mostly she just wanted to paint the room with his blood. If he was instrumental in all of the planning as Rodolphus claimed he was, that meant he knew _exactly_ what was about to be done and who was going to be hurt. Rodolphus' insanity was at least a somewhat acceptable excuse for his reprehensible behavior. But what about Draco? What did he have to gain?

"What are you doing here, Draco? _Why_ are you helping your uncle?"

"It's very simple, Hermione. Since the end of the war, my family has had very few allies. _No_ allies really, except for Rodolphus. He's the only one who has never been afraid to be seen with us in public, to let it be known that he wasn't ashamed of the Malfoy family. Perhaps honor doesn't mean as much to Mudbloods, but it does to proper wizards and witches."

Hermione had been called a Mudblood so many times since she was twelve years old that the word had no meaning any longer. Especially as a member of the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters where she was constantly being forced to prove herself worthy of being magical, she heard the term muttered behind her back and even slung in her face. Of course, once she married Antonin there was a noticeable lessening of the verbal attacks where either of the Dolohovs could hear them. Except she hadn't heard Draco call her that word since they were in school together. After so many intimate moments shared over the last year, it felt like a slap in the face. Maybe it was the setting, but it felt like they were back in school all over again. The hot tears filled her eyes even as she swore to herself she would _not_ allow them to roll down her cheeks. She refused to let the manipulative arsehole see how he affected her again.

"I have been planning my revenge on my family's enemies for _years_. Just biding my time, waiting for the perfect opportunities to present themselves. Thanks to the Dark Lord's death, it got a little easier. I wasn't being watched as much. Fewer people were around who thought that I couldn't be trusted just because my last name was Malfoy. You and your husband were both too consumed with your own problems to even realize what I was doing."

"When were we your enemies, Draco? You and I hardly spoke for twenty years. Antonin tried to avoid your family whenever possible."

He scoffed, clearly finding something in her answer that amused him. She worried that much like his uncle, and indeed much like most of the former Death Eaters still alive after all that time, that he was going insane. Or he'd been there a while. Several times throughout the past year she noticed little breaks in his calm, collected façade when a deranged stranger would come peeking out. Draco was only _just_ able to hold himself together. The man was unraveling at the seams.

"Maybe if an influential and powerful couple like the Dolohovs hadn't scorned my family, we might have been more accepted. Being ignored was humiliating. You could've done something about it."

"I didn't _want_ to do anything about it. I never forgot as your entire family stood by and watched as his lunatic wife tortured me when I was hardly more than a child."

The feel of the back of Rodolphus' hand slapping against the jaw that was still sore from his earlier punch made her cry out in pain. She'd been lucky that he hadn't broken any teeth with the first blow, but already she knew there was a bruise forming. Afraid that Oliver would try something in defense of his mother again, she turned her attention to where the two children were standing. He hadn't moved. For the briefest of moments, she was relieved.

"You also seemed to find it amusing to publicly humiliate my father. _Many_ times you would rudely dismiss him in front of others despite him being your superior in every single way that matters."

"Yes, all right? I _did_ enjoy being rude to your father. He's nothing but an embarrassing drunk. If you want to be angry at someone for bringing shame to your family, look no further than Lucius."

She couldn't believe the bizarre conversation she was having. Being trapped in her broom cupboard living inside a fantasy world constructed entirely in her mind sounded more pleasant than the night she was having. Tempted to pinch herself just to see if she could wake up from what was turning out to be the most unbelievable nightmare, she was scared to learn the truth. Why was Draco there _really_? She wished desperately that she had her wand in her hands.

"I'm planning on taking my revenge against _every_ person who disrespected my family."

"Then you are sure to be busy for a lifetime. Your family had a lot of enemies."

"Yes, I know and you have been very helpful in killing a number of them for me. Thank you."

It sickened Hermione to know that her son was listening to their exchange. He didn't need to know about his mother's violent activities. She hoped that she would never have to kill another person as long as she lived. Murder took a toll on a person. There was too high a price to continue to pay.

"So that's all this was? This _friendship_ of ours? Another manipulation."

"Well, no, not _all_. You also made for a pleasant distraction. And besides, it always made me laugh to fuck you and think how angry Antonin would be when he found out."

She could feel her cheeks burning. No doubt they were flushed a bright red. It was embarrassing to hear his confession to begin with but infinitely worse in front of Oliver. Would his last memories of his mother be a reminder that she was a whore like so many accused her of being? She hoped not, but it was too late to change it.

Rodolphus was growing impatient. Evidently waiting twenty years for the return of his wife to the land of the living had been long enough. Ignoring that they were still talking, he stepped closer to them to get Draco's attention.

"I've been very patient, Draco. I want what's mine."

"Not to worry, _Uncle_ , I just want to tie up one loose end before you cast your spell to bring my aunt back."

Draco pointed his wand at Oliver. Hermione gasped, terrified of what was going to happen next. Was her _son_ his 'loose end'? She could feel the ire inside her rising to the surface. There was simply no way she was just going to let that manipulative arsehole harm her son in front of her eyes.

"I want you and Antonin to lose everything you love just like my family did."

A lost reputation was hardly comparable to the loss of an innocent child's life, but there was no time to argue. The wizard was determined.

" _Avada kedavra_!"

Without any hesitation, Hermione stepped in front of her son, blocking the spell from hitting its intended target.


	367. Epilogue

**_Author's_** ** _Note_** ** _: So after the excitement of last night, I couldn't wait any longer to share this with you wonderful people. See what happens when you lavish a poor, lowly writer with praise and encouragement? We become putty in your hands. Lol! I hope this clears up any lingering questions._**

 ** _Thank you again to all of you wonderful human beings who have been so supportive throughout this journey. I couldn't have finished this insanity without you. I hope that you enjoyed the story, but I get that it was different from anything I've written before and it was an odd concept that not everyone seemed to understand or like. So I certainly understand if it wasn't to everyone's liking! I'm not so conceited that I think every word I write is gold, but I hope sincerely that at least_** ** _most_** ** _of you enjoyed it. Lol! I will be taking a long break from writing, so if you're interested in anything that I will be writing in the future, be sure to follow me for notices when I update. Thank you again!_**

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Epilogue

A person could live a lifetime in the seconds waiting to die. Many times in her life Hermione heard about someone who had a near-death experience talk about how there was enough time to witness their entire life flash before their eyes. They remembered every important milestone, every face of every loved one, every moment that made them smile. It was a comforting thought to someone who was always in danger of death. Somehow it made the prospect of facing down a painful death less frightening. Though she'd been very close to dying before, she never recalled having a similar experience.

Watching the bright green light of Draco's spell racing towards her chest was different than all of the other times. For the first time, she actually understood what those people were saying. Flashes of memories appeared in slow motion inside her mind. Entirely without color and eerie to view, they weren't the sorts of memories she would've expected to have. They weren't the happy times in her life that seemed to be so few and far between. She didn't relive the day Professor McGonagall showed up at her parents' house to explain that she was a witch and was invited to attend Hogwarts. Nor did she recall the first time that Viktor Krum stole a kiss from her in the library during her fourth year. Happiness was _not_ a central theme in the memories she dwelled on in that critical time.

She remembered only her regrets. Perhaps because there were so many more of them than there were happy moments. Her inability to save Harry that horrible day during the Battle. Stripping the memories of her away from her parents. Attacking Ron with those damned birds instead of telling him _why_ she was really upset. Killing Oliver Wood. Laughing in her husband's face when she was being cruel. The expression of sheer terror on her son's face when she walked into the room. Watching Ginny Weasley crumble to the floor dead because she was too afraid to tell her husband the truth about his daughter. There were countless more, each one seemingly worse than the one before. Forced to view them all over again, Hermione felt an overwhelming sadness that she wouldn't have the chance to make up for them or try again. Her life had been one big waste of time. It wasn't exactly what one would wish to discover at the very end.

But at least she knew she wouldn't regret the last moment. Protecting her child from a madman's curse was the least she could do. Without her body as a vessel for Bellatrix, Rodolphus couldn't continue with his plan immediately. He would have to find some other poor soul to torture. While she feared that with her death, there would be no one left to protect the children she was leaving behind from further attacks, she had to be hopeful that Fred was able to find help. Maybe some of the professors in the school were still there for the holidays. She couldn't imagine Minerva McGonagall would allow _anyone_ to murder two innocent children when she had the power to stop them. Rubeus Hagrid was formidable too. Most were quick to disregard him as stupid or unimportant because of his expulsion from Hogwarts and the fact that he had giant blood. Hermione knew that he would do everything in his power to protect those he knew were weaker. His generous and loving heart had always been the greatest part of him. He could see beauty and warmth in creatures others could only see terror and pain and ugliness. She wished she could've been more like him. And Temeritus Mulciber must've been there somewhere. Hadn't he promised that he would protect _all_ children at Hogwarts? _Someone_ would show up when she was dead to take care of the children, to take them back to their worried father.

There was nothing to fear about death. If Hermione was truly honest with herself, she would admit that she feared living much more than she feared dying. Others she knew had eventually come to that conclusion right before they died. She would never forget the resignation in both Rabastan and Ginny when they no longer had any fight left in them. Each of them chose to die because they no longer had the strength to keep living. Hermione understood their reasons even if she was struggling to feel the same way herself. In many ways it felt like she'd only recently begun living for the first time in thirty-nine years. How tragic to die before she was ready. Living might have been scary, but she wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

A shout of desperation filled Hermione's ears. She wasn't sure where it was coming from. Her focus was on her regrets, leaving little opportunity for anything else. Draco wasn't standing very far from her. It shouldn't have taken that long for his curse to reach its mark. Time didn't have much meaning. She stared at the green light, waiting for it to kill. At least she could be thankful that her death wouldn't be the painful, lingering one she deserved.

Except the light never struck her. Nor did it hit Oliver or his little sister he was shielding with his own body. A black shadow moved in front of her body absorbing the killing curse. Unable to understand what was happening, a sharp pain like she'd never experienced in her entire life exploded in her head. Worse than every single time someone ripped through her mind, she worried that her head would split into two pieces. Unable to focus on anything else, she fell to the stone floor of the Great Hall holding her head between her hands, begging whatever deities would listen to deliver her from the unimaginable pain.

She thought she would be dead when she opened her eyes again. How could a body go through that much pain without succumbing? Or their heart stopping? Unsure what she would see, Hermione ignored the steady throbbing in her ears to look around. She almost shouted when she stared into the wide, unblinking light green eyes that belonged to Rodolphus. Laid out on the floor, unmoving, she knew without question that he was dead. Had he been the black shadow she saw? It was the only explanation that made any sense at all. They were all standing so close together. The moment he realized that she was going to sacrifice herself to save her son, Rodolphus tried to pull her away. In his desperation and his insanity, he moved into the path of the curse and shielded her instead. Though it wasn't his intention, he'd saved them all with his last few seconds of life.

Furious that his plan didn't work, Hermione heard Draco's voice shout out more curses. None of them made their mark. Thanks to Rodolphus' sacrifice, they were safe. It wasn't done out of love like Lily Potter or even like her son Harry when he marched into the Forbidden Forest towards his certain death to protect everyone else, but it worked nonetheless. With the pain more manageable, she could think clearly again. As she scrambled to try to find Rodolphus' wand to use against Draco, she could hear a wavering shout just behind her. Unable to make out the exact words, she didn't have any trouble understanding the scream of pain that followed.

She had to forget about herself. It was critical that she get up off the floor to fight and protect the children in her care. Sheer determination was what enabled her to locate Rodolphus' wand. Moments after his death it rolled out of his hand and several steps from his cooling body. Not caring that she was showing no respect to the dead, Hermione crawled over him to reach it. Another wavering shout and then a second scream of pain gave her the boost she needed to make it to her feet.

Oliver was still standing. Though his hand was trembling and his wand wasn't steady, he was alive and whole. Maisie clung to his pajamas, terrified to let go for even a moment. If her children were all right, _who_ screamed? She rushed to Oliver's side where he still had his wand concentrated at a spot on the floor. Draco lay in a growing puddle of blood, clutching his mangled wand arm to his chest.

"Ollie, what did you do?"

"I… all I could think of was a severing charm."

Both of the evil wizards intent on destroying her family hadn't even considered the possibility that her young son could be any sort of threat. Neither of them bothered to disarm the boy, confident in their own power to not even worry. Wasn't that the sort of arrogance that almost killed the Dark Lord each time he faced Harry?

Draco's right arm was missing a hand. A second look revealed that the second shout she heard was Oliver repeating the action on his left. Without hands to hold his wand, he was unable to keep hurling curses in their direction hoping that one of them would eventually hit. It had been brave of Oliver to face down a wizard more than three times his age with a great deal more experience. She was proud of him and encouraged by the fact that he didn't even try to kill Draco. All he desired was to _stop_ him. Already Oliver was a much better human being than his parents. They had a lot to learn from him. For the first time in a very long time, Hermione actually began to believe that they might even have the chance.

But, they needed to get rid of the last of their hindrances to a happy future first. Rodolphus was no longer a concern, but Draco made it clear that he wouldn't stop until his enemies were all taken care of. Considering he tried to kill her son, Hermione would show the bastard no mercy.

"Ollie, step back. You don't need to see this. Cover your sister's eyes and close yours."

She wasn't sure if her son followed her directions. It didn't matter that much in the grand scheme of things. Hadn't he already been a witness to some truly horrific shite that night? Stepping closer to the wizard writhing on the ground in pain, she was tempted at first to just kill him in a painful explosion of viscera and blood. His death deserved to be painful after what he'd done to her family, what he'd done to _her_. When he looked up to see her standing over him, Draco had the audacity to smile through the pain.

"Your son was a surprise. Too bad I missed him with my avada."

"I seem to remember you claiming once that you'd never killed a person before. You seemed awfully confident in that curse for someone who had never used it before."

His smile turned to a pained chuckle. Given proper medical attention, he would survive and even have the chance to have his hands reattached to his arms. It was a shame for him that Hermione had no intention of allowing him to breathe again outside of the Great Hall. He would fall in the same place his aunt did over twenty years earlier.

"If you believed that rubbish when I told you, then you're just as insane as Roddy."

She wouldn't allow another one of his insults to get to her again. There would not be another second in his soon-to-be over lifetime that she would give him power over her again.

"You're pathetic, Draco."

"Oh, _I'm_ pathetic?" Another laugh turned into a groan, but he didn't stop. "The real pathetic one is lying over there dead. He was so easy to manipulate. He'd do anything I told him to do just as long as I convinced him that _he_ was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. What happens when he tries to make his own decisions? He ends up dead. Crazy, old fool."

Even in the midst of his pain he had to have the final word. She pointed Rodolphus' wand at him, reveling in the fear she could see in his eyes. Living on the outskirts of the violence meant that he wasn't seasoned and prepared to face it himself.

"Goodbye, Draco."

The flesh in his neck opened up in a wide gash. His grey eyes were unblinking as he truly understood the danger he was in. Dark, red blood sprayed over the immediate area. Mere seconds passed that must've felt like a lifetime to Draco before he finally stopped moving. A quiet gasp next to Hermione reminded her that she wasn't alone.

"Ollie, you shouldn't look."

It pained her that there was no way to shield her son from her sins any longer. Beyond hearing what awful deeds she'd committed from the two men dead on the floor, he'd actually _watched_ her at work. Would he ever be able to look at her the same way again? Hermione was afraid to meet her son's eyes. Forcing him to look away from bloody corpse, she was relieved when she saw something akin to pride on his face. She'd protected them and been unafraid to do what was required. Oliver threw his arms around his mother. Muttering to him that they were all going to be all right, Hermione began to actually feel it herself.

A heavy slam of the doors to the Great Halls being violently pushed open made them all jump. Initially afraid that it was Rodolphus' allies come to finish what he started or maybe friends of Draco's to kill them all, Hermione had never been happier to see her husband. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched a motley rescue team of wizards run inside. Antonin was in front with Thorfinn only steps behind. Alain and Kingsley were next followed by Lee and Augustus. Fenrir was alone in his entrance, but still very much a part of the group. Finally, an ashamed looking Temeritus slinked in after the other men. Never had she been more thankful for the powerful men in her life.

"Papa!"

Antonin sped up his steps at the sound of his son's cry. The moment he was close enough, he kissed Hermione and pulled both his wife and his son into his arms. There were tears rolling down his cheeks that he didn't even bother to wipe away. Hermione suspected that he wasn't the only one experiencing the same. Part of her had been so afraid that she would never see him again, that she would never see _any_ of them again. Never had she been so glad to be proven wrong.

"Rodolphus had Temeritus under a pretty damned good Imperius Curse. When it lifted, he was able to lift the wards surrounding the castle to let us in."

"You mean, _you_ couldn't bring them down yourself?"

She couldn't resist taking a moment to tease her husband. Far from being offended, he laughed.

"Believe me, I was trying."

In all of the initial excitement of the doors opening, Hermione forgot one very important fact that her husband needed to be aware of. Before she could tell him, little Maisie poked her head out from her hiding place behind Oliver. She still held the fabric of his pajamas tightly in her tiny hands.

"Are you my papa too?"

Antonin's eyes widened in shock at the sound of her voice. The tears that had abated were beginning to fill up his eyes again. Releasing his hold on Oliver and Hermione, he dropped to his knees to be on the same level as his daughter. He seemed unsure what to do next, what to say, how to act.

"Yes, I'm your papa too, Maisie."

"My mummy showed me a picture of you. Said we'd be a family one day."

His arms opened timidly. No one knew if she would accept him right away. Maisie didn't hesitate to walk towards him and put her tiny arms around his neck. After what had to have been a tremendously trying and terrifying night for the little girl, she could see safety and security with her father even if she had never met him before that moment. Perhaps it was the kindness in his eyes that looked just like hers. It didn't really matter. He hugged her tightly against him, unashamed of the emotion he was showing so openly. Several moments passed before he stood up again with his daughter still in his arms. Content that she was finally safe and likely exhausted, she laid her head down on his shoulder. Hermione thought she might burst into tears herself at the trust that was so evident from the very start.

There was a lot to explain. No one mourned the loss of the two men lying on the stone floor. Beyond Draco's parents, there was likely to be _no one_ who mourned either of them. They'd made their choices and their mistakes.

It warmed Hermione's heart to see the men gathered around them in the Great Hall. Each one of them cared deeply enough for her to risk their lives to come to her aid. Well, all of them except Temeritus Mulciber who made his excuses to slip back out of the room the first chance he could. Somehow she didn't get the feeling that he would ever try to proposition her again. Being in Rodolphus' thrall had to have been humiliating for the proud man. He wouldn't want a reminder of his shame.

One face was missing from the small group. As much as she was scared to know the truth, she knew she had to ask. Turning to Alain who was only a couple of steps away, Hermione lowered her voice. She didn't want her son to hear her concerns just yet.

"Where's Alexandre? The last I saw him he'd been hurt. Is he..?"

" _Dead_?"

She nodded. With such a solemn expression on his face, she was certain that Alain was about to inform her of the worst. When he smiled moments later, she relaxed.

"Alex has a nasty bump on his head, but nothing the good Healer Jordan couldn't take care of. He's recuperating in Gus' littlest bedroom with sweet Rosalind fussing and fretting over him."

Alain caught his older brother's eye and both men smirked. It was impossible to miss. She also wasn't going to just let it pass by without an explanation.

"What's that about?"

"Seems our little brother has _finally_ met a witch outside of one of his books that he finds fascinating."

"I still say that he's too old for her."

" _Ach_ , you worry too much, Gus. Our Alex is so shy that by the time he finally works up the courage to do anything about his feelings, sweet Rosalind will be a grandmother."

It was the perfect opportunity for them all to laugh at Alain's joke. The tension that hung over everyone since the whole horrible ordeal began disappeared. Despite the violence that had taken place in that very room only a short time before, life still continued to go on. People would continue to fall in love, get married, raise their families, and all of the millions of other little moments that made up a lifetime. Hermione slid her arm around Antonin's waist and reached for Oliver's hand. Never did she expect to have the opportunity to start over again. It was a gift that she was determined she would not take for granted.

* * *

 ** _Three months later…_**

A loud clattering woke Hermione out of a sound sleep. Annoyed because she was just getting to the really interesting part of her dream, she instantly feared that something terrible was happening. An instinct left over from a life filled with violence and intrigue and countless false friends ready with a knife to push into the backs of anyone that would get them the least bit of influence, she had a tendency to jump straight to the worst-case scenario. Instead of recognizing the innocent sound of a pan being dropped on the kitchen floor, she was reaching for her wand. She might have jumped out of bed too if an amused Antonin didn't stop her. Clearly he'd been awake listening to the sounds too. If he wasn't filled with dread and ready to curse someone in the face, she wouldn't worry about it either.

"Ollie's trying to make us breakfast and Maisie asked if she could help."

Hermione chuckled with her husband, glad to be a part of such an innocent moment. Another pan crashed to the tiled floor. Oliver's worried voice was easy to hear.

"Careful, Maisie. You'll wake Papa and Mum up."

"Too late."

Antonin smiled at her teasing remark. Leaning across their bed, he kissed her gently. It was how he greeted her every morning since they were reunited in the Great Hall. Far from getting tired of it, she hoped that she had a lifetime ahead to look forward to more of the same. She stretched her stiff limbs. Her new life meant that she was never very eager to climb out of bed. Once she fantasized about a life where she could sleep until she was no longer tired. Three months after that horrible night in the castle, she began to believe that it was possible.

The sounds of the crashing waves and the sea birds squawking through their open bedroom window brought her an immense sense of peace. Hermione could always smell the ocean, something that she hadn't realized brought her comfort until the weeks they spent in Cornwall in hiding. As soon as they were able, after all of the statements had been made and they were all checked by Sarah to make sure they weren't injured, the Dolohovs made their dream to move to Brazil a reality. While she'd considered taking Oliver and running much sooner, she was glad that they waited until everything was settled. It would've been far from a paradise if they had to constantly check over their shoulders or worry about the spell in her head. Rodolphus was dead. So was Draco. They could all breathe a little easier.

"You know she's probably going to start calling you Mum too. She's so young she's already starting to forget her mother."

It wasn't the first time she considered the possibility. Hermione knew that Antonin was still dealing with his own guilt and regret where it came to the mother of his daughter. Likely he would spend the rest of his life replaying the night he killed Ginny over and over again in his head. One of the first nights the small Dolohov family was under the same roof together, Antonin whispered in the darkness to his wife his fears about one day having to explain to Maisie what happened to her mother. Hermione offered him a kiss and a promise that she would never tell anyone what happened that night as long as she lived. There was no reason to give Maisie all of the gory details. Her mother was a strong, powerful fighter who spent most of her life trying to right the wrongs that the end of the war created. Because of who she was and her respected place amongst the Resistance, she'd been a constant target. They would tell Maisie that her mother was brave and fearless. She didn't need to know that her father killed her mother in a fit of passion and misunderstanding. All that would do was reopen old wounds that were better left undisturbed. Though somewhat reluctant to believe it could all be that simple, Antonin agreed.

"I know, but I'll help her remember Ginny. Loving her daughter as my own is how I can try to make up for everything that happened."

"I regret…"

She stopped him with a kiss before he could say another word. There was no reason. They both knew how he felt. All dwelling on it would do was drive him mad. No time-turners existed that could take them back to that day to change what happened. They had to live with the consequences of _all_ their actions no matter how difficult it might be. Antonin was grateful for the pause in the conversation. When they broke apart from their second kiss of the morning, he smiled and brushed some of her hair away from her face.

"Maisie was the missing piece. I always felt like there was some part of us that wasn't whole. I know I drove you mad with my insistence that we have another child even when you didn't want one, but I just _knew_ we weren't complete."

"No, I understand. I feel it too. It's like she was always meant to be a part of our family."

The Dolohovs would never be the model family for anyone to emulate unless they were held up as an example of how _not_ to behave. But they were determined that they would make it through life together. And as much as she discovered that she loved her small family, especially her exceedingly patient husband, Hermione knew that there was no happily ever after for them. Reality didn't work that way. Life wasn't a romance novel where the baddies were defeated and the hero rescued his lady from danger to live a perfect existence the rest of their days. It just didn't happen. Besides, what if they were _all_ baddies?

Life was more complicated than a silly romance novel no matter how much one wished it wasn't. Good and evil weren't absolute. No one lived in black or white, but in varying shades of grey. Even though she knew her life wasn't a romance, she was thankful for it. Thankful that she was given a second chance to make it better than she ever dreamed. There would be mistakes, of course. Plenty of days would pass when she would look at her husband and wonder why she loved him. Or she would grow frustrated with their children and long for at least a few days on the run again where no one could find her to bother her. There would even be times that she regretted Rodolphus getting hit with the curse that could've easily been hers. Death wasn't as frightening as living.

"Alain spoke with the Headmaster at Castelobruxo. Thorfinn and I are going to take the girls and Ollie to tour the school today. If they all keep up on their studies, they'll be allowed to enroll next term."

Thorfinn moved his family to Brazil with them. When they announced where they were going, he decided to take them up on their offer to follow. There were too many painful memories he wished to escape from. Hogwarts no longer felt like a safe place for his three girls to attend. Everyone needed a fresh start. Hermione was glad that the Rowles lived next door. Every single day she could see more and more of the old Thorfinn poking through his mask of grief. She'd seen the way the local witches stared at the massive, handsome blond. Whenever he finally felt he was ready to move on from his mourning, he wouldn't be single for long.

"I'm very thankful to know that the name Dolohov outside of Great Britain is a much more positive name. Thanks to Alain he's managed to make us almost respectable again."

Antonin smirked, but there was some pain behind the expression. She knew that it was something of an embarrassment that he'd brought shame to his family name. Perhaps even more so considering the fact that Alain wasn't even _technically_ a Dolohov. Not by blood. There was hope, however, that they could all bring honor back to the name. They _all_ had a second chance.

A soft tapping at the open window caught Hermione's attention. Seated on the windowsill was a large owl carrying what appeared to be an official looking letter on his leg. She climbed out of bed to retrieve the missive. Even before she reached the window she could tell what it was.

"Looks like the Minister of Magic has some more questions for his favorite unofficial advisor."

The groan from the bed made Hermione laugh. Part of what she wasn't allowed to know while Rodolphus' spell was still in her head was the effort to make certain that a fair and honest person became the next Minister of Magic after the incompetent Pius Thicknesse was forced to resign. Because he hadn't been involved in either the Death Eaters or the Resistance, Kingsley Shacklebolt was the most obvious choice. He'd been well-respected by both sides even before the war ended. There were a lot of changes being made in their home country. She hoped they were for the better. Everyone was exhausted of war and violence and death. Kingsley invited them to remain to help clean up the mess, but it was an offer that neither one of them would ever consider. Antonin was willing to correspond with the Minister by owl. Nothing else.

They had a new life in Brazil that they'd fought hard to get. Already they'd set some new rules that should've been in place from the very beginning. If they were going to truly make their marriage work and keep their family together, there could be no more secrets. They had to share _everything_ no matter how much they feared the other might be upset or angry. Also, their marriage wasn't big enough for more than two in it. There would be no more affairs for either one of them. Hermione was looking forward to seeing how their marriage improved with the simple addition of rules that most other couples took for granted.

As she turned away from the window, she caught a glimpse of pale blond hair. Startled, she spun back around to see that it had only been a small boy on the beach fifty meters away. Part of her wondered if she would always be expecting to turn a corner and see Draco again. Even though she was the one who killed him, she had trouble accepting the reality that he was really dead. More time was necessary to move on fully from her experiences of the last year.

Hermione didn't regret killing Draco. Not for a single second. But, she couldn't deny that there was still a hint of sadness buried deep within her when she allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of him. He lived a wasted life. Perhaps, to a certain extent, they all did. There had been many opportunities for the wizard to turn away from his anger and his need for revenge. The only person he had to blame for his fate was himself. Still, there were quiet moments when she would remember a look or a touch that seemed genuine. Almost like the person he truly was deep inside all of that hatred and fury was trying to break out of his internal prison. It was heartbreaking. Maybe they could've been something real in another life.

There was no sense in dwelling on what couldn't be. She only had one life to live and she was done taking it for granted. Reaching for Antonin's hand, she pulled him out of bed. It was time they surveyed the mess in the kitchen their children created.

 **The End.**


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